Dark Desires
by John R. Plunkett
Officer Ron Haroldson watched with an appropriately detached, professional eye as the public shuffled past. Even after six months Te Papa's new Egyptian exhibit still drew crowds, particularly on the weekend. Ron moved unobtrusively along the back the exhibit area, watching the people but also glancing at the exhibit itself.
Intricately carved and lavishly decorated statues of Isis, Osiris, Anubis, and Bast- each about two and a half meters tall- stood in a semicircle facing the centerpiece of the exhibit, a mummy case placed almost vertically so visitors could see it clearly. Behind the statues massive stele, sandstone slabs carved with images and glyphs, lined the wall. Two chariots- one intact, the other in pieces- occupied glass cases beside and slightly behind the mummy. Freestanding display cases exhibited everything from brightly painted miniature statues to authentic jewelry to detailed reconstructions of ancient Egyptian clothing. And yet, though copious quantities of gold and precious gems decorated nearly every piece in the collection, it was the mummy in its plain linen wrappings which seemed to draw the most attention. There always seemed to be a group of people crowded around it, even during the off hours, and today was no exception. A group of primary school children watched in rapt fascination as their teacher explained the mummification process.
One observer was clearly neither a student nor a chaperone. She stood at the back of the group, close enough to be associated with them and apparently listening closely to the lecture, but- at least in Ron's mind- her demeanor set her apart. In ten years of security work Ron had seen many people. This woman was not the sort who shepherded kids around. She looked more like- like-
A sheepstealer. Ron allowed himself a hint of a smile. Folks from abroad sometimes asked how a person could tell the difference between an Australian and a New Zealander. Ron supposed that from a distant perspective the distinctions might seem subtle but to him, a Kiwi born and raised, they showed as clearly as night and day. The woman- a dingo, no less- came from Australia or he'd eat his hat. It remained only for her to speak, then he'd know from exactly where. If her clothing gave any indication it was the interior; a khaki safari jacket and trousers clothed her lean frame, heavy hiking boots protected her feet, and even in here a battered Akubra hat shaded her face. She looked fit and reasonably attractive but Ron couldn't fix her age. Her looks, ruggedly handsome rather than beautiful, were a sort that didn't change much over time and could belong to someone anywhere between twenty-five and forty.
Suddenly Ron noticed that the woman's dark eyes had shifted, looking not at the mummy or the lecturing teacher but at him. Quickly he revised his estimation; naturally he'd assumed her to be a faker. Damn Paul Hogan anyway, he thought grimly. Sure it was the Australians who got the worst of it but it was the principle of the thing. This woman wasn't a faker; her gear really did look worn and not in a flashy, ostentatious way either. More than that, the woman herself looked... hard. Like a desert flower, exotic and beautiful but tempered by searing heat, biting cold, driving wind, and bitter drought. Maybe, Ron found himself thinking, She really was a sheepstealer.
Deliberately Ron turned and resumed his slow walk. It wasn't appropriate to stare at visitors and anyone he suspected might be alerted by the attention. He kept the woman in the corner of his eye until he passed behind her, out of her line of sight. She returned her attention to the lecture.
Ron's left hand brushed something cold and metallic. He paused, glancing up and frowning. At the back of the hall- directly opposite the mummy, as a matter of fact- stood a figure that did not go with the rest of the exhibit. A Japanese Samurai warrior, cast in bronze and dressed in armor made of riveted iron plates, squatted in an aggressive stance with his hands upon the hilts of his swords. His face- a scowling mask with grotesquely distorted features- glared balefully with empty eyes at anyone who dared look at him. Ron wasn't an expert by any stretch but he'd picked up quite a bit during his time at Te Papa. Certainly enough to know that the figure- a sixteenth century Kamakura tomb guardian- came from a completely different era as well as the other side of the world. The only thing he saw connecting it to the Egyptian artifacts was that it, like the statues opposite, was meant to watch over the dead and keep them safe from grave robbers. Ron couldn't imagine what this fellow could do that Isis, Osiris, Anubis, and Bast couldn't. Besides, wouldn't the mummy prefer an Egyptian guardian? Wouldn't it be like having a stranger move into your house after you'd gotten it all arranged just how you wanted it?
While looking at the figure Ron had lost sight of the dingo woman. He quickly scanned the exhibit hall but caught no sight of her. He frowned, caressing the buttoned holster at his hip. He considered calling in the encounter but discarded the notion. The woman hadn't done anything... but Rod resolved to keep a sharp eye out for her nonetheless. She was trouble, that one. The teacher lectured on, oblivious to the drama playing out right in front of her.
A battered looking FN Fau 7.62 assault rifle lay across Alexsia's lap. She thumbed a final cartridge into the banana clip, then slapped it home into the well with the heel of her hand. When she drew back and released the charging handle the mechanism chambered a round with a quiet snick, metal sliding on metal with glass smooth precision. "Are you ready, Matilda?" she asked, glancing to her right.
Matilda licked her lips, her leather driving gloves creaking faintly as she worked her fingers on the Land Rover's steering wheel. She resembled an Australian shepherd: white fur coated her cheeks and throat, leaving the rest of her head black except for a jagged edged white patch on her forehead. Her short, flopped-over ears protruded through a dark, curly mane trimmed off at shoulder length and restrained by a hair net. The tunic, jacket, and trousers she wore were clearly men's styles but no one could possibly see the fleshy, full-figured body they clothed as anything but female. She inhaled sharply and exhaled through clenched teeth. "Yes," she pronounced.
"Jenny? Helen? Ruth?" Alexsia looked over her shoulder. Four racing style seats, with five point harnesses, were mounted against the sides of the bed, two on either side. In them sat three young women who were obviously sheep: fluffy, platinum blond fleeces bulged from their collars and cuffs, making them appear pudgy despite their trim, athletic figures. Their clothing matched Matilda's; in it they looked identical. Even without it they looked identical.
"Let's get it on." Ruth gave a thumb's up. Jenny and Helen, seated across from her, did the same. They put their fists together as if toasting.
"Right." Alexsia took the Fau off safe with her right thumb and slid her mask on with her left. "Masks on." She glanced around to make sure everyone complied, then took a deep breath, let it out, and focused her attention on a large mechanical clock fixed to the dash board. The second hand swept toward straight up. "Operation begins in... five. Four. Three. Two. One. Now."
Exhaust boomed from the Land Rover's dual pipes as Matilda stomped the accelerator. The vehicle crashed through the fence- previously unlocked- and onto a service road leading up to Te Papa's loading dock. At the last second Matilda swerved onto the walking path and drove behind the museum, around to the main entrance. People on the path gawked and dove out of the way as the Land Rover tore past at open road speeds. Just when it seemed they'd crash headlong into the bollards lining Cable Street Matilda stood on the brake; tires howled and smoked as the Land Rover decelerated hard. She swung around the end of the building and into the yard in front of the main entrance. Again her foot hit the floor; the Land rover charged the doors, its array of electric air horns blaring the opening bars of Waltzing Matilda. Alexsia jerked a lever with her left hand; a metal rack suspended over the cab dropped forward over the wind screen just as the vehicle slammed into the doors. A ram plate affixed to the truck's bow smashed the doors from their frames in a shower of broken glass and twisted metal. With a clash of gears, and steering only through a narrow slit in the armor, Matilda threw the Land Rover into four low and aimed for the stairs. The truck's shocks and springs took the worst of the punishment but the passengers would have been badly injured if they hadn't been securely strapped. The ram plate's flared edges tore away the stairway railings; bolted on armor sheets protected the truck's body panels. At the top of the stairs Matilda jerked the truck out of four wheel drive and threw it into a bootleg turn, reversing it and leaving ugly skid marks on the floor. Display cases and their contents shattered and flew as the Land Rover swept through them like a bulldozer.
Alexsia released her straps, kicked her door open, and leapt out. She fired five rounds into the ceiling to clear out any people who hadn't fled the initial cataclysm and strode briskly into the hall containing the Egyptian exhibit. She took a carefully selected position near the edge of the room where she could watch all the entrances. Ruth, Helen, and Jenny followed, pry bars in hand.
The Egyptians sure liked gold, Alexsia mused. This room alone surely contained enough to keep her and the girls going for years, if not decades, even at bullion prices. Enough that Te Papa felt obligated to post armed guards. Her job in the operation was to keep them off while the others did their jobs.
A flash of motion drew the muzzle of Alexsia's weapon before it consciously drew her attention. Three times she fired, once through a display case that shattered in a spray of glass. Three guards spun away with red stains spreading on their white uniform shirts. They didn't wear body armor, not that it would have mattered against Alexsia's Teflon coated bullets.
Helen smashed the glass case containing the mummy with a roundhouse sweep of her pry bar. All three of them reached in and- gently- lifted the mummy out. Slowly, carefully, they shuffled toward the Land Rover, supporting their burden as much as possible. Though much lighter than a normal body the mummy was fragile and could easily break if mishandled.
A guard stepped out from behind the Japanese statue across the hall, his pistol already raised and aimed.
Ron couldn't say what caused him to linger in Egyptian exhibit on this particular afternoon. The Kamakura guardian intrigued him, though by itself no more than any other item. Perhaps it was the juxtaposition, the odd clash of Egyptian and Japanese motifs. The figures seemed to be facing off, like gunfighters waiting for someone to make the first move. He'd always meant to ask Dr. Lathasar why she put the Kamakura figure here but never quite got around to it.
The alarms started a fraction of a second after something crashed through the museum's front doors with a noise like the Trump of Doom. Ron glanced toward the main hall, hand reaching for his pistol. Instead of going there he stepped behind the Japanese warrior, hidden from view by its dark bulk. When the Land Rover spun to a stop in the hall outside he knew he'd chosen correctly. He charged his pistol and flicked off the safety.
Even with the crocodile mask covering her face and the ridiculous okker getup she wore Ron instantly recognized the dingo woman. Her build was right, her tail was right... and those hard, dark eyes were absolutely right. Yet Ron did nothing, even as three sheep accomplices dashed by with tools in hand. The way she gripped the assault rifle, firmly but comfortably, convinced him that she knew how to use it. If he moved now-
Three shots rang out, deafening thunderclaps in the enclosed space. By an effort of supreme will Ron didn't flinch, remaining perfectly still. He couldn't see where the bullets went but he knew what he'd find. Those hard eyes wouldn't miss a target anywhere in front of them. The woman side-stepped, glancing over her shoulder then turning about to cover the main entrance. Ron couldn't suppress a feral grin. Even the best eyes in the world could only look one way at a time. He rose smoothly, his pistol gripped firmly in both hands. As he stepped sideways to get a clear shot his finger tightened on the trigger. He was supposed to always give criminals a chance to surrender before using deadly force but all that seemed to be a thousand years ago in another life. What existed between him and the dingo woman was something primal and violent, to whom the distinctions of civilization were utterly meaningless. Ron didn't realize it consciously but as he moved he let out a yell, a yell like the iron warrior beside him might have uttered as he charged into battle.
Alexsia threw herself aside, spinning and firing in one motion. She didn't care for killing, though she'd do it where necessary. The other guards she'd taken down with carefully placed shots; with prompt medical attention they should all be fine. With this one there wasn't time to be careful. Sharp pain tore her left bicep; behind her a display case shattered and a collection of jewelry went flying. In front of her the last guard stood with a look of shock and surprise on his face. blood soaked into his shirt from a wound in the center of his chest. He fell backwards against the Japanese statue; as he slumped to the ground he smeared a stain of blood on its arm and kirtle. Matilda drove back down the stairs. Helen, Jenny, and Ruth followed on foot, carrying the mummy. Alexsia went last, trying to look every way at once. She ignored the pain in her arm. Twice she fired to drive guards into cover.
At the foot of the stairs Jenny, Helen, and Ruth lay the mummy in a foam lined box bolted to the Land Rover's bed. "Clear!" Matilda shouted and pressed a button on the dash board. Charges fired with deafening reports; the Land Rover's armor panels fell away, including the ram plate. The windscreen shield slid down rails mounted over the bonnet; as it went over the nose it flipped the rails off behind it. Alexsia leapt in back with the triplets and all four of them strapped in hastily. Shed of its excess weight the Land Rover took off like a rocket but Matilda kept the speed down as she pulled out onto Jervois Quay. They'd been in and out of Te Papa in less than two minutes; police would only now be responding. Without its armor the Land Rover looked markedly different; hopefully that would buy them some time. Matilda turned sharply onto Harris, then up Victoria. She ran the light at Dixion because time was getting short. At Vivian she swerved briefly into the oncoming lane to pass a line of cars waiting to turn and floored the accelerator. The Land Rover roared up the entrance ramp onto the Wellington Urban Motorway.
Alexsia tore off her mask because she couldn't see well enough with the damn thing on. "Jettison!" she screamed. She and the three girls each slapped a release handle at a corner of the truck's bed and lifted. The top cover came loose; slipstream caught it and flipped it away. It crashed into the roadway, tumbling like a leaf. After that Alexsia and the girls held on very carefully; Matilda kept her foot hard on the floor and dodged violently around other vehicles. The speedometer needle crept inexorably around the dial until it pegged just past the marker indicating 200 km/h. The supercharged, performance conversion engine with dual tuned pipes was paying off; the police would be hard pressed to catch them now. Nevertheless Alexsia kept a firm grip on her rifle and continually scanned not only the road but the sky above. This was the most dangerous phase of the operation; the hills around Wellington sharply limited the number of possible egress routes. The Urban Motorway was fast but a well placed roadblock could put an end to things right quick.
A helicopter appeared. "Kerosene taxi!" Helen shouted, pointing with her arm.
Alexsia allowed herself a brief smile. At least the kids were watching. "Hold me!" she commanded, crouching in the Land Rover's bed. Helen and Ruth griped her torso so she wouldn't be thrown out. Without a doubt the helicopter was patrolling the motorway. Equally without a doubt it had spotted the fleeing Land Rover and was directing a police intercept. Alexsia thrust the Fau butt-first at Jenny, who took it and clipped it to the cab bulkhead. She took down the 12.7 Nitro Express, opened the breech, fed in a cartridge nearly as long as her hand, and passed the weapon to Alexsia. She raised it to her shoulder, carefully drawing a bead on the helicopter. As a precaution against ground fire police helicopters came with Kevlar armor plating their bellies. A bullet that could punch through the cranial vault of an African elephant would make little of that- assuming that a marksman could, using only iron sights, guide that bullet from the vibrating, pitching bed of a speeding Land Rover-
The rifle's report sounded like a bomb going off. A fierce muzzle flash lit the truck's bed, visible even in the afternoon sunshine. Recoil slammed Alexsia and Ruth against the bed wall, nearly pitching them out. Alexsia felt like she'd been kicked by a horse. But the helicopter turned away and vanished from sight. Even as one foe retired from the field others came forth; Helen shouted incoherently and pointed astern. In the distance flashing lights revealed the presence of pursuing police cars.
"Fau!" Alexsia commanded, holding out her hand. Ruth slammed a fresh clip into the Fau and exchanged it for the Nitro Express. Alexsia knelt, sighting directly aft. The police cars were occasional winks of light between other traffic; she wouldn't get a shot until they got closer or the road cleared. She didn't want them to get closer and clearing the road- well, that might not be too difficult after all. As the Land Rover roared past a semi truck Alexsia fired half a dozen rounds into its windscreen. She didn't hit the driver- she didn't think she hit the driver- but the tractor swerved, skidding and going over with a crash. The trailer jackknifed, sweeping the road. Half a dozen other vehicles piled into the semi, forming an impassable barricade. Ruth, Helen, and Jenny whooped excitedly. Alexsia resumed her seat, strapping down but holding the Fau in her lap. She didn't regret what she'd done but she didn't consider it anything to cheer about. She deemed it necessary to get the job done, no more and no less. Besides, they'd evaded but one of many dangers. Alexsia searched the eastern coast of the bay and finally spotted a tendril of smoke trailing into the sky from the vicinity of Eastbourne. She nodded; that meant the fire was still going. Which greatly increased their chances of getting away so long as the authorities- and others- remained distracted. Their doom would come down the Western Hutt Road; Alexsia looked ahead as much as possible but the roaring slip stream tore at her eyes. Not that it mattered; all she'd see was a flash of blue and gold-
The Land Rover heeled violently, its tires howling, as Matilda threw it violently onto the Johnsonville-Porirua Motorway turnoff. Their speed dropped considerably and even the performance enhanced engine labored as they attacked the punishing grade through Ngauranga Gorge. Alexsia flipped the Fau to full automatic and stitched the bonnets of several cars as the Land Rover barreled past them, leaving another accident blocking the motorway's lower entrance. Now all they had to do was get clear of the top end before the police set up a barricade ahead of them. She hid the Fau under her seat; Ruth did the same with the Nitro Express. Matilda kept the speed down to only moderately more than the traffic. Now, hopefully, they were just a bunch of hoons out on a joyride and not instantly recognizable as armed robbers.
Just above Porirua the motorway ended quite abruptly at a roundabout. Matilda joined the line of cars and eventually struggled through onto the Paramata Bridge. Alexsia still saw no sign of organized pursuit; perhaps they'd made it after all. At Otaki they left the motorway and headed into the mountains, taking back roads, dirt tracks, and even game trails. At a particular spot they stopped; the triplets refilled the Land Rover's fuel tanks from a two hundred liter drum hidden under a pile of brush and dead leaves, Matilda removed and replaced the license plate, and Alexsia retrieved an engine powered pressure washer from beneath a stained tarpaulin. The work of only a few minutes stripped away the Land Rover's battleship gray paint, exposing matte khaki beneath. The cache also produced a new top; Alexsia and the triplets installed it while Matilda completed the washing. Lastly, all five of them shed their shed their clothing and donned replacements. The triplets put on denim overalls, Matilda a long-sleeved blouse and pleated skirt. Alexsia couldn't help sighing as she pulled on her safari jacket and trousers. Settling her Akubra hat on her head felt like coming home. Disguised now as ordinary travellers they returned to the motorway and continued north, leaving their discards littering the ground. The police would find the cache eventually, hidden or no, and though no longer pressing time was still very much of the essence. Fifty hours hence, give or take a few, the container ship A. Bertram Chandler would leave Auckland harbor bound for Perth. If Alexsia and company weren't on board, well, that was just too bad.
The sun hung low in the sky when Matilda took them off State Route One north of Waiouru and turned east. Full dark had fallen by the time they arrived at the location of their second cache. Alexsia slung the Fau over her shoulder and jumped down into a sea of grass and scrub stirred by a sharp, southerly wind. In daylight gray, jagged mountains with white capped peaks rose in the distance; at night they could be seen only by where they blocked out the stars. The Land Rover would show for kilometers in the open plain but Alexsia wasn't concerned; this was, after all, the natural place for a four-by-four to be. Besides, they'd be on their way come first light. Several crates, hidden by coverings of sod, produced food, camping gear, and more fuel for the truck. While Matilda and the triplets set up tents, laid out sleeping bags, and assembled the camp stove, Alexsia retrieved a smaller, locked box, buried separately from the others. Out of it came several neatly typed pages, a flint knife with a bone handle, and a hand-carved mahogany figurine resembling a squatting ape. With these items in hand Alexsia checked on the sheep, four rather forlorn looking specimens occupying a temporary pen set up nearby. Using the stone knife Alexsia scraped a wide circle in the hard soil, then set to inscribing a sequence of complex designs around its periphery, pausing frequently to consult the printed instructions. Finally she sat back on her heels and dusted her hands on her thighs. "Fetch the guest of honor," she directed. Jenny, Helen, and Ruth carefully lifted the mummy out of its box and lay it in the center of the diagram. Alexsia used a pair of surgical scissors to open the wrappings.
"Cor," Ruth muttered, peering over Alexsia's shoulder. "She don't look like much, do she?"
"Being dead'll do that to a bloke," Alexsia replied.
The linen wrappings comprised most of the mummy's bulk. Stripped of them the corpse itself seemed to be little more than a skeleton with brittle, leathery flesh stretched tight over it. A pointed muzzle with sharp, predatory teeth suggested that it had been a canine of some sort; other than a few tufts of black fur clinging to equally dark skin little remained to suggest a species. It was female, judging from the flare of its hips and the of breasts laying flat against its chest like a pair of deflated hot water bottles.
"Take your places," Alexsia ordered, handing out sheets to Ruth, Jenny, and Helen. "Read the words exactly like we rehearsed them," Alexsia continued, fixing each of the girls in turn with a hard stare. "If you screw this up- well, let's just say there are fates worse than death. I'm sure she'd tell you all about them." She glanced briefly at the mummy and took a position by its head. The girls lined up near its feet. Alexsia cleared her throat and began, speaking loudly and clearly, as if delivering a sermon, though the words weren't English. They were of an ancient, secret language known only to a few and taught to Alexsia by a sickly old Aborigine medicine man in return for six kilos of Turkish hashish. Words that, when spoken with the correct pacing and inflection, would open a path to the spirit world.
A darkness somehow deeper than the mere absence of light could account for spread across the plateau, bringing with it a cold that chilled the soul rather than the body. The moaning of the wind seemed to cloak within it strange voices, whispering just beyond the threshold of hearing. Matilda shivered violently, unable to resist the urge to look around. No moon rose to relieve the darkness and a high overcast masked the stars. The wind in her fur felt like icy fingers plucking at her, waiting only for the moment when they would bear her away to unimaginable torments-
"Bring the first sheep!" Alexsia commanded while the girls continued chanting. In her haste Matilda stumbled but she managed to get ahold of the first animal's lead and cajole it over to the circle. Alexsia straddled the sheep, lifted its chin with her left hand, and slit its throat with one quick slash of the stone knife in her right. The sheep bleated and squalled, struggling against Alexsia's grip. Blood gushed from the wound, splashing on the mummy's face and chest.
Matilda whimpered in terror. The voices weren't illusions any more; she heard them, chattering obscenely in the darkness. She saw them, dark shapes jostling indistinctly in the wind like a shoal of minnows. Tendrils of vapor rose from the mummy's bed of blood soaked linen- and suddenly it burst into flame. Or rather something the exact opposite of flame. The tongues danced and crackled like one would expect but they were pale, icy blue around hearts as black as printer's ink. Instead of heat they radiated cold so intense that frost formed on the ground around them. Suddenly the chattering voices fell silent- and so did the girls; they'd reached the end of their chant and now stared in wide-eyed horror and the dark power they'd summoned. Something moaned, a sound like the creaky hinges of a thousand ancient tomb doors swinging ponderously shut. In the heart of the black fire something stirred- and a pair of bright, golden lights appeared.
"The next sheep, hurry!" Alexsia screamed, her voice twisted by fear.
Matilda already had the lead around her wrist. She jerked frantically, practically hauling the second animal by main force. In a fit of hysterical strength Alexsia picked it up and heaved it into the heart of the fire.
The sheep made a sound Matilda had never heard uttered by any living thing. It didn't die off but kept going and going. Matilda felt hot dampness dribbling down her leg as she wet herself. The sheep struggled, trying to leap out of the fire, but tendrils of darkness ensnared it. Its fleece turned black as the flames engulfed it. Suddenly the cries changed in character; the sheep's body seemed to turn liquid like metal melting in a crucible-
The flames vanished. All sound ceased. Even the wind seemed to pause for a moment before resuming its eternal march. Darkness pressed like a physical weight against Matilda's retinas.
Something moved where the sheep and the mummy lay. Alexsia switched on a torch. The mummy's linens, and the body itself, had disintegrated into fine white ash. A circle of thick, hoary frost surrounded it. The ewe... wasn't a ewe any more. Its fleece had changed to silky fur as impenetrably black as the flames had been. That fur coated the body of a voluptuously figured woman laying face down in the pile of ash. She resembled a fox, Matilda thought, with a pointed muzzle, tall, sharp ears, and a long, fluffy tail. She coughed, then vomited up what looked like partially digested grass. She pushed herself up and looked around with eyes as intensely gold as a cat's.
"Well, Kremmin, what have we here?" Inspector Tekukuni Samson inquired. He scuffed his foot around a piece of twisted metal as if contemplating kicking it.
Constable George Kremmin suppressed a yawn. It had been a long day and now it looked to be a long night as well. Dozens of constables manned hastily erected barricades, holding spectators and reporters at bay. Other officers sifted through the wreckage scattered around Te Papa's shattered main entrance, carefully cataloging everything they found. "Five females in a gray, heavily modified, 1983 Land Rover drove through the building's main entrance and up the stairs. Three of them were sheep, the other two canines, one light brown or tan, the other dark. All of them wore Crocodile Dundee costumes, complete with masks. At the top of the stairs they reversed the vehicle; the light-furred dog and the three sheep entered the Egyptian exhibit. The dog carried a Belgian Fau 7.62 assault rifle, with which she shot several museum guards while the sheep broke open the mummy's display case and took it."
Inspector Samson looked up suddenly. "They took the mummy?" he asked. "Anything else?"
Kremmin shook his head. "No sir. After their violent entrance and shooting it out with the guards there was gold and jewelry scattered all over the floor. They kicked it out of their way as they carried the mummy to their vehicle."
"Bloody Hell," Samson muttered. He thrust his hands into the pockets of his trench coat and paced back and forth in the lobby.
Kremmin's brow furrowed ever so slightly. Inspector Samson was a whippet: tall, skinny, and hyper-kinetic. That he'd only recently quit smoking made him even more nervous and impatient than usual. In place of a cigarette he gnawed on a rawhide chew toy. Kremmin had seen him go through one in less than a regular shift. The constable was a bulldog, with a bulldog's squat but powerful build. He also possessed something of a bulldog's mentality, believing firmly that slow and steady accomplished more than fits of hysterical activity. Likewise when he set his teeth into something, dislodging him was exceedingly difficult. Together, it was sometimes said, they resembled Mutt and Jeff.
"What about the guards?" Samson asked.
"Most are expected to recover," Kremmin said. "Except one. He took a round in the chest that grazed his heart. He's in critical condition after emergency surgery. The prognosis isn't good."
Samson hurried up the stairs. A bustle of activity filled the exhibit hall; officers and technicians photographed everything in sight, sprayed for fingerprints, or searched with magnifying glasses for fibers or footprints. In spite of the apparent chaos things proceeded in a very orderly fashion. Of the people present one was clearly neither a museum employee nor a police officer. She resembled a Sheltie collie, with a slim, pointed muzzle and ears that folded over at the tips. Golden orange fur covered much of her body, except for a white patch that started on the lower half of her face and ran all the way down the front of her body, continuing on the insides of her thighs to just short of her knees. A black saddle covered her back between the bottoms of her shoulder blades and the tops of her buttocks. The side edges didn't quite meet the white on her front; a narrow strip of orange separated them. A wavy, nut brown mane hung loose almost to the small of her back and a fluffy tail sprouted from the base of her spine, reaching to mid-calf. She wore nothing but a dark blue bikini-like garment with gold trim, plus a matching cape secured by a large, gold medallion, and knee-high boots. Gold bracelets circled her wrists and her left thigh; in her right hand she grasped a hook-headed staff, a shepherd's crook, slightly longer than her height. The costume didn't leave much to the imagination and she was, without a doubt, well worth looking at. A pair of large, firm breasts swelled her top, accenting an already nicely formed torso. From a trim but muscular waist her body flared out into shapely hips and meaty thighs, terminating with well developed calves and delicate feet. She stood nearly as tall as Inspector Samson, a hand's breath higher than Kremmin.
"And where were you while all this excitement was happening?" Samson demanded as he and Kremmin approached the oddly dressed woman. His tone sounded jocular rather than accusing, but only partly.
"Dealing with an apartment fire in Eastbourne," the woman replied. "I headed up to Porirua as quickly as I could but had to stop and assist with an accident in Ngauranga Gorge. By the time I finished with all that the criminals were long gone."
"It's not Super Collie's fault that the apartment fire drew her away," Kremmin pointed out. "She saved the lives of a dozen people and prevented the fire from spreading."
"Meanwhile, here in Wellington some people raid the national museum," Samson growled. "Coincidence?"
"The fire marshall's almost positive that the fire was started by an incendiary device," Super Collie replied. "So I'd be inclined to say no. The robbers could very well have planted it to draw me away."
"Inspector?"
Samson paused. A young woman, apparently in her late twenties or early thirties, came down the hall toward him. She was a feline, an Abyssinian, with golden brown fur and expressive gray eyes. She wore a blouse and tube skirt that technically conformed to the Business Casual dress standard but still managed to show her slender but artfully curved form to best advantage. "Dr. Lathasar," Samson said with a nod.
"You're certain that all they took was the mummy?" Dr. Lathasar asked.
"Yes," Kremmin replied. "An inventory's being taken but they didn't stay long enough to grab anything else. They came, took the mummy, and they left. In and out in seconds."
"Why George, you sound almost admiring," Samson commented.
"This operation was carefully planned and masterfully executed," Kremmin replied. "Not to mention well financed. They must have spent thousands on the Land Rover alone. They spared no expense, overlooked no detail. They came, took what they wanted, and did what was necessary to make sure they got away with it. So yes, you might say I admire them... but you may rest assured that I shan't be any less inclined to track them down and bring them to justice."
Samson opened his mouth to speak but hesitated, frowning in thought. "Doctor," he said, turning to her, "What could they hope to do with that mummy?"
Dr. Lathasar licked her lips. "They couldn't sell it, it'd be too easy to trace. Besides, it's not authentic. I made it myself, as you know, to replace the one we lost. But if they knew how... they could use it to resurrect Daughter Night."
Super Collie drew a shuddering breath. "Super Collie, what's wrong?" George asked, moving quickly to her side. She looked terrible: drawn, pale.... and frightened. Terrified, even.
"I just- I just-" Super Collie swallowed, leaning heavily on her staff. "I have to go!"
"Wait!" Samson shouted, but it was too late. Super Collie was gone, literally in a flash, a streak of blue and gold running out of the room and down the stairs. She went so quickly that lightweight debris swirled in her wake.
"Bloody great!" Samson spat. "What do we do now?"
"Pray," Dr. Lathasar replied. "Pray like you've never prayed before, to whatever god you worship, that Daughter Night doesn't decide to come back here and finish what she started."
George said nothing. In his mind he saw Wellington burning, seared by the Fire of Ra's Eye, as wielded by the self-proclaimed instrument of his divine wrath, the being who called herself Daughter Night.
Ron didn't know what it was about the figure that drew him. Every time he went through the exhibit he looked at the warrior who squatted with his hands upon his swords as if facing off against the might of ancient Egypt. In a way- though he'd never admit it- he empathized with the ancient warrior. After all, they had the same job: to protect ancient valuables from pilfering or abuse. As he lay in the hospital the warrior's grotesquely distorted features loomed in his fevered dreams.
The thing we were both set to guard has been stolen.
A machine measured Ron's breath in and out of his lungs so he couldn't gasp. The instrument monitoring his heart rate showed a sudden increase.
You are a guardian as well. You feel that failure as keenly as do I.
Ron's fingers twitched. His heart rate skyrocketed.
Come to me. Together we can do what neither can do alone. Only together can we set right what was torn asunder.
Ron's brow furrowed slightly. His head twitched. The line on his ECG became jagged and irregular as his heart went into fibrillation. Suddenly he relaxed, his features setting into an expression almost like... contentment. The line on his ECG went flat. A crash team arrived, summoned by the alarm, but all attempts at resuscitation failed.
Paul-Constandinos Ulysses stood behind his desk, facing an enormous picture window that filled one entire wall of his office. From his penthouse suite on the high end of The Terrace he could survey nearly all of Wellington's Central Business District and Lambton Harbour beyond. Other buildings screened Te Papa from his view but nevertheless his eyes drifted that way. Behind him the annunciator on his private lift chimed; the doors opened and a youngish man- early to middle thirties, perhaps- stepped out. He was a Siamese cat; dark, coffee colored fur on his hands, face, ears, and tail faded into a pale, coffee-with-cream on the rest of him. He wore a black slacks, matching shoes buffed to a high shine, a white, long sleeved, button-up shirt, a black tie, and a long leather jacket.
"Sit down, Daitakerou," Mr. Ulysses directed without turning around. The man nodded and settled himself into a chair facing Mr. Ulysses' desk. As he sat he drew from his belt an ornately decorated katana in a black lacquered sheath and lay it across his lap, the fingers of his right hand resting lightly on the hilt.
Finally Mr. Ulysses turned around. With the room lights off illumination from outside outlined him but otherwise left him in shadow. It did not matter; Daitakerou didn't need light to know that Mr. Ulysses was a gray wolf in his early fifties. He wore an impeccably tailored white on white suit but neither that nor his age in any way diminished the evident power in his large, lean, and thickly muscular body. Daitakerou was not a small man but the top of his head only reached the level of Mr Ulysses' broad shoulders. On top of all that, something in Mr. Ulysses' steel colored eyes suggested that he'd be as at home chasing down a troika on the Russian steppes as in his current opulent surroundings. He was not known as the Big Bad Wolf, ruler of an underground empire that reached to Australia, southeast Asia, and Japan, for nothing. "I assume you've heard the news," he began in a deep but smooth voice that many women had described as desperately sexy.
"I heard there was a burglary at Te Papa," Daitakerou replied. He spoke precise, well-formulated English though with a noticeably Japanese accent. He lacked Mr. Ulysses' honey-smooth delivery- at least in English- but he could do an almost flawless impression of Winston Churchill that, for reasons even he did not understand, somehow landed him more dates than anything save flashing a roll that would choke a horse. A stirring rendition of the "our finest hour" speech turned the ladies to putty in his hands. Especially the Japanese ones, interestingly enough. He'd long ago resolved not to try understanding it for fear of loosing the magic.
"They took the mummy," Mr. Ulysses said.
Daitakerou said nothing, though the news hit him like a punch in the gut. Some nine months ago Daughter Night had stood poised to rain firey destruction upon Wellington on the scale of God smiting Sodom and Gomorra. The police, even the Armed Offenders Squad, fell before her like wheat to the scythe. It wasn't even certain that the army could stop her. Before they got the chance to try Super Collie somehow persuaded her to abandon her mission of vengeance. She healed many who'd suffered during her attack and even brought the dead- several hundred of them- back to life. At the end of it she died, as a result of depleting her life force, Dr. Lathasar said. Dr. Lathasar took the body, mummified it, and placed it in the museum, though it wasn't commonly known that the mummy every one had been looking at for the last six months was, in fact, Daughter Night.
"Now ain't that a hoot," Mr. Ulysses mused. "After all that I never figured someone would steal her. I suppose I should have, considering that I stole her in the first place." His eyes narrowed, fixing on Daitakerou like gun barrels. "But I stole her accidentally. These people stole her deliberately... or if they didn't, it was because she wanted to be stolen. Daitakerou, we cannot take the chance that they night bring her back, deliberately or otherwise." He picked up a folder and handed it across the desk. "Here are the preliminary police reports. They used a heavily modified Land Rover to break into the museum; they must have built it and kept it somewhere close by. Question all the fixers until you find out who did this." He shook his head. "Never mind. You know what to do, Daitakerou. You have my permission to draw whatever resources are necessary. You will track these people down, no matter what it takes. You will make an example of them so that when I say that mummy is not to be touched no one will dare defy me."
Daitakerou rose to his feet and bowed from the waist. "Hai," he said. "It shall be as you say."
"Good." Mr. Ulysses turned back to the window, dismissing Daitakerou with a wave of the hand. Daitakerou retreated to the lift and departed.
It was said that the police had not merely a file but an entire cabinet on Paul-Constandinos Ulysses, whom they strongly suspected to be the Big Bad Wolf. Mr. Ulysses continued to occupy his luxurious penthouse because no case against him had ever been successfully prosecuted. In no small part this was because no one had ever testified against him. Daitakerou Sotohoji, also known as Katakana Kat, was the principle reason no one had ever testified.
Mr. Ulysses' eyes narrowed, his ears lay back, and he bared his teeth in an expression that had reduced the bravest of men to gibbering in hopeless terror. Daitakerou would find these misguided burglars even if he had to follow them to the ends of the earth. And then they would learn the price for defying the will of the Big Bad Wolf. It would be the very last thing they ever learned in this world.
The black furred woman tried pushing herself erect. Her limbs gave out and she fell in a heap, gasping for breath.
"Bloody Hell!" Ruth exclaimed. "We blew all that money and scared ourselves half to death for this?" She indicated the scene with a dismissive flick of the hand. "Alexsia, let's ditch this bludger and skin out of here."
"Shut it off," Alexsia said sharply. She knelt by the woman, gently gripping her shoulders- and starting in shock at how cold she felt. "What's wrong?" she asked. "The Abo shaman gave us this fetish, said it had to be charged by making blood sacrifices. We spent three months at the freezing works charging it up. Are you saying it didn't work?" Alexsia's eyes narrowed slightly. If so she and a certain old man would have words. Six keys of Turkish hashish didn't come cheap.
"It did," the woman gasped. "The... the souls you collected... opened the way... to the spirit world. The creatures... you sacrificed... just now... are what brought me through. You should have... used people."
"That wasn't practical," Alexsia said woodenly. Slaughtering sheep and hogs didn't bother her. Killing people... well, she didn't care for it and hadn't managed to convince herself it was necessary.
"So... you get... what you... pay for," the woman gasped. Her teeth started chattering. "You'd better... wrap me up... or I'll... die again."
Alexsia knew well the woman was going into shock from what felt like hypothermia. She cursed under her breath; thankfully they'd planned on spending the night. "Jenny, Helen, zip two of the sleeping bags together," she commanded. "Then take off all your clothes."
"What?" Helen straightened up suddenly.
"Strip!" Alexsia shouted. "She's freezing, you drongoes! If we all get in the bag with her and keep her warm she might recover. The alternative is I might just decide to see if sacrificing another jumbuk'll bring 'er around!"
All three of the girls glanced at the temporary pen. Two sheep still occupied it but strictly speaking they weren't the only ones available. The triplets muttered under their breath but they obeyed. By then the woman had fallen unconscious. At least she still lived; Alexsia felt her shivering. If she stopped, now that would be a problem. Alexsia fed the woman into the doubled sleeping bag and crammed the triplets in with her. "Rub her gently but don't squeeze too hard," Alexsia cautioned. "Above all, make sure she keeps breathing. If she dies, this is all for nothing."
The night passed slowly, with the wind moaning endlessly. The black woman seemed to suck up heat; every couple hours Alexsia or Matilda had to spell the triplets. At one point Alexsia and Matilda ended up together while the girls rested in their own bags.
"What if the cops catch us out here?" Matilda asked.
"We improvise," Alexsia replied. Under other circumstances she might have enjoyed this but tension put her off the mood. Not to mention that the black furred woman was, in Alexsia's opinion, rather too full figured. Alexsia preferred apples to melons, as the saying went; the black woman's gargantuan mammaries looked like more than a handful for her and Matilda combined. She didn't look distorted only because she had a huge ass to go with her tits.
"Alexsia, I'm worried," Matilda continued.
"So am I," Alexsia replied.
"Should we- I mean-" Matilda began.
"We've been over this," Alexsia cut in. "Are we going to spend the rest of our lives stealing livestock, robbing houses, and being petty thugs? This is our chance to make it into the big time. Black Bitch here has power. Like we never dreamed. So much that not even super heroes can stand against her. Since we brought her to life she's beholden to us."
"But Super Collie defeated her," Matilda pointed out. "That's why she was dead in the first place."
"Not in a real fight," Alexsia countered. "She used headology. Dirty tricks. If she tries that now then we'll be there to stop it."
Matilda said nothing. She snuggled closer against the woman's front; she rather liked the fleshy curves... but in her mind's eye she saw Wellington in flames, the streets littered with charred corpses. She couldn't bring herself to belive that such terrible power could be harnessed so easily.
Dawn broke cold and blustery, the prevailing winds driving a scattered overcast that occasionally sprinkled light but chilly rain on the high plateau. Matilda felt miserable; she hadn't slept hardly at all, what with the tension, switching places every couple hours, and being crammed into a sleeping bag with someone cold. The black woman slept... or, at least, lay unconscious. She seemed in much better shape; her breathing sounded normal and as Matilda explored portions of the woman's body she felt warm instead of cold-
Her eyes opened. "Good morning to you too," she said, rubbing Matilda's hand between her thighs. Matilda jerked her hand away self consciously; she'd only put her hand there to check the woman's temperature. Though if that were the only reason she might not have felt so guilty about it.
"Well, she's up," Helen said petulantly. "Does this mean we can leave now?"
"I need to eat," the woman said. "I feel like my belly's gonna gave in."
"What do we call you?" Alexsia asked. "Do you have a name?"
"Call me Zalika," the woman replied. "Where's the grub?"
"How 'come she talks like an American?" Jenny asked, soto voce.
"Because when I came to life- the first time, that is- I took over the body of an American archeologist," Zalika replied. "I took over his memories, too, which is how I could speak English. Naturally I speak like an American because he did. I hate to belabor a point but can we please get with the eating?"
"Right." Alexsia pulled on her trousers and a tunic. "Break out the rations," she told the girls, moving to the camp stove and turning on the fuel.
"Do we have to do this now?" Matilda asked tensely.
"Do you want me to be ready when the police, or whoever, tries to crash your party?" Zalika countered. Matilda made a face but said nothing.
The cache contained a box of MREs. While Ruth pulled some out Zalika climbed out of the tent. Though still naked the chilly air didn't seem to bother her in the least. "Ah," she exclaimed, noticing the sheep. "I'll have one of these, if you don't mind." She paused, studying the sheep Alexsia had slaughtered the night before. She even knelt and sniffed it. "I happen to be a jackal," she said, noticing Matilda looking at her. "Jackals aren't adverse to eating carrion. In fact, they tended to hang around graveyards and tombs, which is why the Tamerans- whom you call the ancient Egyptians- associated them with death. That's why Anpu, guide of the dead, whom you know as Anubis, is pictured as a black jackal. But however tasty this looks I need something more substantial." She looked at the live sheep; they bleated in fear and retreated to the far corner of the pen. Zalika gestured; the pen opened on its own. She beckoned; one of the sheep came hesitantly forward. It lifted its head, baring its neck. Zalika sank her teeth into the soft flesh. The sheep bleated, struggled, and finally succumbed. Zalika slurped greedily at the hot, arterial blood pouring from the wound she'd inflicted. Finally the blood stopped spurting; Zalika sat back on her heels, patting her visibly distended tummy, and belched loudly. Blood stained her muzzle; she licked it with evident relish. Then she lifted the sheep's head, opened its mouth, and put her own over it as if kissing it. Zalika swallowed- and the sheep shriveled up like an ant burned with an magnifying glass. In only a few seconds nothing remained of it but dried skin pulled tight over the bones beneath. It reminded Alexsia of nothing so much as a cane toad run over by a road train and left on the highway for a few weeks to dry under the fierce summer sun. She forced herself to eat her meal though Zalika's demonstration had crushed her appetite. They'd be driving all day and it wouldn't be practical to stop for food, not when they had to be in Auckland before dawn the day after tomorrow.
"I need to have sex now," Zalika announced.
Matilda spat out her coffee and coughed. Alexsia, who fortunately had just swallowed a bite and not yet taken another lowered her fork. "Say what?" she asked.
"To become fully functional I need to have sex," Zalika explained. "It's how I recharge my power."
"Well, go right ahead," Helen said around a mouthful of chicken with rice. "Don't let us stop you."
"It doesn't do any good for me to do it by myself," Zalika responded somewhat acerbically.
"If you find a man, let us know," Jenny quipped. "We could use a few ourselves."
"I don't need a man," Zalika pointed out. "I merely need to have sex."
Alexsia licked her lips. She'd zeroed in on Zalika's meaning right away, probably because she and Matilda were already lovers. But the episode with the sheep hadn't merely ruined her appetite for food.
"Don't look at us," Ruth said sharply. "We ain't poofters."
"Ever tried it?" Zalika inquired.
"Of course not!" Helen replied hotly.
"Then you don't know what you're missing." Zalika held her hand, palm up, before her, and flexed her middle finger as if rubbing it against something. Helen drew a shuddering breath, her eyelids flickering. She sank to her knees, then flopped over onto her back with her legs spread.
"What the Hell did you do to my sister?" Ruth demanded, jumping up and starting forward. A glance from Zalika froze her as if she'd been clouted in the face. Zalika extended her other hand and wiggled her middle finger. Ruth fell beside Helen. Jenny started forward but seeing the fate of her sisters lost her nerve. She took a step back but Zalika wasn't disposed to let her go. She flicked out her tongue and licked the air. Jenny landed on her face instead of her back.
"I don't see what you're so upset about anyway," Zalika commented, rising and moving to where the three sisters lay, gasping and moaning, on the ground. "Your pussy doesn't know whether it's a man's or a woman's hand that strokes her. Nor does she care. 'Gay' and 'straight' are just words. Made-up things. Lines drawn in the sand. The only real thing is pleasure. The pleasure you feel and the pleasure you share. Forget the words that confine you with arbitrary definitions. Surrender to the pleasure. How can it be unnatural if it feels so good?" Zalika sank to her knees directly in front of Jenny, who looked up at her timidly. Jenny dropped her gaze, but only so far as Zalika's crotch. She scooted forward and- timidly at first but with growing confidence- licked Zalika's vulva. Zalika leaned forward a little, slid her hands up Helen and Ruth's thighs, probing their vaginas gently with her index and middle fingers.
Alexsia forced herself to put down her meal before she spilled it. Zalika's sultry, sexy voice lent an irresistible power to her words. In spite of everything Alexsia's nipples felt so hard they ached. "How long is this going to take?" she demanded gruffly.
"An hour or two," Zalika replied. "May I use the tent?"
"Yes, go ahead." Alexsia didn't watch as Zalika herded Helen, Jenny, and Ruth into one of the tents and zipped up the flap. The thin walls didn't stop the sounds issuing from within.
"What do we do now?" Matilda asked.
"Police up," Alexsia replied. "When Zalika finishes we'll need to move fast."
Cleaning up and packing everything away didn't take long. Rather than sit on the ground watching the tent shake Alexsia climbed into the Land Rover's cab. Matilda joined her. "All I can think about is the police closing in on me," Alexsia groused. It was a lie; she knew it even before it came out of her mouth. All she could think about were Zalika's enormous breasts, with nipples as black as her fur. Zalika's fleshy buttocks. Zalika's exceptionally long, exceptionally dexterous tongue. "Screw it," she said, pulling Matilda close and kissing her fervently.
Esmerelda Braithwaite pulled into a modest parking lot near a small, peaked-roofed building made of hand-fitted stone. Bright morning sunshine slanted down across an intensely blue mountain lake surrounded by gray, snow-capped peaks. The building- obviously a church- sat on a spit of land thrust out into the water. Esmerelda switched off the car's engine and lay back in her seat for a moment. The stunning scenic beauty of the place hardly touched her; she was exhausted, physically and emotionally. She'd driven non-stop since yesterday night: from Petone to Wellington, across Cook strait on the Lynx fast ferry to Picton, along the coast to Christchurch, and finally up into the mountains of Canterbury. The end of her journey brought her to the sleepy township of Lake Tekapo, set at the southern tip of the lake of the same name. There she found this place: the Church of the Good Shepherd. But even that wasn't what she'd come all this way to see. She got out of the car and looked around; down near the water's edge stood a tall cairn capped by a heavy boulder. Atop the boulder stood a bronze statue of a sheepdog. Esmerelda walked toward it, unconsciously straightening and smoothing her Navy blue jacket and tube skirt. They really needed cleaning and pressing to make them presentable. For that matter Esmerelda herself desperately needed a bath. At the foot of the monument she paused, looking up at the bronze sheepdog's alert, attentive face. She half expected it to go bounding off in pursuit of strays. Her hand fished under the edge of her blouse, drawing out a pendant hanging on a fine, silver chain. It looked like a tiny shepherd's crook. She curled her fingers around it tightly.
"I... I feel kind of funny coming here," Esmerelda began in a halting voice. "But... I don't know where else to turn. I had... a dream last night, you see. The strange thing is I wasn't even asleep. One minute I'm talking to George and Cymbeline... the next I'm walking beside a line of sheep. But they were dead. Their foreheads had been smashed in and their throats slit. They led me up to a... a pool of black. One by one they hopped into it and... melted. Like snow in water. I stepped into the pool... and found myself in a tomb. It was Egyptian; I saw hieroglyphs and little figures painted on the walls. But... they moved. I saw it in the corners of my eyes... and I heard them, whispering to one another. In the middle of the room I saw her. Zalika- Daughter Night- laying on a slab. She wore a white gown, gold bracelets on her wrists and ankles, a big collar that covered her shoulders, and a black jackal mask. When I first arrived she looked... all dead and dried up. As I watched she... came back. Her skin filled out, her fur turned silky and smooth. Suddenly she sat up and shouted something at me. That's when I woke up." Esmerelda dabbed tears from her eyes. "I... I was so scared. I came straight here. I only barely defeated her last time. If she's come back..." Esmerelda gulped, unable to continue.
The sky turned gray. The mountains and lake softened, loosing color and definition. Only the monument remained vivid... and it seemed almost to absorb the color and detail drained from everything else. Suddenly the bronze sheepdog looked down at Esmerelda. "You are not alone, Sister," it said in a voice that sounded like hundreds of voices speaking in perfect synchrony. "It was the goodness in your heart, the strength of your love, that defeated the Dark One."
"But..." Esmerelda swallowed. "Is she back? Is that what the dream meant?"
"Yes," the sheepdog replied. "But those who brought her back into this world don't- can't- understand what they've unleashed. In a way they are victims as well."
Esmerelda nodded. "How do I find them?"
"I will show you where to begin," the statue continued. "Take my hand." It reached out its paw.
Esmerelda stood on tip-toe. Her fingertips touched the outstretched paw- and suddenly she found herself holding the hand of a young- about her own age- border collie man. He wore a denim trousers and a loose tunic of archaic style and a long, gray cloak. Esmerelda gasped; he was breathtakingly handsome. She stared; she couldn't help it.
He chuckled. "Come with me, lass." He stepped forward, gently pulling Esmerelda's hand. The sound of his voice, the warmth of his touch, made her heart pound fit to leapt out of her chest. She stepped forward- and suddenly found herself in another place. She gasped, pulling close to him.
Despite a clear sky and bright sunshine Esmerelda felt icy cold. She and her companion stood in a sea of grass; in the distance Mt. Ruapehu loomed above them. All around stood a flock of sheep, hundreds it seemed. Each and every one had been butchered: forehead smashed in, throat slit, eviscerated, and skinned. Nevertheless they stood, staring at Esmerelda with their glassy, dead eyes. Then, one by one, they faded away. Now Esmerelda saw that the grass had been crushed down, by vehicles, people walking, and probably a tent or two. She saw a circle of bare ground sprinkled with ash, as if someone had lit a fire there. Esmerelda frowned; they'd done it without clearing the ground properly or laying stones to contain it. They could easily have started a grass fire.
Dark, miasmic vapors oozed from the pile of ash. They lay close to the ground and gradually thickened, becoming liquid rather than vaporous. Esmerelda edged forward, looking down into what was now an impenetrably black puddle. She leapt back, shrieking in terror. The puddle wasn't opaque. It was a hole, a gateway opened onto the blackest pits of Hell.
"Esmerelda!" The border collie held her by the forearms. They stood atop the Sheepdog Monument where the statue should have been but wasn't. "Esmerelda, don't be afraid. The darkness can't touch you so long as you carry us with you."
"But-" Esmerelda slipped her arms around his torso, hugging him tightly. The sensation of his hard, muscular body pressed against hers and the rich, masculine smell of him in her nostrils intoxicated her. "How... where do I go from there?"
"I can't tell you that, Sister." He gently stroked Esmerelda's head and back. "We only see what's been, not what's to come. You are the Guardian. You must seek her." He gently lifted Esmerelda's chin. "Follow your instincts and heart, dear Sister. Remember that wherever you go we walk beside you. Let our eyes pierce the veil of lies the Dark One draws around herself." He leaned his head forward, gently brushing his nose against hers. "You're strong, dear Sister. Stronger than you know." He kissed her.
With a shuddering intake of breath Esmerelda woke up. She sat in her car, where she'd apparently dozed off. She saw two motorcycles parked nearby; a couple had laid out a picnic on the grass near the church. They watched quizzically as Esmerelda struggled out of her car. She felt stiff and sore, both from the drive and from falling asleep in an unnatural position. A decidedly cool breeze blew across the lake but Esmerelda felt hot. She wanted to strip off her clothes and run around on all fours-
No, running around wouldn't be necessary, Esmerelda decided. She'd be content to wait... on her hands and knees... with her tail hiked up... for that man she'd seen in her dream. She imagined him kneeling behind her, placing his hands gently on her hips-
Esmerelda shook her head violently to dislodge the image. She'd gotten what she came for and now the time was to act on it, not indulge idle sexual fantasies. But first she needed to loosen up. She commenced a circuit of the church, staying as close to the water as was reasonably possible. As she approached the Sheepdog Monument her hand strayed to her throat. She didn't actually fish out the pendant but she did caress it through the front of her blouse. She found herself wondering what the picnicking couple would think if they knew that this quiet, unassuming place was the focal point of Super Collie's power. What if they knew that the quiet, unassuming Esmerelda Braithwaite, software beta tester, actually was Super Collie? In spite of her physical and emotional depletion she giggled. Being Super Collie wasn't easy. At times it had cost her dearly. But she still felt an almost childish delight at having a secret. Unfortunately the secret wasn't entirely her own. Four others knew it... and one of them was Daughter Night. When she completed her circuit Esmerelda got back in the car, started the engine, and headed back toward Wellington. Her journey wasn't over, it had only just begun.
"Freeze!"
Alexsia blinked. She lay on her back in the Land Rover's bed, where the mummy box had been. She tightened her grip on Matilda's buttocks, lifting her shoulders to look past them. A uniformed police officer stood behind the truck; as was normal he carried only a club but it hardly mattered. Alexsia wouldn't be able to disentangle herself from Matilda and grab the Fau before he either dragged them both out of the truck or clubbed them unconscious. He grabbed Matilda's arm and hauled her out. She yelped as he threw her to the ground and cuffed her hands behind her. Another officer hauled Alexsia out by the feet. Alexsia felt sick; she hadn't even noticed them drive up. This is going to look great in the headlines, she thought darkly. Robbers caught in the midst of lesbian orgy.
Having seen to Matilda and Alexsia the constables moved up to the occupied tent. "Zalika, look out!" Alexsia shouted. The constables went in. The tent thrashed and shuddered, accompanied by a chorus of shrieks, cures, yells, and meaty smacking sounds. Jenny, Helen, and Ruth scrambled out on hands and knees, naked as jaybirds. Helen at least had the presence of mind to grab the Fau from the Land Rover and cover the tent, which had fallen ominously silent. Then the flap lifted... and Zalika emerged, looking immensely pleased with herself. "Luckily they weren't here for us, or they'd have come armed and in force," she commented. "They were looking for those sheep." She nodded toward the pen and its single remaining occupant. "Whoever you hired to steal them did a pissy job, I'm afraid." She nodded to Alexsia. "But it's okay now. They won't bother us and they won't be telling anyone they saw us." She knelt behind Alexsia and Matilda; Alexsia felt her grab the cuffs and pull sharply. Both Alexsia and Matilda yelped in surprise; Alexsia felt the metal slide through her wrists. She rubbed them, trying to banish the sensation, but failed. It lingered in her mind even after it faded from her wrists.
"Put that up before you accidentally shoot someone," Zalika said, wiggling a finger at Helen. The air around Zalika's hand shimmered as if with heat haze. So did that around the Fau as it plucked itself from Helen's grip and tucked itself back under the Land Rover's rear seats.
"We gotta get outta here," Alexsia said hoarsely, staggering to her feet, still rubbing her wrists. She and Matilda had already packed everything but he tents and sleeping bags. For a long moment she stared at the tent into which the officers had gone. With a sense of terrible foreboding she walked up to it and peeked inside. The two constables lay on their sides, naked, engaged in mutual fellatio. She shook her head, attempting to clear it of the sense of nightmarish unreality that had fallen over the scene. "Everyone get dressed," she ordered. "Pack the other tent and the sleeping bags. Leave that one."
"What do I wear?" Zalika asked. Matilda passed her a pair of camouflage patterned BDU trousers, a khaki tank top, a fatigue jacket, and combat boots. Zalika pulled them on; despite the garments' generally shapeless construction her fulsome, curvaceous form showed through so blatantly that she almost might as well have been naked. The outfit did not include under things; what Zalika's massive mammaries, unrestrained by a brassiere, did to the tank top was surely illegal. Though at least now she didn't look like an undead terror from beyond the grave. She looked like... an undead terror from beyond the grave in bush gear, an okker Dracula. Alexsia grimaced; in making her plans that was one thing she hadn't considered. Somehow she knew that no matter what Zalika wore her true nature would show through it. Maybe one of those full body things Muslim women wore... but no. That wouldn't cover her eyes. Those cat gold orbs were her most unsettling feature by far.
"Do you mind if I sit in front?" Zalika asked.
"What? No," Alexsia replied, shaking off her preoccupation. She felt more comfortable in back with the guns though with the Land Rover's top on there wouldn't be much she could do with them.
"Thanks." Zalika opened the passenger side door just as Helen leapt up onto the truck's bonnet and scrambled up to the roof. Jenny and Ruth started handing up the gear. Zalika watched this for a moment, then gestured. Helen let out a yelp as she was plucked from her perch and placed back upon the ground. The tent, sleeping bags, camp stove, rations, fuel cans, and everything else soared into the air and arranged itself neatly on the Land Rover's roof rack. The tie-downs secured themselves and the stowing was complete, in no more than about ten seconds.
"Good show with the gear," Alexsia commented as they drove off. "So what else do you do?"
"I'm super strong, super tough, I can walk through solid objects, I can read minds, control them, project illusions that look entirely real, shape flesh, and bring the dead back to life," Zalika replied. "I can also make myself immune to bullets and other projectiles, though doing so is draining. Where are we headed, by the way?"
"To a safe house in Waiouru," Alexsia replied. "There we dump the Rover and get a new car."
"And then?" Zalika prompted. "Hey, I'm part of the gang now, right?" she added when Alexsia didn't respond at once.
"Yeah, you are." Alexsia sighed. "We drive to Auckland, board a ship that takes us to Australia, and hide out in the Tanami Desert until the heat goes down."
"Hmm." Zalika rubbed her chin thoughtfully. "I hate to tell you this but the heat, as you say, isn't likely to go down soon. There is, for example, the fact that I'm sure the New Zealand government doesn't like me much after what I did to Wellington. Not to mention that I double crossed the Big Bad Wolf."
Matilda stood on the brake. The Land Rover slid to a stop; Alexsia slammed her face painfully against the bulkhead. "This is insane!" Matilda shrieked. "That creepy old Abo, the freezing works, that awful ritual and now this! The Big Bad Wolf never forgets a betrayal! We might as well drive off a cliff right now and get it over with!"
"Matilda!" Alexsia grabbed Matilda's shoulder to stop her from leaping out. "We have Zalika on our side now, remember?" She prayed that really meant as much as she made it sound like.
"What good does that do?" Helen demanded morosely. "By now the cops'll have our mugs flashed all over the country. Our only hope is going to ground! Now we can't even do that because the Big Bad Wolf's assassins will be waiting for us!"
"Shut up!" Alexsia slapped Helen across the face. "I do know one thing beyond any shadow of a doubt. Any one of us who runs without thinking will wind up dead, as sure as the sun rises." She looked around slowly, catching and briefly holding each person's gaze. "All right, Zalika. We resurrected you for your power. Now we find out if it's worth anything. We need a new car, money, a place to spend the night, and above all we need to do this without the police noticing."
"That last part I can handle," Zalika replied. "If you don't want the police to notice us they won't."
"What about Big Bad Wolf's people?" Jenny asked.
"They won't either," Zalika replied. "Except for Katakana Kat. He'll see us if he looks."
"But he's the worst of the lot!" Ruth wailed. "They say he's the Big Bad Wolf's personal enforcer!"
"Zalika," Alexsia said, "If we see Katakana Kat I want you to kill him."
"Okay."
Alexsia drew a deep breath to steady her nerves. She'd wanted to play the big stakes game and now she most definitely was, by God. "Matilda, take us to Ohakune," she said. "We'll find a new car there."
"Then we head back to Wellington," Zalika put in.
"What!" Matilda shrieked.
"We need money, passports, IDs, and access to international transport," Zalika pointed out. "We aren't going to find all that out here in East Moosefuck. That means we go to Auckland, Wellington, or Christchurch. Now the Big Bad Wolf is going to know everyone you worked with to set up this job. Hell, most of them probably work for him already. If they don't just tell him everything they know about your plan Daitakerou will persuade them. Meaning that Auckland is out because by now it'll be crawling with the Big Bad Wolf's foot soldiers. Unless you fancy a swim Christchurch is out. So Wellington it is. After all, it'll be the last place they think to look for us."
"But if you can make it so they don't see us, why does it matter?" Ruth asked.
"Because the Big Bad Wolf understands my powers," Zalika replied shortly. "He's had all this time while I was dead to figure out how to counter them. He will have a system in place to track me and he will have at his disposal an agency that he believes capable of defeating me. Simply assuming that whatever he's done won't work doesn't strike me as a prudent strategy."
"But then why won't he have covered Wellington too?" Matilda protested.
"Why don't we just sit here jawing until someone comes along and picks us up?" Zalika countered.
"Drive," Alexsia commanded. "Zalika's right about one thing. Sitting still is the same as turning ourselves in. If we get arrested and put in jail all it means is that we can't run away when the Big Bad Wolf's assassins come for us. We have to keep moving." She wasn't so sure that going to Wellington was the right thing to do but at the moment she couldn't come up with anything better. Then another thought caused her to frown at the back of Zalika's head. Exactly who was in charge of this gang anyway? Even as she thought it, though, she found that she wasn't so sure she really wanted to know the answer.
The aged ferret carefully placed a soda cracker on his plate. He topped it with a slice of summer sausage and a dollop of lumpfish caviar. He clapped his hands in eager anticipation, then scooped up his creation. Before he could bring it to his mouth the door of his flat- a steel reinforced panel secured by no less than four locks- swung open. In the doorway knelt a feline man with smoke gray fur and deep, blue eyes. He wore a Navy blue turtleneck and slacks and held an assortment of gleaming, metal tools. Behind him stood Daitakerou. The ferret stared. His eyes- ringed by dark markings like spectacles- grew wider and wider. His hand, still holding the snack, quivered.
"Mazlow, I know about the Land Rover with the performance enhanced engine," Daitakerou said, stepping into the room. "I know that you obtained detailed structural drawings of Te Papa's lobby, main stairs, and several exhibit halls." He flexed his knees, lowering himself to Mazlow's eye level. "All that remains is for me to find out who requested these items of you and where they plan to hole up."
Mazlow swallowed. "Look, Daitakerou," he began in a quavering voice, "I have a professional reputation. I'm no good as a fixer if words gets around that I rat out clients."
"Which my employer appreciates, to be sure," Daitakerou replied. "You're without a doubt one of the best fixers in the business. Which is why I'm here. Only you could have set up the hit on Te Papa." His fingers caressed the hilt of his sword. "Unfortunately the people who did that upset my boss terribly. He wants to know who they were." The blade slid noiselessly out of its sheath. "If it helps your professional reputation, I'd be more than happy to coerce you." He held the sword before his face; his intensely blue eyes looked over the gleaming metal.
"I- I- I-" Mazlow's hands shook so violently he gripped the edge of the table to stop it. "If I tell you I won't be able to work again!"
"I understand how it works," Daitakerou replied in a reasonable tone. With his left hand he waved his companion forward. That worthy presented an attache case and opened it. Neatly arranged stacks of hundred dollar bills filled it to the brim. "Don't take long to choose, Mazlow," Daitakerou warned. "I haven't the time."
Mazlow stared at the money. His whole body vibrated. "All right!" He sighed heavily, seeming almost to deflate. "I'll take your money. There's five of them, all sheilas. First two are Aussies." He made it sound like 'Ozzies.' "The boss lady's named Alexsia deHaviland. Her squeeze is Matilda Wollenston."
"Squeeze?" the gray cat inquired in a thickly Slavic accent.
"Yeah." Mazlow writhed in embarrassment. "They're- you know- girl poofters."
"Right." Daitakerou nodded. "And the others?"
"Kiwis," Mazlow continued. "Three sisters. Jenny, Helen, and Ruth Romney."
"What are they planning to do with the mummy they stole?" Daitakerou asked.
"Don't know." Mazlow shrugged. "They never said, I never asked. Not my business. They had a stash or two somewhere out near Waiouru. I don't know where their safe house is. They didn't arrange it through me."
The ghost of a smile quirked Daitakerou's lips. "Smart of them," he commented. "Now tell me all the people you worked with on this project and who you suggested they go see to handle the rest of their arrangements."
"Pull over," Alexsia directed as the Land Rover approached the outskirts of Ohakune. "I'll drive for a while."
"Do we have time for a snack?" Zalika inquired.
Alexsia frowned. "What, the sheep wasn't enough?"
"Coming back to life is hard work."
"Sure, whatever." Alexsia opened the back and jumped down. Then an idea lit her face; she got out the camp stove, a loaf of bread, a tub of butter, and a jar of dark paste with a red and yellow label. "You want a snack, here's something that'll make a man out you," she declared. "Metaphorically speaking, of course."
"Indeed." Zalika watched while Alexsia toasted several slices of bread, then spread butter upon them. Lastly she applied just a dab of the dark paste to each slice. "What is that stuff?" Zalika inquired.
"Vegemite," Alexsia replied, passing a slice of treated toast to Matilda, who consumed it with evident appreciation. "Here, try some." She offered a slice to Zalika.
"Looks like worm shit," Zalika commented, taking the toast. After studying it for a moment she ate it. "Tastes like it too."
"Well, you sorta have to grow up with it, I guess," Alexsia said, rather tensely.
"Bloody Yank," Helen muttered.
"Where else in the world do people eat this wonderful substance?" Zalika inquired.
"Vegemite itself is mainly used in New Zealand and Australia," Alexsia replied. "It's based on a product sold in England and Canada."
"Figures," Zalika said. "Only the people who brought us chutney would have the cheek to market such a revolting substance as food. Though I suppose I shouldn't be surprised; it's a well known fact that English cuisine is a contradiction in terms. What is it anyway?" She took the jar and studied the label. "'Yeast extract?'" she read. "What, pray tell, is that?"
"Stuff that's left over from brewing beer," Alexsia replied.
Zalika's eyes widened, then narrowed. "You do realize that this is nothing but cleverly marketed industrial waste, right?" she inquired.
Alexsia shrugged. "Beer is spoiled grain. Honey is bee vomit. Cheese is spoiled milk. Cottage cheese is partially digested milk. So what?"
Zalika wrinkled her nose, then relaxed. "Point taken," she sighed, fluttering her fingers. The stove and foodstuffs- disputed or otherwise- packed themselves away.
"How are we going to find a replacement car?" Matilda wanted to know.
"If Darth here is making us invisible, we could go to a dealer and take whatever one we liked," Helen suggested out.
"No." Alexsia shook her head emphatically. "They may not notice us take the car but I'm betting they'll notice that its gone. It'll be reported stolen... and a car disappearing right out from under everyone's noses is just the sort of thing the people who are searching for us will be looking for."
"Besides," Zalika added, "The car's only invisible so long as I'm sitting in it and concentrating."
"So someone could come along and see it while we're sleeping," Alexsia concluded. "We need... at the very least a car that won't be missed right away."
"Why not buy one?" Zalika inquired.
"With what?" Ruth demanded acidly. "The money you make turning tricks?"
"Is prostitution legal in New Zealand?" Zalika replied without so much as batting an eye.
"Not technically, no," Alexsia explained. "It's illegal to ask someone to pay for sex but it isn't illegal to offer money for it."
"So if I go up to someone and say 'I'll have sex with you if you pay me a hundred dollars' it's a crime," Zalika began. "But if someone comes up to me and says 'I'll pay a hundred dollars if you'll have sex with me' it's not?"
"Right." Alexsia nodded.
"Really think you're worth a hundred bucks a throw?" Helen quipped.
"I find your lack of faith disturbing." Zalika gestured; Helen doubled over, yelping in pain.
"Zalika, stop it!" Alexsia took a step forward, her hand dropping to the hilt of her survival knife, in a sheath strapped to her right thigh.
Zalika's head turned. Alexsia found herself looking straight into those golden eyes... and then falling into them as they seemed to grow, and keep growing, until everything else faded out. Not like gone but... pushed away. Displaced.
Alexsia screamed. Zalika's eyes were gold because they were full of fire, as searingly bright and mercilessly hot as the sun's heart. Alexsia screamed and screamed as she found herself immersed in it, every part of her burning at its touch, all at once, inside and out-
The world returned suddenly. Alexsia found herself face down in the dirt at the edge of the road, her tongue laying in a patch of mud formed by spittle that had dribbled out of her mouth. The pain had left but even its memory hurt more than she cared to think about. She planted her hands and raised her shoulders, spitting out some dirt, and lifted her eyes. First they saw only Zalika's boots. Travelling upward, they passed over Zalika's BDU clad legs and hips to her torso, which so obscenely filled her tank top, and finally arrived at her face. Whereupon Alexsia realized something: Zalika's fur was really black. Not blue-black, as many blacks tended to look in bright light, but black black. Nor did the individual hairs of her pelt reflect much light. Net result was that the exposed parts of her body sometimes looked flat, lacking depth or definition. Having the bright sky behind her only enhanced the impression. Just then, to Alexsia, Zalika looked like impenetrable shadow compressed into a human shape. Not a person at all but the absence of one, a hole cut in reality, through which Alexsia saw whatever unimaginable emptiness lay beyond. Except for those eyes, which gleamed like stars in that empty infinity. Alexsia swallowed; for the first time she felt the scope of the dreadful power she'd awoken. Against that, all her visions of wealth were nothing but childish fantasies. Not even childish fantasies.
"And that wasn't even the two-bit scare," Zalika said, as if reading Alexsia's mind. She gestured, and Alexsia found herself suddenly upright... and Zalika, somehow, just a woman with black fur and golden eyes. "If I really went postal on your ass there wouldn't be enough left of it to stain a piece of blotting paper."
The most terrifying part of Zalika's statement, Alexsia decided, was that she didn't make it as a threat or even a promise. It was a simple observation of patently obvious reality, like saying that the sky was blue.
Zalika gestured again. Alexsia's clothes removed themselves from her body and deposited themselves in the Land Rover. Alexsia clutched at the hilt of her knife, which had reattached itself to her thigh after her trousers and undergarments went away. Not threateningly, as she had at first, but as a child might cling to a favorite toy: as a way of comforting herself in the face of almost overwhelming fear. No part of her mind seriously believed that mere steel would be of any use against Zalika.
"You three, up." Zalika pointed at the triplets and they bounced to their feet as if pulled by strings. Not figuratively, either; some force external to their bodies jerked them upright. Exactly like marionettes being lifted by their strings.
Alexsia gulped. The triplets weren't themselves any more. They were still triplets, yes, and still female... but no longer sheep. Somehow they'd become goats instead.
"You asked if I thought I was really worth a hundred bucks a throw," Zalika interjected just as Ruth noticed the change in herself and opened her mouth to comment. "In response I say this: for what I have to offer, people would give up all the money they had. They would give up their homes. All their worldly goods. Their spouses. Their children. Their souls." She turned toward the truck. The spare fuel cans detached themselves from their holders and decanted their contents over the Land Rover's interior. Zalika raised both hands, like a conductor calling for the first beat of a symphony, and the truck lifted into the air, turning around and setting down on the highway facing the opposite direction. It rolled onto the shoulder as if its driver had decided to pull over while driving that way. "After all, that's why you resurrected me, isn't it?" She tossed the comment over her shoulder, arching an eyebrow at Alexsia. Before Alexsia could think of anything to say Zalika turned back to the Land Rover and glared. Beams of golden light erupted from her eyes, as dazzlingly bright as the noonday sun. They lasted only a fraction of an instant, like a camera flash, but nevertheless Alexsia staggered back from their sheer intensity, blinking to clear pulsating after-images from her vision. She heard the Land Rover burst into flame as if Zalika had soaked it with napalm, and felt the searing heat. The fuel tank burst with a flat report, spilling a river of fire across the dirt. With the dry grass it would start a brush fire for sure.
"Here is the plan," Zalika announced, turning her back on the destruction she'd wrought. "We're very close to Ohakune. No more than twelve kilometers. We walk into town, find you all new clothing, and a place to spend the night. In the morning we arrange some form of alternate transportation to take us to Wellington." Her gaze focused on Alexsia. "Is there a problem, Ms. deHaviland?"
"No-" Alexsia began, but the deep, masculine sound of her own voice shocked her into silence. She clenched her hands and teeth, desperately wanting to know what Zalika had made her but equally afraid to look. Rather to her surprise she found that she was still a dingo. And yet... certain prominent portions of her anatomy were missing. To wit, her breasts. Continuing down, she found something added. In short, she wasn't a woman any more. Zalika had made her into a man. On the verge of panic she looked around for Matilda, whom she found standing beside her. Matilda at least was still female... and still recognizable, even, to someone who knew her intimately... but no longer an Australian shepherd. She'd become a rough collie, with an orange base fur color instead of black. At least Zalika had left her luscious figure intact, and even perhaps improved it a little.
"Good." Zalika nodded. "I'm sure I don't have to explain that this whole damn country's gonna be looking for five women, one dingo, one shepherd, and three sheep. Now you're just a young couple returning home with their new babies."
"Babies?" Ruth asked, her voice cracking slightly in the middle of the word.
"Yes, babies." Zalika gestured. The triplets flinched but didn't fall down. Instead, they... melted. Flesh dripped off them like wax from a candle. When the process finally stopped each of them sat in the center of an uneven ring of skin wrapped meat. And they were babies, or at least small children, each one no more than half a meter tall.
Jenny stared in wide-eyed horror at the shapeless pile of flesh that had, until seconds ago, been part of her body. Hesitantly she reached out, but jerked her hand back before making contact.
"But-" Alexsia head herself say.
"Yes, we'll have to carry them," Zalika interrupted. "But once we get to town, disposing of the excess mass could be problematical." She pointed and the rings of meat flung themselves into the burning Land Rover. "Now I suggest we get moving. That fire is going to attract attention."
In sort of a daze Alexia scooped up Helen and nestled her in the crook of her- his- arm. Zalika made to pick up Ruth but she scurried away, so Matilda took her up in addition to Jenny.
Zalika took the lead, setting a brisk but easy pace. Alexsia (Alex?) followed, with Matilda bringing up the rear. As an experiment of sorts Alexsia- Alex- let his gaze settle on Zalika's buttocks, which swayed in a most interesting manner when she walked. Despite that, he felt not even the slightest stirring of interest. He understood now that Zalika's body, however striking it might be, was nothing but a construct, built entirely for effect. Like expensive clothes, makeup, and fur styling taken to its logical conclusion. In point of fact, now that he thought about it, it occurred to Alex that whatever Zalika truly was had donned this body just as an ordinary person might don a suit of clothing. Which brought yet another thought to mind: putting on a uniform did not, in itself, make one a soldier. What, then, did that say about Zalika? Did putting on a human body make her human?
Alex's free hand absently caressed his now flat hip. Too late indeed.
Constable Kremmin carried a sheaf of papers as he entered Inspector Samson's office in the Wellington Central Police Station. "Inspector," he said, "You'll never guess what came in on the fax today." He laid the papers on the inspector's desk.
"Good Christ," the inspector breathed, picking up several of the sheets. The remains of a chew toy dangled in the corner of his mouth but didn't fall. "Are these authentic?"
"Yes," Kremmin replied. "Interpol confirms it and so does our own records department."
Inspector Samson flipped through the sheets one at a time. They included the complete police records of five individuals, all women. Three of them were sheep: Jenny, Helen, and Ruth Romney, identical triplets. Another was a border collie, Matilda Wollenston. Last was a dingo, Alexsia deHaviland. "Where did these come from?"
"A Kinko's on Taranaki Street," Kremmin replied. "No one saw anything."
Samson divided the papers into five stacks. "Have you looked at these?"
"Glanced through them," Kremmin allowed.
"Are they the ones?"
Kremmin considered for some moments before responding. "I believe so. They fit with what we've uncovered so far and they were given to us just when we needed them."
"By whom?"
"The Big Bad Wolf, of course."
Now Inspector Samson sat in thought for a time. "Why?" he asked.
"Big Bad Wolf has at least as much interest in keeping Daughter Night under wraps as we do," Kremmin replied. "His organization probably did most of the support work for the robbery and his investigative efforts are not hampered by points of law."
"Then why give us the information?" Samson wanted to know. "Why not use it himself?"
"I'm sure he is," Kremmin replied. "However, I doubt even he has the manpower for a nationwide manhunt. He figures to have us do his legwork for him."
Samson picked up two of the dossiers, the ones for Alexsia deHaviland and Matilda Wollenston. "Pity he couldn't just lay out the whole scheme while he was at it."
"I imagine he figures the Constabulary needs to do something to justify the tax dollars spent on it," Kremmin commented dryly. "For what it's worth, an investigation is already underway. Dr. Lathasar is conducting inquiries."
Samson grimaced. "I hope to Hell the press never finds out that we're using witchcraft to solve cases. We'll never hear the end of it."
"What Dr. Lathasar does is not witchcraft," Kremmin pointed out with a hint of an edge in his voice.
"Then how do you explain it, Constable?" Samson countered testily.
"How do you explain what Super Collie does?" Kremmin riposted.
Samson spat out the remains of his chew toy and sighed heavily. He pulled open a drawer in his desk- filled to the brim with chew toys- and selected a fresh one. "Why don't you just admit that you're in love with her, George?" he inquired.
Constable Kremmin said nothing. His face might as well have turned to granite for all it revealed... which in itself could be considered an answer.
"George, your 'fling' has been going on for six months," Samson pointed out sternly. "And-" his expression softened. "Every time you come back from spending the evening with her you look ten years younger." His expression hardened once more. "Paddy-Ann isn't coming back, George. The only way you'll be with her again is if you go back to England. If you were going to do that you would have already. Cymbeline's one Hell of a dish. She's mad about you and you're mad about her. What more do you need?"
Again George said nothing. Inspector Samson meant well but he didn't understand George and Cymbeline's relationship. George didn't care to explain it and wasn't so sure he could. He and Cymbeline were such different people, with different backgrounds and interests. What drew them together were shared experiences still too painful to talk about. The relationship worked because George and Cymbeline kept it free of emotional loading. They came together, had their pleasure, and parted without expectations or commitments. They were both doing it to bounce back and fully expected to part ways. Yet, as Inspector Samson pointed out, it somehow kept happening. Nor could he deny that Cymbeline's warm presence intoxicated him. Maybe it was time to take a step.
"What is our captivating Egyptologist doing right now?" Samson inquired.
"Running down-" Kremmin began. He'd been about to say clues. "Traces," he finally said. "Things that only... someone of her unique perspective would notice."
"Hm." Samson shifted his chew toy to the other side of his mouth. "I like to think of myself as a cosmopolitan man, firmly grounded in modern thought. I've comforted myself with the knowledge that New Age mysticism is so much hooey. Which means that Daughter Night scares the crap out of me, as much for what her existence implies as her demonstrated antisocial tendencies. I'd sleep a lot easier knowing that she's safely dead."
"Amen." George nodded gravely. All too clearly he recalled the terrible destruction and loss of life Daughter Night had inflicted upon the city of Wellington and its residents. "I'll get started on these," he announced, scooping up the dossiers. "There's bound to be something here we can use."
"I just pray to God those idiots didn't bring her back to life," Inspector Samson muttered darkly.
"Amen," George repeated, much more fervently. Daughter Night's defeat had been a very narrow thing. When he thought about what could have happened-
The Inspector's phone rang. "Samson," he replied, putting the receiver to his ear. A sequence of odd expressions flicked across his face. "I see," he said. "Thank you. 'Bye." He hung up. "Colonel Bathsfield of the Special Anti-Super Villain Squad is on his way up," he announced.
George rubbed his chin. The squad had been formed on the basis that leaving the nation's entire super defense to a single super hero wasn't prudent. He agreed fundamentally, but there seemed to be those who felt it could replace Super Collie. He didn't think that would be a good idea. Mobilizing to deal with Daughter Night had been the squad's first actual mission. Unfortunately that led to a highly publicized super battle in the Auckland Sky Tower- from which Daughter Night escaped, apparently unharmed, leaving two of the squad's battle suits moderately damaged. That the squad's anti-Super-Power Electronic Warfare modules had functioned exactly as planned, blocking many of Daughter Night's attacks, was not, regrettably, generally mentioned. The squad's second engagement with Daughter Night- which would have been a pitched battle between her and the entire unit in the streets of downtown Wellington- was averted by Super Collie, who defeated Daughter Night by exploiting a psychological weakness Dr. Lathasar had uncovered. There were some who said that Super Collie had denied the squad its chance to recover its honor, never mind that the battle would have resulted in tremendous collateral damage.
Someone knocked, then entered without waiting for a reply. It was a somewhat more than middle aged rhinoceros dressed in an Army of New Zealand uniform and with a pair of bottle bottom spectacles perched on his massive nose. "Good afternoon, gentlemen," he boomed. "I came as soon as I heard the news. Terrible thing, that." He shook his head, though he didn't look or sound particularly sorrowful. In fact, he seemed to be on the verge of capering with glee.
"Colonel." George nodded solemnly. The colonel hadn't approved of how Dr. Lathasar had planned to deal with Daughter Night: that is, mummifying her body and placing it in the Egyptian exhibit. He'd wanted to lock the body in a security vault, or better yet, destroy it. Cymbeline said that either course would anger Daughter Night's spirit, making her more likely to return and seek vengeance, should the opportunity arise. Fortunately she, with Super Collie's help, managed to convince the government that her solution was most sensible. It helped immensely that the mummy, as part of the exhibit, generated revenue and favorable publicity.
"You may be assured that the SASVS is taking this matter very seriously," the colonel briskly declared. "Our combat unit is standing by, ready for action, our science department is fully manned, and our investigative staff hard at work." Something in his eyes suggested that he felt the Wellington Constabulary might not be. "Do you have any idea how the robbers found out that mummy on display was, in fact, Daughter Night?"
Inspector Samson grimaced. To cover, he picked at his teeth with his chew toy. He wanted to say there wasn't any evidence that they did know. But then why steal only the mummy when there was so much other loot to be had? "We don't have any leads on that at this time," he said. "I would point out that, since the robbery only happened three days ago, we're still sorting through evidence."
The colonel glowered. "We can't have Daughter Night running around loose in this country, Inspector!"
Samson found himself longing to bite the colonel's leg. As if that thought never occurred to me, he thought darkly. "Have SASVS investigators discovered something?" he inquired.
"As a matter of fact they have." The colonel opened his briefcase and laid a folder on the inspector's desk. The inspector opened it. The very top page looked quite familiar. It was the top sheet of the Alexsia deHaviland dossier.
"I'm sorry, Colonel, but anonymous faxes don't count," the inspector announced.
"What?" The colonel glowered, he gave the impression being of a man it would be very dangerous to anger.
"At least, not when we got the same one," Samson continued. Kremmin turned up the stack he held, showing the identical top page.
Colonel Bathsfield's jaw dropped in shock. It was too much; the inspector burst out laughing.
Esmerelda dozed fitfully in the passenger seat as Cymbeline's Mitsubishi Pajero sped north along State Highway One. From behind the wheel Cymbeline spared a glance at her companion and frowned. She didn't like this one bit; Esmerelda looked like she hadn't slept in days. The robbers of themselves were armed and dangerous; they'd shot half a dozen security guards, one of whom had died. If they had resurrected Daughter Night-
"Slow down," Esmerelda said suddenly. Cymbeline flinched; she'd pushed the Pajero's speed to well above the open road limit. Esmerelda's sense of driving urgency had infected her more than she'd realized.
"More," Esmerelda added. "We'll be turning off soon."
"Where?" Cymbeline glanced quickly left and right. The central plateau wasn't exactly built up. There wasn't much to see other than rolling grassland. Now, with the sun set, there wasn't even so much of that visible except what the Pajero's head lamps illuminated.
"There." Esmerelda pointed.
Cymbeline would have missed the turning had not Esmerelda pointed it out. She probably would have missed it in total daylight. She pulled off- and after a moment's consideration switched to four wheel drive. Where Esmerelda wanted to go wasn't really a road at all, just a track through the wilderness. "Any idea how much farther?" she inquired.
Esmerelda shook her head. "No. Not really."
The Pajero had extra lights on the fender and a row of them across the top of the cab in addition to headlights but even with all that driving the track at night proved treacherous. Several times, despite Cymbeline's best efforts, the truck went off the track and into a hole. Each time she managed to wiggle out, though at the cost of one light and some minor body damage. An hour and a half after leaving the main road her luck ran out. She turned to avoid what looked like a ditch- and found that the track had washed out. She hit the brakes but the dirt gave way. The truck slid nose-first into a shallow ravine.
"I'll take care of it," Esmerelda announced, opening her door and scrambling out. It looked bad; both sides of the ravine were too steep for the truck to climb. They'd either have to dig or winch out. Since the Pajero lacked a winch that left digging. She took off her shepherd's crook pendant and raised it above her head. "By the Mystic Power of the Shepherd I am transformed," she said.
Light streamed between Esmerelda's fingers. The pendant suddenly grew into a full sized staff of wood. The light flowed down her arm and across her body; her clothes seemed to melt and reform into the blue and gold costume of Super Collie. Only her glasses remained; she took them off and tucked them into the top of her right boot. She pulled out the ribbon holding her mane in a bun; it spilled loose down across her shoulders. The ribbon went into the top of her other boot. Then she studied the ravine's far side. She propped her staff against the ridge of dirt and started tearing at it with her fingers the way a dog would dig for a bone. Dirt and stones flew; dust filled the air. In no more than a minute or so she'd excavated a ramp and filled the ravine's bottom. She leapt up behind the truck- in a single, casual bound- and hoisted it by the rear fender, scooting it forward and lowering it into the ditch. Cymbeline drove easily up the ramp; Super Collie completed her work by cutting a ramp in the opposite direction. After dusting her hands and shaking out her fur she resumed her place beside Cymbeline.
"I think I'd better change into my outfit too," Cymbeline commented, reaching behind her and retrieving a case.
"Are you sure?" Super Collie asked.
Cymbeline nodded. "If I don't need it, the worst that'll happen is I'll be embarrassed. If I do need it..." she let the thought trail off. She took the case around behind the truck and got in back. She stripped off all her clothing, folding and stacking it neatly. From the case she extracted a white linen sheath dress; it fit snugly over her body and left her breasts bare. She accessorized it with arm bands, bracelets, and a large necklace supporting a pendant in the form of two S-shaped rods gripping a gold disk between them. She used eyeliner pencil to draw dark lines around both her eyes, including prominent tear lines at the corners. Lastly she donned a black wig; the hair had been braided into dreadlocks and decorated with beads.
"Is that how a priestess of Isis would dress?" Super Collie inquired when Cymbeline climbed back into the driver's seat.
Cymbeline shook her head. "Not historically, no. This outfit is... an amalgam of things, designed to exploit various effects. It's fair, I think; after all, Daughter Night did it first."
"But she doesn't need trinkets to call the spirits into herself," Super Collie pointed out.
"She's had three thousand years to integrate the spirits into herself," Cymbeline replied. "I've only been working on it for a year. And, I would point out, look what it cost her. There's really nothing left of the woman she was in ancient Egypt. Only spirits, mashed together into something like the shape of a human soul."
Super Collie gazed out into the darkness. Cymbeline had explained Daughter Night as being something like a fossil. Just as stone gradually replaced bone to become a counterfeit of something once alive inhuman powers had infused Daughter Night, replacing her living force with their own, creating a thing that looked and acted like a human being but wasn't, really. Because the powers were eternal, existing outside of any individual life, Daughter Night was, theoretically, eternal as well. The only way to banish her forever would be to unbind the powers locked within her. Cymbeline had learned a great deal by poring over the writings of ancient Egyptian wizards but sorcery of such magnitude wasn't a thing that could be mastered in a short time. Sometimes Super Collie wondered if even a lifetime would be enough. She had a vision of her descendants, generation after generation of Guardian Shepherds, fighting Daughter Night over and over again into eternity. She shivered.
Forty minutes later Cymbeline slammed the truck to a halt. Super Collie started; she'd dozed. She glanced at Cymbeline, meaning to ask what was wrong, but the expression on Cymbeline's face stopped her cold. Her whole body quivered and her face was drawn. She wasn't merely afraid, she was absolutely terrified. Super Collie looked around quickly. She saw nothing but grass and scrub but she felt a strange chill that had nothing to do with the night air. She felt the presence of something terrible and dark. Now, for the first time, she wondered at the wisdom of coming at night. But after communing with the spirits of shepherd past she'd felt a terrible urgency and this was the only place she knew where their investigation could begin. "Cymbeline," Super Collie said, gently squeezing Cymbeline's upper arm. "We're here. It's time."
Cymbeline nodded. Her fingers shook as she opened the driver's door and climbed out. She switched off the lights and darkness fell. She whispered words and made gestures that left trails of eerie silver fire in the air. The design vanished- and all around a pale, ethereal glow sprang up, clinging to the rocks and grass like St. Elmo's Fire. In one area, though, no light formed. It seemed to be a pool of impenetrable darkness laying in a shallow depression. Super Collie swallowed hard and stepped up to it. She found herself at the edge of a circle drawn in the dirt; in it lay a smear of fine ash, now dispersed by the wind. The grass around it was dead and dry.
"We're too late," Cymbeline said. "They've already brought her back to life."
Super Collie only nodded. Somehow she'd known that all along.
Cymbeline knelt. She made a gesture and a ball of light appeared in her palm. She inspected the circle, paying close attention to the designs scraped in the soil around its periphery. "Well well," she commented.
"What is it?" Super Collie inquired.
"The ceremony they used to resurrect her wasn't Egyptian," Cymbeline replied. "Australian Aborigine, by the look of it." She peered at a small, black ape statue sitting amid the ash. When she tried to pick it up it crumbled into dust.
"Is that important?" Super Collie asked.
Cymbeline frowned. "I'm not sure yet. I'd say probably so. I think they might have introduced some new spirits into the equation."
"Great," Super Collie muttered.
"Maybe not so bad," Cymbeline temporized. She whispered more words and gestured; golden light filled the lines like liquid welling up from the ground. Then the light itself lifted into the air, swirling and dancing like leaves on the wind. Super Collie heard a strange sound- like a digiridoo, almost- and a voice. She couldn't hear it well enough to make out words, or even the language spoken, but she head a laugh at the end of it. the lights vanished, like embers of a fire carried away by the wind. Cymbeline sat back on her heels and rubbed her chin thoughtfully.
"Did it tell you something?" Super Collie asked.
"Yes and no," Cymbeline replied. "It spoke to me, yes, but I don't know the language." She opened her case and put several spoonfuls of ash into a medicine bottle. "I'll have to have it translated." She got out a heavy gold disk; a design like an eye was inscribed in its surface and filled with blue enamel. She poured a spoonful of ash onto the iris and began chanting. The air above the disk shimmered. An image began to form-
Something roared. A black jackal face with blazing golden eyes appeared, is mouth open impossibly wide. It snapped its jaws shut on the still coalescing image, shattering it into a spray of sparkling light, then vanished in a puff of inky blackness.
"What happened?" Super Collie demanded.
Cymbeline sighed, putting away the disk. "Daughter Night broke the spell," she replied. "And now she knows someone's looking for her."
"Hmm." Super Collie looked around. "Magic is all well and good but let's not forget good old fashioned police work. Shine your light around; I want to take a look at the scene."
In the process of her investigation Super Collie discovered several pairs of discarded handcuffs. When she picked one up she yelped and dropped it immediately. "Cymbeline, it burned me!" she exclaimed.
Cymbeline inspected the handcuffs. She tested their temperature by holding her fingers just above them. They felt as cold as one would expect of metal laid out at night. She whispered the words to another spell; her fingers glowed with a pale, yellowish light that seemed to shine right through the metal as if it were transparent. It revealed an eerie, swirling blackness. "I think I know what happened," she said. "There's a strong residue of Daughter Night's power on these cuffs. I think that's what you felt."
Super Collie waved her hand over the cuffs without actually touching them. She felt the sensation again, not quite so intensely, and shivered. It wasn't burning, as she'd first thought, but cold. She inspected her fingers, half expecting to find them frostbitten, but the residue seemed to have no physical effect. She glanced uneasily at the circle and decided to stay away from it. "I can tell you what probably happened," she announced. "A truck arrived. Several people, all female, got out and set up a camp. They killed two sheep, which were penned over there. They cooked dinner on a gas stove. Later, two other vehicles arrived. Two people, both male, got out. They- um-" Super Collie shifted uneasily- "found the women having, ah, sex. Two in the back of the truck, the rest in the tent. They handcuffed the women, then abandoned them, stripped, and engaged in sex. The women took off their handcuffs without unlocking them. The women packed up their gear and left. Some time later the men packed up what remained and left."
"Now that definitely puts an interesting spin on things," Cymbeline commented.
"How so?" Super Collie wanted to know.
"They brought Daughter Night to life using the spirit of a sheep."
"Does that matter?" Super Collie wanted to know.
"Where spirits are concerned everything matters," Cymbeline insisted. "Now they've infused her with the spirit of a sheep on top of everything else."
Super Collie shrugged. "Maybe that's a good thing. Sheep aren't exactly known for their violent, anti-social tendencies."
Cymbeline laughed. "You are right about that. And I think this may be the first break we've had so far." She looked at Super Collie, her eyes sparkling mischievously. "If our robbers expected the ravening beast of destruction that laid waste to Wellington last year they may be in for a bit of a surprise."
Constable Hardiman paced slowly through the exhibit hall. All the broken glass, damaged display cases, and spilled artifacts had been swept up. Looking only here, and not at the building's shattered entryway, one might almost think there had never been a robbery. Except that the missing mummy, more than anything else, left a hole in the exhibit over which the eye tended to stumble. Even that wasn't the most obvious thing to Constable Hardiman. What irresistibly drew his eye every time he crossed the room was a dark stain on the arm and skirt of the incongruously placed samurai warrior. He'd seen his fair share of motorway accidents, fights, and other mishaps; he knew what dried blood looked like, even though it barely showed against dark bronze and iron. Far worse in Hardiman's eyes, that blood belonged to a dead man, though he hadn't died right there. A dead man who was only a step removed from being a police officer. Somehow that made it infinitely worse.
As he completed his walk and turned at the end of it a sound drew the constable's attention. He whirled- and saw nothing. It had sounded like... a faint squeak. Vaguely metallic, somehow. He held perfectly still, scanning the room with his eyes. He saw no movement, nothing out of place. Still, now wasn't the time to take chances. "Hardiman to base," he reported, keying his radio. "Investigating possible disturbance." He wasn't especially concerned; there were more constables and museum guards scattered throughout the building. If anything happened backup would arrive in seconds. Slowly, carefully, he paced through the entire hall, checking every nook and cranny. Some might say he took this assignment too seriously but he would disagree. Te Papa wasn't merely a museum, it was the nation's museum. The name said it all: in Maori it meant Our Place. The theft of the mummy and violation of the building itself weren't merely crimes. They were an affront to the very people of New Zealand.
Again Hardiman heard the squeak, more clearly this time. He whirled. He still couldn't see anything different. He lifted his radio, debating with himself wether or not he should call for backup. He did feel silly yelling for help against strange noises that could have an entirely innocuous explanation-
The radio slipped from Hardiman's fingers and clattered to the floor. He finally noticed the change. He'd seen it before but his mind rejected it. Now it was too extreme; he couldn't pretend that it hadn't happened. The Kamakura tomb guardian stood erect, his hands at his sides. Up until now he'd been crouching, his hands upon the hilts of his swords.
Constable Hardiman stood frozen, unable to move or speak. He'd gladly face down an armed criminal but this was something for which neither his training nor experience prepared him. He found himself unable to look away from the guardian's face, with its empty eyes and grotesquely grimacing mouth. They weren't empty any more; he saw something there. A pale glow, barely visible even in the turned down lighting.
The guardian's gauntleted right hand rose to the hilt of his katana, or long sword, and drew it from the sheath. It slid with a faint rasping sound. Intricate engraving coated the gray, iron blade, highlighted by the same eerie glow as the eyes. With a casual flick of the wrist he cut the velvet ropes surrounding his pedestal. It did occur to Hardiman that no blade made of iron should be able to hold an edge that sharp, especially not one several hundred years old. The warrior stepped down from the pedestal and walked forward, sword still in hand. He halted face to face with the constable, looking slightly upward because he wasn't very tall, in spite of his bulk. Hardiman found himself looking straight into those empty eyes. The glow behind them showed more brightly now; instead of originating within the helmet it seemed more like a window into strange, infinite depths. They seemed to grow, swelling into lakes of cold, blue fire. Constable Hardiman felt himself plunge into them and disappear.
Zalika sat up suddenly, drawing a sharp breath. Alex, in the other bed, snapped awake and sat up. "What happened?" he asked.
"I- I felt- I felt-" Zalika began.
"A disturbance in the Force?" Jenny suggested. "Like a million voices cried out in terror, then were silenced?"
"No." Zalika flung off the covers and rose to her feet. "Like someone walked over my grave." She opened the curtains on the room's front window and looked into the night. It didn't seem to bother her in the least that she was exhibiting her nakedness for all to see. "Someone found where you raised me and tried to divine my location through sorcery."
Matilda, who lay at Alex's side, gasped. "Did they succeed?"
"No," Zalika replied. "I deflected the attempt. But it would seem that Dr. Lathasar has grown considerably in power and ability since I encountered her last."
"You're sure it was Dr. Lathasar?" Alex inquired.
"No," Zalika replied. "But it was a woman using an Egyptian spell. I'd say that narrows the possibilities significantly."
"Should we leave?" Matilda asked worriedly.
For a long time Zalika said nothing, continuing to stare out the hotel window. "No," she finally said. "They won't find us before morning. They're... on our trail but far behind. If we're careful they'll lose us."
Alex nodded, though Zalika faced away from him. Matilda put her head against his shoulder; he slipped an arm around her and drew her close.
Zalika remained by the window. There was something else, too. Something she couldn't place... but which felt somehow familiar. She didn't mention it because she didn't know what it was and had no idea how to counter it. A response would have to wait until additional information became available. Her companions, meanwhile, would only worry themselves unnecessarily. Frankly, she found them somewhat perplexing. They worried about a lot of things Zalika didn't see as particularly important.
"Zalika, are you going back to bed?" Alex inquired. Seeing her standing there made him nervous. The idea of something Zalika considered worrisome wasn't exactly conducive to restful sleep.
Zalika's eyes narrowed, her hand tightening on the curtains. She'd selected her spirits based on the abilities they gave her. Unfortunately they also came with behavioral inclinations that were not especially compatible. She felt them pulling at her, this way and that, until she seemed to be coming apart at the seams. Then Esmerelda- Super Collie- showed it as a serious weakness. But even then it hadn't bothered her until now. Last year in Wellington she'd looked into Esmerelda's mind. She'd glimpsed a person who, despite setbacks and distractions, knew who she was and what she was about. Until that point it never occurred to Zalika that she didn't know, or even that it mattered. But it did matter. During her entire existence she'd been nothing but a spectator to her own life, bobbing along like a stick in a stream. Everything she'd ever done had been to serve others, be they people or her own spirits. She wanted to serve herself for once- but how to do that when she didn't know who she was? "No," she declared suddenly. "I'm going to take a walk. I'll be back before sunup. If anything happens-" She hesitated. What did she really owe these people? They'd brought her to life, sure, but for their own selfish- and short sighted- purposes. "If anything happens I'll get you out, one way or another." Saying that felt extraordinarily satisfying and at first she didn't know why. Then she did: because she'd done it. By herself and for herself. In that instant she felt something she hadn't experienced in a long time, if ever. She felt happy.
"What if they kill us?" Matilda squeaked.
Zalika rolled her eyes. They still didn't get it. "Then I'll bring you back to life." Her outline blurred and she walked into the hotel room's front wall. The darkness around her seemed to soak into the wall like water into a sponge; she passed through it with no more impediment than through air. The black puddle remained for an instant before shrinking away and vanishing.
"All that means is we can't get away, even in death," Helen muttered. She, Jenny, and Ruth bedded with Alex and Matilda, even though that left a whole bed for Zalika alone.
"Put a sock in it, will you?" Alex snapped. More sharply than necessary, perhaps... but the comment paralleled his own thoughts.
"They're afraid, that's all," Matilda whispered.
And you suppose I'm not? Alex wanted to say but didn't. What would be the use of starting an argument? He sighed, putting a hand on Matilda's cheek. She nuzzled it. Alex looked down at her and smiled wanly. Matilda licked Alex's muzzle. The playful lick Alex offered in return became something more serious even as he gave it. The tension of the fast few days demanded an out. Besides, it felt entirely natural and proper to hold Matilda, to kiss her, to caress her, to-
The feeling of his erection pressing against Matilda's thigh brought Alex up short. That wasn't familiar at all.
Matilda bit her lip. Then, very deliberately, she put her leg over Alex's hip and shifted herself into a sitting position, straddling his pelvis.
"I-" Alex stammered.
"Sh," Matilda interrupted, silencing Alex with a finger on his lips. "You're still my friend. My lover. That's all that matters." She reached between her legs, guiding Alex's shaft as she lowered herself onto it.
Arguments flashed through Alex's mind. They were on the lam. Zalika might come back at any moment. They were sharing their conjugal bed with three other people. And he was a man, for heaven's sake. But none of them reached his lips. As Matilda's hips thrust against his own all that came out of his mouth was a sigh.
On the TV monitor Constable Hardiman entered the exhibit hall. He looked at the Kamakura guardian, then at everything else. At the far side of the room he stopped suddenly, glancing over his shoulder. He spoke into his radio then went over the room again, more thoroughly this time. Halfway through he stopped again and looked straight at the bronze statue. An expression of indescribable horror spread across his features. His radio dropped from his hand. His eyes rolled up and he fell in an untidy heap. The tape ended.
"What happened to the security cameras?" Inspector Samson wanted to know. He kept fingering the left breast pocket of his trench coat. It was where he used to keep his cigarettes.
"According to the power company, a transformer shorted out," Constable Nordenfelt reported. "It caused a voltage transient that damaged a lot of the museum's security electronics as well as knocking out line power."
"All that money for cameras with battery backup and they're fucking useless," Samson snarled. Unable to contain himself any longer he leapt to his feet and paced savagely. He reminded Kremmin of Al Pacino in Dog Day Afternoon. His expression and demeanor reminded Kremmin of Al Pacino in Scarface.
"Who arrived first on the scene?" Kremmin asked in an effort to bring the investigation back on track.
"I did." Constable Satterwood raised her hand. "I saw just what you did: Hardiman and the statue were gone, with no trace of where they went. I called a security alert and ordered the building closed. We searched the entire area and found nothing."
"Fuck!" Samson tore the chew toy from his mouth and dashed it across the room. It skipped off the conference table, missing Constable Fry's head only because he flinched out of the way. "First the mummy, now this. It doesn't matter what the Hell we did or what really happened. No one will belive this wasn't the result of gross incompetence. Once again the Constabulary takes it right in the arse." He stormed out of the room, smashing the door open as he went. Several constables flinched but the door didn't slam shut. Someone caught it at the last moment and swung it open gently. Colonel Bathsfield entered.
"Before I say what I must, I wish to emphasize that in no way is it to be construed as a lack of faith in the Constabulary in general or the fine officers involved," the colonel began. "It is obvious to myself and everyone in the government that the Constabulary has done everything within its power to deal with the situation. Nor has any individual officer behaved in anything less than an exemplary fashion. However, it is regrettably apparent that the situation has moved beyond what our constables, however dedicated, are prepared to handle. As such, the Prime Minister has ordered me to place the Special Anti-Super Villain Squad on alert and assume operational control of this investigation."
The colonel went on but Constable Kremmin paid no mind. He found himself staring at the colonel's eyes. Though the colonel gave the impression of taking over reluctantly, only at the direct command of his superiors, there burned in his eyes something that Kremmin could only call an unholy glee. I hope Esmerelda and Cymbeline turn up something, he thought despairingly. If so there might still be a chance to resolve the situation peacefully. If not... he felt events rushing forward at an ever more frenetic pace. He couldn't shake the feeling that a disastrous crack-up waited at the end of it.
Ohakune did not appear to have much of a night life. As Zalika strolled along the road, seemingly unaffected by the night chill in spite of her lack of dress, she saw very little activity. But she felt a great deal: the thoughts, dreams, fears, neuroses, and dark desires of an entire community swirled around her. Eventually she arrived at a public house; upon entering she found herself assaulted by tobacco smoke and noise from two different televisions. One showed a football match, the other news. An announcer talked, his voice unintelligible against the background noise. Then he disappeared, replaced by... a scene from Hell. Thick black smoke and dark red flames billowed from partially collapsed buildings. Cars and trucks burned, their fuel creating rivulets of fire across the roadway. If one knew where to look there were bodies too, charred, blackened things that looked more like crumbs out of a deep fryer than anything that might once have been human. One year ago, the caption read. Zalika shivered; it didn't seem like a year to her. But then being dead affected one's sense of time. As the camera picked out details of the destruction Zalika stared, unable to tear her eyes away. She remembered doing this, unleashing the Fire of Ra's Eye to burn all it touched, but these images were new to her. She hadn't paid any attention to what she'd wrought. Not until afterward, at any rate. She found an empty table and sat down. Zalika hadn't ever actually seen an American bar. However, the American archeologist whose mind and body she'd taken over had. From his memories she drew a comparison: most notably the pub lacked bar stools and pool tables. In their pla