Changeling: An Urban Musical Crime Fantasy - Chapter 1

A brief note from the author:

Welcome, readers, to the first book of Jenny/Marcus Wrigley. Before we get started, I want to take a moment to introduce you to the narrator, who never takes the time to introduce herself in this tale, or in her past storytelling efforts. She’s worked as the narrator in Touched, Blood Relations and Shadow Walker, and this will be her last story with Jenny/Marcus before Apollo takes over the role in the next book.

(Yes, there already is a next book, and you’re either going to love the new narrator, or call for my slow burning death.)

But this narrator, objective and distanced, is Shiva, a demigod of death and destruction. In this world, Shiva used to be a male demigod, but he castrated and then transformed himself into a female.

He did this after his followers stoned another demigod to death, Mars. Mars could partially be blamed, since he refused to transubstantiate to avoid physical injury. In effect, his stubborn male pride kept him fighting even after he’d been grievously wounded with a cold iron blade.

Shiva decided that wasn’t how he wanted to go down, and he became a she. Shiva stepped away from the Earth as a physical presence, but she remained behind as an insubstantial observer. She follows people of interest to her, people who lead lives of extreme violence or darkness. You might say that bloody death is her fixation.

This is how she stumbled across Amber, and how she met Jenny. She’ll tell you the story of how Jenny uncovered her genetic heritage and discovered her true calling as a bard. Shiva won’t mention herself, but she is present in every scene. She is omniscient, knowing everything as it happens.

This is her last book with Jenny. So Shiva wanted me to pass along this message to you:

“For the last time, there’s no such thing as head hopping if I know everything! It’s not my fault if you get confused following the thoughts of multiple characters in the same scene. If I’m confusing you, I hear Barney has picture books with little words.”

Uh...Shiva doesn’t get out often.

Sorry about that.

Right, on with the story...

Chapter One

Thursday, February 5, 1998

Amarillo, Texas

If the biggest spell you can cast is water the size of a baseball, you’d better pray for an invasion of sprites. Marcus Wrigley stopped humming to snort at the thought, and with his focus lost, the ball of water floating in front of him dropped.

It splashed on the grass before he could capture it again.

Sighing, Marcus straightened up and glanced over the top of his narrow, oval-shaped sunglasses to survey the back yard. The high wooden fence surrounding the property ensured that no one except for two neighbors could see into the yard, and then only if they were in one of the back rooms on the second floors of their homes.

The neighbors who could look in on him from their houses weren’t home during the day, but Marcus still felt paranoid about checking the windows of the house on his right, and then the house directly behind his parents’ home.

For the time being, he had to practice in secret. Most normal humans thought magic was myth. Marcus had counted himself among the normal people despite his unique traits and in spite of the unique company he’d kept.

He’d lived with witches and vampires, and many, many magi. He’d known halflings and mutants. He even knew a kitsune.

But in spite of his connections to the mystical ranks, Marcus thought of himself as a cross-dresser with severe schizophrenia. He played a mage or a wizard in role playing games, and Jenny collected stuffed unicorns and costumes. They were both fantasy loving nerds and proud of their hobbies.

Marcus thought of Jenny’s persona as a feminine extension of himself, an imaginary little sister who he protected and nurtured into a delusional role with her own charming quirks to set her apart from him.

When it came to his having magical abilities, Marcus had been clued in by his older brother, who in turn had been educated in magic by a wandering halfling.

But the truth did not set Marcus free. On the contrary, it tied him down to more obligations to be carefully observant. He had to make sure nobody was watching him while he practiced summoning water.

The task of enlightening the humans would fall to other races, or to other people, Marcus thought.

He was half right, anyway.

No one watched Marcus from either vantage point, and he started humming to himself while he formed another water drop.

His intended aim was to make something big fast. He had a theory about how to use one baseball-sized drop of water as a defensive move. It would require an emergency situation arising before he could test his theory. But since he only knew how to cast one spell, he was determined to improve upon it. He wanted more water, and he wanted to generate it faster, perhaps in something less than one second.

The tune he hummed, Raindrops Keep Falling on My Head, helped him to focus and push away all other distracting thoughts. It was a discovery he’d made after his older brother Felix had called him back to Amarillo to live with their parents again.

Felix had told him to focus on the sound of water to summon it, to listen for a splashing sound. Marcus didn’t hear anything at first except for a tune inside his head.

The melody often changed, depending on his mood, and he’d discovered that if he started humming, he could hear the splash of the water element. Humming also honed his concentration, and certain songs allowed him to turn a tiny raindrop into a much larger globe.

Aside from water, Marcus couldn’t hear the other elements. No matter how Felix tried to describe the sounds, Marcus got nothing. Felix and Simone could bend reality to their whims, and all Marcus could do was summon water.

Marcus didn’t complain because he was happy just being able to cast one spell. A longtime gamer, he’d often wondered what it was like to be a mage. Which was funny, because he’d been a mage all along. He just didn’t know it.

Only a few days after he’d first learned to summon water, Marcus noticed how important humming a melody in his head was for maintaining his focus, and he began going through the songs he knew in an effort to find out which tunes gave the best magical results.

He’d also discovered a new file format on the Internet, a nifty compression technique called MP3. He’d spent many long nights downloading songs using his parents’ dial-up connection, his finger hovering over the mouse button while he waited for the ding that announced another file was finished.

He hunted the MP3 newsgroups for everything from the fifties up, and he often went to bed with the computer churning through huge lists of songs to download. In the mornings, he burned CDs to play throughout the day. From these CDs, he’d developed an internal catalog of songs, a “mental playlist” that dominated his thoughts.

He could change the current song if he was in the mood to hear something else, but from the moment he woke up to the moment he fell asleep, Marcus had two obsessions; music and magic.

Since Felix had woken up the magic inside Marcus, he’d also stirred something else, something primal that Marcus didn’t understand yet. But he felt certain the answer was in finding the right song, and being a nerd who loved research, he committed himself to studying as much music as he could to find that one perfect melody.

His research didn’t always yield the desired results. Many of the songs he downloaded made him want to sing, even to improvise new lyrics. In his opinion, that would be bad for his concentration.

Marcus pushed away those tunes and their siren calls to join in the music, to merge with it and become a part of the song.

The water drop swelled to the largest size that he could manage. He still needed two seconds, but he was able to keep it suspended without problems. Raising his voice, Marcus held out his hand and forced the ball to hit his palm.

He intended to maintain control, making the surface stiff for a “water punch.”

Holding together the globe after the initial impact required more energy and focus than he could muster, so instead of a punch, the best he could manage was a wet slap.

This was slightly less effective than hitting someone with a water balloon.

Marcus thought, But if I hit someone on the bridge of their nose, I could temporarily blind them.

He wasn’t entirely sure of this idea. He was summoning pure water, and it would probably only grant him the one or two seconds it took for his victim to wipe their eyes.

Whether or not the idea would work in practice, he wouldn’t find out until he needed to blind somebody. If it didn’t work, there likely wouldn’t be a chance to come up with a backup plan.

Marcus cast aside his doubts. They would only make summoning the element harder. He changed to a new tune from the “playlist” in his head, I Love a Rainy Night.

He continued to cast water as fast as he could, each time attempting in vain to hold onto the surface to deliver something harder than a light slap on his palm.

He sat with his legs crossed underneath himself in an Indian style, and his baggy dark blue jeans had become warm in the late morning sun. His oversized black T-shirt was even warmer, and the sun had heated his long, light blond hair, which spilled down his neck and over his slender back.

Despite being early February, the north Texas area had already returned to Spring weather, allowing him to spend more time outside.

With his return to spending time in the sun, his mood improved. Everyone noticed it, commenting that Marcus should spend more time on the day shift, and less time at night in the glow of the computer monitor.

He still stayed up late, but he made a point to spend more time outside during the afternoon.

Smiling, Marcus thought, I’m a lizard now.

Which dropped another water globe on the grass.

Sighing, Marcus changed tunes and hummed louder.

He was not uncomfortable despite baking in the heat for several hours, and the sunlight made his task of focusing easier. The warmer he got, the more relaxed he felt.

He entered a zone, not noticing that the size of his spells were increasing with his every effort.

The next song he pulled up in his mental playlist brought the urge to make up new lyrics for the familiar tune. The desire became so strong that he couldn’t resist swaying his shoulders as he listened to the first bars of the song. He started to hum them, and the surface of the globe rippled, responding to his voice.

He smiled and started to sing, “Long as I remember, I’ve wanted to cast spells. Instead I was a gamer. I racked up role-play sales. Along comes my big brother, he says I’ve come of age. So I wonder, yes I wonder. Am I a mage?”

The globe expanded, much bigger than he’d managed on his last attempt. He stared uncertainly at the grapefruit-sized sphere before he decided to see what a second verse would do. “I only know one spell, but bro knows thousands more. Took his lessons from a halfling—”

The patio door behind Marcus slid open, and he stopped singing. He was just turning his head to see who was coming outside when the water globe exploded. After weeks of trying to make a water punch, the water slap was shocking because of the flaring pain in his cheek and the frigid temperature of the water.

The water turned icy because the energy he’d expended to cast the spell had become negative when he stopped the song. With the reverse of the energy’s alignment, the spell’s intended effect also violently inverted, casting away the water at a high rate of speed.

This should have been an obvious clue to Marcus in how his powers worked.

It wasn’t. Marcus knew that music helped him to concentrate, but neither he nor his alter ego, Jenny, had yet made the connection that they needed music as a component of their spells.

Marcus and Jenny both trained under the assumption that they were the same kind of mage as Felix, but in reality, they were magic users of vastly different classifications. Felix trying to teach Marcus and Jenny magic was as useless as an opera instructor giving vocal lessons to a fledgling street mime.

Which explained why, even months after he’d started training, Marcus’ best efforts blew up in his face.

His cheek still stinging, Marcus shook his hand as he swiveled his head around the other way to see who was coming out from the kitchen. He’d needed to turn his head because his vision was still blurring in his other eye.

He made a mental note: Yes, if I hit someone with pure water that hard, I’ll blind them for more than two seconds.

Dean Wrigley, Marcus’ father, was dressed in his usual unfashionable way, with tacky plaid pants in a checked purple theme, and an argyle pattern polo shirt with diamond shapes in shades of neon green and yellow.

Some people dressed to impress, but Dean always looked like his intention was to offend. He wasn’t color blind, so he understood what hideous combinations he wore, and he reveled in being “bad.”

Marcus felt it proved that Dean was evil, but in a light, fluffy kind of way.

He had almost grown used to his father’s habit for bad clothing, but the troubled frown Dean wore as he crossed the patio was out of place for him. He was always smiling, always joking.

Dean’s worried frown pulled at Marcus’ nerves and made him feel cold in spite of the warm weather.

Behind Dean was a woman in a pastel lavender polyester pantsuit and a white blouse. She wore a clunky silver chain necklace, and dangling chains of silver hung from her ears.

She wore makeup, too much in Marcus’ opinion. The foundation and bronzing powder she’d spackled on hid her natural color, giving her a fake orange tone. Her cheeks were dusted in a plum blush, and she wore lime green eye shadow.

In short, her makeup was as badly chosen as Dean’s outfits.

Marcus didn’t recognize the woman, but when she saw him, she recognized him. Her rouge-painted lips faulted in a partial smile, and then she covered her mouth with her hand. Every finger was wrapped in gaudy silver jewelry.

Marcus thought, She wouldn’t be very popular with vampires.

He got up and rubbed his palm over the back of his jeans while he watched his father and the unknown woman approaching.

Dean spoke first, his voice filled with shame. “Marcus...” He dropped his head. “I’ve been meaning to tell you the truth for a while now, but somehow, I kept getting distracted by other things.”

Marcus frowned with confusion while his gaze swept back and forth between Dean and the woman. “It’s okay, Dad. I’ve had that happen to me before.”

“Yeah.” Dean coughed and turned his head in a sideways gesture toward the woman, but he wouldn’t make eye contact with Marcus. “When you told us about Jenny, that was something Carmen and I were supposed to be watching for. In the event that you started changing genders, there were people that we were supposed to call.”

When Marcus glanced at the woman, she picked up the explanation for Dean. “Marcus, my name is Lisa Beaumont. I’m a doctor, and I work for Hidden Treasures.”

Marcus quipped, “Sounds like a day-care center.”

A soft smile stretched Dr. Beaumont’s lips before she said, “It’s a specialized adoption service. Our job is to take on babies that no one else can care for, and who we believe will be harmed by placing them in traditional state services for orphans.”

Marcus barely had time to come up with an objection when he thought, I am the only person in the family who can change personalities.

So instead of asking as a question, Marcus said, “I’m adopted.”

“Yes,” Dr. Beaumont said.

“And...you’ve found my parents?”

Dr. Beaumont shook her head, glancing at Dean. “No, not exactly. Maybe we should go inside and sit down?”

***

Marcus huddled over the dining room table, resting his weight on his forearms while he waited for Dr. Beaumont to say something.

She and Dean were still exchanging anxious looks. Marcus could guess that there was bad news in store for him and he didn’t want to rush anyone.

His nerves were jangled by their apprehension, and he decided to end the silence by asking, “Why isn’t Mom here for this?”

“She’s taking Felix and Simone out for the afternoon,” Dean said. “When they stop for lunch, she’s going to tell them the truth.” Raising his hand, he waved toward Dr. Beaumont. “I called her after you told us about your alter ego, and since then, Carmen and I were waiting for her before we could say anything.”

Dr. Beaumont spoke up, leaning forward in her seat while she clasped her hands in her lap. “Until today, your parents were told only what they needed to know. They had no idea of what race you really are, but as Dean said, my predecessor left instructions that they were supposed to contact our office if you began showing any feminine traits.”

“So what am I?”

“You’re a shapeshifter.”

“A changeling?”

Dr. Beaumont shrugged. “I’ve never heard any of your people use the term, but I suppose you could call yourself that.”

Marcus decided not to mention that a vampire had given him the label. He wanted to bring up a more pressing concern. “Do you work for the government?”

“No, our agency works with the government, not for them. We have to work with them, because they alert us when unique children are found all over the country.”

“Then Hidden Treasures isn’t some mom-and-pop operation, is it?”

“No, I’m just one counselor in a large-scale orphanage that spans three properties in as many states. The branch I work for in Austin was opened first, in the sixties.” Dr. Beaumont offered Marcus a strained smile. “We’re one of those crazy hippy ideas that hasn’t died yet.”

“Did my parents drop me off on your doorstep?”

“No, and no child has ever arrived at our orphanage in such a way. The government refers children to us in specific cases, like yours.” Dr. Beaumont’s smile vanished, and she shifted in her seat.

Dropping her gaze to her hands, she said, “I didn’t read your files until Dean called me several months ago. They didn’t bring this up to you sooner, because I asked for time to research your case. Even so, if you have questions about your past, I’m afraid that I probably can’t answer them. All I know is what I’ve read.”

“This is going to be bad,” Marcus guessed.

“You were found in a farmhouse near Akron Ohio. An anonymous call was made because someone who lived at the house hadn’t reported to work for several days. When the police arrived, everyone else in the home was dead, and most had been...”

Dr. Beaumont swallowed and tried again, but her voice still failed her. She fidgeted with her rings, lining up the gaudy jewelry so that they were all facing out and centered.

“The bodies of all the adults were hacked apart and burned in a bathtub. You were found in your crib, screaming and covered in bruises. The hospital staff found that all of the marks were caused by needles.”

Marcus shuddered and hugged his arms to warm himself. The mention of needles made his skin crawl, like centipedes had just run up his spine. “You never found any of my other relatives?”

“No. The police couldn’t be sure who your parents were, and they went to the press in an effort to find your extended family. The media labeled you as ‘Baby John,’ but they focused on the murders because no one living at the house left identifying records behind.

“There was speculation then that perhaps they were killed for being illegal aliens, but it was eventually dropped because there seemed to be no way to sort out where any of the victims came from.”

“Maybe DNA could—?”

“DNA profiling wouldn’t be available to the police for another decade,” Dr. Beaumont said, cutting Marcus off. “Even if they could run tests now, there’s nothing left of the victims. I’m not here to tell you about the murders, Marcus. I’m not a cop. I’m just trying to shed some light on your past.”

When Marcus nodded, she continued with her story. “The interest of the media shifted to you once you changed genders at the hospital. That was how they learned that you weren’t human.”

“I knew that already,” Marcus said. He’d meant to sound sarcastic, but he sounded disquieted instead. “What do you mean, I changed genders?”

“You arrived at the hospital as a male, and while a nurse was cooing to you and changing your diaper, you changed into a female.”

“Is that when the hospital contacted you to take care of me?”

“No, that happened later. Dr. Sinclair’s notes aren’t clear on specifics, but according to her, the media coverage on your story attracted the attention of someone who walked out of the building with you.”

Marcus stared at Dr. Beaumont, his face filling with irritation. “Someone kidnapped me from the hospital with the police watching me?”

“Yes. By then the local FBI branch was handling your security, but someone took you, even with you being guarded. You were found three months later in a dumpster.”

Dr. Beaumont started to fidget with her rings again. “You were near starvation and catatonic. You didn’t look anything like you had when you were first taken in, and no one recognized you until your footprints were matched to your male form.”

“To my...” Marcus turned his hand over to look at his fingertips. “My prints change when I become Jenny?”

“Yes, both your hands and your feet,” Dr. Beaumont said. “After you were found, the medical staff couldn’t do anything to help revive you. You defied the medical technology of the time, so there was no way to look inside you to see what was wrong.”

Marcus shook his head. “They had x-rays already.”

Dr. Beaumont said, “Yes, but x-rays didn’t work on you. There’s a layer of fat under your skin that...it has a high metal and mineral content, which prevents x-rays from being taken. A sample was collected from your abdomen using a syringe, and your vital statistics plummeted. You’d been catatonic until then, and you didn’t react when a catheter was inserted in your leg. You didn’t react when blood was taken from the catheter, or when fluids were administered. But for the next five hours after they took that fat sample, you convulsed and screamed...no you...”

Dr Beaumont sighed, looking sorely tempted to rub her face even if it would ruin her makeup. “Marcus, I’m a person of science, and so I have trouble believing what was in Dr. Sinclair’s report—”

Cutting her off, Marcus said, “Will you just skip to the punch line already?”

“The staff thought you were singing.”

“Do what?”

“Not in words, but in raw notes. You started off screaming, and your voice got so high that it drove the nurses out of the room. The electrical equipment began to malfunction, and one nurse was reportedly looking for ear plugs to go in and attempt to rescue you from the fire.”

Marcus leaned until he was on the edge of his seat, his eyes bulging wide with disbelief. “There was a fire?”

“Yes, but the report never made clear how it got started. But your screams changed in pitch, and you started to lower your voice. After that, the staff around your room swore that you were singing, though they had no idea what song you were trying to sing.”

“Unbelievable,” Marcus muttered.

“That’s what I thought,” Dr. Beaumont agreed. “The doctor supervising your treatment ordered all tests to be halted. The FBI contacted my predecessor, Dr. Sinclair, who advised that your second discovery be treated as a different case. Then Hidden Treasures took custody of you, and you remained with us until you were three.”

Marcus shook his head. “I don’t remember.”

Dr. Beaumont offered him a reassuring smile. “Nobody remembers that far back, so it’s okay. As far as the public was concerned, Baby John was taken from the hospital, and his body was never recovered. The police sealed your case files, and they were turned over to the FBI. Dr. Sinclair asked that she be contacted if anyone else with a similar ability was found, in case another of your distant relatives could be located.”

Marcus said, “You found someone else.”

“Yes, but not someone related to you. Three years after you were placed with the Wrigley family, the FBI found another couple burned in the tub of their home in Arkansas, and they found an eight-year-old boy. Like you he was covered in needle marks.”

“They were taking samples,” Marcus said grimly.

“No, they were poking him with needles as part of a witchcraft test.”

Marcus scrunched his cheeks up, his eyes narrowing in disgust. “They were torturing him?”

“Yes. I’m not sure what he said to convince his tormentors, but they let him live. He told the police that his name was Tommy Grifter, but he had no identification. The names he gave for his parents didn’t show up in any records searches. Just like your parents, his family didn’t exist according to the government.”

“What happened to Tommy?” asked Marcus.

“The FBI turned him over to our Nevada office,” Dr. Beaumont said. “Our agency hired a private investigator, and he was able to track down Tommy’s next of kin, an aunt and uncle who were living in Colorado.”

She stopped again, and her face filled with awkward tension. “None of the Grifters were on the grid, so to speak, but our agency was more concerned with placing Tommy back with his own people.”

His own people. The words echoed in Marcus’ mind, and then he felt a keen longing that he’d never had before.

He’d been cast off from his family with the revelation of his adoption, and he was pushed away from the human race by the stunning details of his past. The only life line away from solitude that Dr. Beaumont offered was that he wasn’t alone, and there were other people like him.

Dr. Beaumont shook him from his thoughts when she started to speak again. He realized that she was starting to squirm more often. “We kept the family’s location on file, though we didn’t share that information with the FBI.”

Dr. Beaumont fell quiet to gather her thoughts, but Marcus didn’t push her to hurry. He was already having trouble absorbing what she’d said, and her squeamish behavior gave him the dreadful feeling that he was still waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“I wish I could tell you about Dr. Sinclair or send you to her to answer your questions. But she died before I was hired for the position. All I have are her notes and her tape recordings on the cases she oversaw. While going over her material to learn more about you, I found the address for the Grifters and wrote to ask them some questions about Tommy’s case.”

“You told the Grifters about me?” Marcus guessed.

“Not directly, but once they returned my call, they wanted to know if I’d found another shapeshifter. Or, Tommy and Lana did. I’m sure that you can understand that I’m referring to the same person when I say ‘they.’”

Marcus nodded, waving his hand impatiently. “All right, but did you tell them about me?”

“I didn’t give them your name or your location, but when I described your traits, Tommy was very eager to meet with you. He...he showed up in my office yesterday with his aunt and uncle, and they talked me into riding with them this morning.”

Dr. Beaumont frowned as she leaned back, expecting Marcus to be angry. “They’re at a local hotel, and Tommy is waiting to find out whether you’re willing to meet them.”

Marcus relaxed, slumping his shoulders as tension drained from his back. “Is that all?” Laughing, he nodded and said, “Sure, you can invite him over. I thought you were going to say the people who killed my parents had located me, or something really bad.”

Dr. Beaumont opened her mouth. She meant to object that he’d failed to understand her if he hadn’t heard anything bad.

But she decided against it, and she rose from her chair, wiping the wrinkles out of her pants. “I’ll be back in an hour with the Grifters, unless you have any other questions.”

“Was there any other bad news?” Marcus asked.

Dr. Beaumont relaxed as she thought, he knows his past was bad, but he isn’t ready to acknowledge the truth yet. Leave him be, for now.

She shook her head. “No, probably not.”

***

Two hours later, Marcus was still fretting over Dr. Beaumont’s choice of words before she left. No, probably not. He sat on the side of his bed, staring at the carpet while the memory replayed in his mind in a loop.

Probably? What else could go wrong? Yes, it was a bad idea to ask. Life had developed a habit of showing Marcus how it could get worse, even if it was already bad.

He’d lived through being stabbed by a daemonically possessed giant, and he’d been rescued from having rifle rounds put through his back by rogue soldiers.

But more recently, Marcus couldn’t complain about his life. Sure, he’d been dumped by his girlfriend, but Amber was probably right for doing so, since he’d left without writing or calling for several months.

Aside from being single again, his life was going smoothly and quietly, and he wanted to keep it that way.

Something about meeting the Grifters might be bad. Or, maybe it would just be awkward?

He worried over nothing until the doorbell rang, and then he sat up stiffly, freezing in that awkward pose while his mind flipped over last minute ideas. Are the Grifters psychos? Do they worship daemons and sacrifice kittens? Do they play banjos at the weekly tourist hunt?

The door to his room opened, and Dean stepped inside. An unfamiliar older couple stood behind him, remaining in the hall.

Both were attractive, even if they looked to be nearing their fifties. Neither bothered to dye their grey hair, and both were still well-built. They filled out their clothes, and they exuded appearances of perfect health.

The man wore dark blue jeans and a red-checked flannel shirt. She wore dark jeans as well, and her white blouse was a western-style cut with pearl buttons down the front and closing the breast pocket flaps. Both wore work boots, and they looked like typical rednecks to Marcus.

He felt disappointed at their mundane appearance, but he admitted that it was much nicer than the clashing outfit that Dean wore.

Dean stepped farther into the bedroom and turned to make introductions. “Marcus, this is Henry and his companion, Diana.”

“Oy, you use the term companion too?” Marcus asked as he started to cross the room.

Henry smiled and asked, “You know someone else using the term?”

“Yes, my brother and Simone use it too. It drives me nuts.” As he got closer to the couple, Marcus knew that they were his people.

He couldn’t pin down why he’d come to the conclusion so soon, but most of the nervous tension that built up in his chest due to nerves had left with his subconscious recognition of the couple.

He was stepping into the hallway to offer his hand to Henry when he heard footsteps of someone coming up the stairs. Marcus turned his head and saw a man who was not much older than himself, but taller and more thickly built.

Marcus guessed that he was Tommy Grifter.

He wore a blue work shirt and black jeans, and his limbs filled the sleeves and legs of his clothing easily. He was definitely a redneck, and he had the proud swagger down to a mesmerizing art form, even as he was ascending stairs.

Tommy was darker than Marcus, both for his deep bronze tan, and for his dirty blond hair. His face was angular and rugged, and his deep set green eyes glimmered with good humor.

Marcus went to draw in a breath, and then a curious thing happened. He was yanked away from his senses by Jenny.

The chain of events that followed in his head took only one second in the outside world. In the time it took Marcus to finish drawing in a breath, Tommy set his foot on the final step onto the second floor.

Dean was still unsure of what else to add to the conversation, and he looked down to think of something nice to say.

Henry started to offer his hand, but he stopped when he’d realized that Marcus wasn’t paying attention to him anymore.

All of this took less than one second.

But inside Marcus’ mind, there was a dimly lit mental corridor, an imaginary meeting ground where he and Jenny “passed each other” when they swapped places.

Inside the mental corridor, that same one second exploded out to a much longer span of time.

Marcus’ sense of self leaned against the left corridor wall, his hand held over his throat in a symbolic gesture of his agitation.

He asked, “What are you doing?”

“Let me meet him,” Jenny said.

Once their gazes locked, they couldn’t hide their thoughts from each other. Then Marcus understood her interest, and he felt uneasy with Jenny’s eagerness to present herself to Tommy. She was so excited that even the mental representation of her form was trembling with giddy enthusiasm.

Marcus glanced right, out of the exit through his tunnel-vision at Tommy, who was still rising up on the last step in slow motion. “Shouldn’t I check him out first?”

 “I trust him,” Jenny said. “It’s okay, really. Just, let me meet him first. Then you can talk to him later, and we’ll compare notes.”

Sighing, Marcus pushed away from the wall and walked toward the private room at the end of the corridor. It was where he hung out whenever Jenny wanted time to play.

Jenny’s sudden interest in Tommy worried him, but he wasn’t in the habit of arguing with himself.

Tommy stopped walking when Marcus shifted forms to become Jenny. His already warm smile broke into a full grin, and he tilted his head ever so slightly while he regarded her body with an appraising glance.

Henry said, “I guess this must be Jenny?”

“Hmmm?” Dean looked up and blinked without recognition. Then he noticed Jenny and nodded. “Oh, yes. As you can see, she can change fast.”

Tommy shook his head, again moving up the hall to stand in front of Jenny. His gaze drifted to Dean, who hovered in the doorway of Jenny’s room. “It isn’t a complete transformation, but it is very nice.”

Jenny frowned, slighted by his comment. “I like how I look.”

Tommy’s laughter was contagious, causing Jenny and his relatives to smile with him. “You look very nice, and I said that. But to demonstrate what I mean—”

Tommy’s transformation was just as fast as Jenny’s, but he made a more radical shift in forms. His blue work shirt swelled at the chest as breasts bulged where a masculine chest had been an instant before. Tommy’s clothes fluttered as his body became a female form, and his muscles contracted. His shoulders slimmed and then sloped downward, and his waist made an odd gurgling sound as it drew into a sloping hourglass figure.

His wide lips softened and filled out. His broad nose became slim for her face, and her chin was rounder. The shapes of her eyes were more open than his, giving her a doe-eyed appearance. Her brows arched higher than his, and they were thinner.

The changes to her face became even more stark when her hair lengthened and darkened to brunette.

She was still much taller than Jenny, by seven inches. Her warm smile became highly amused when Jenny’s only reaction was to gawk with an open mouth.

“I call myself Lana in this form.” Lana put her finger under Jenny’s chin to close her mouth. “This is what a full transformation looks like, and you should be able to do this already.” Jenny blinked, and Tommy was standing in front of her again. He stepped back and politely offered his hand. “Tommy Grifter. Nice to meet you.”

Jenny shook his hand timidly, still awed by the speed and the amount of variation between Lana and Tommy.

“How did you fold your jaw and chin like that?” she asked. “I can’t flatten my muscles down that far.”

Tommy shook his head, another laugh erupting from him. It was good-natured, and the tone wasn’t mocking. “I can explain it later on.”

He stepped back, then pointed toward Jenny’s room. “Did you want to give us the free tour first, or is it not a good time?”

Jenny shook her head, already walking back into her room around Dean while she waved an invitation. “No, it’s clean, but Marcus and I split the room evenly.”

“Except the closet,” Dean remarked.

Jenny spun around to object, but Tommy was already crossing the room to check the walk-in closet. He looked up to search for a light, and his attention locked on the upper shelf. Every square inch of the wooden shelves were covered in stuffed unicorns.

He turned to watch her again, this time with a whimsical expression that made Jenny fiddle with the hem of her T-shirt. She was almost relieved when he looked away and ventured into the closet to pick through her things.

Then she realized that he was picking through her things, and she felt extremely vulnerable. She’d just invited a complete stranger to walk into her closet, and even if he shared the same abilities as her, she felt awkward with him appraising her possessions.

Tommy tugged the cord to turn on the overhead light, and he started to work through the hangers. He evaluated outfits for a few seconds each, working through one side before he stopped and said, “You have good taste.”

“Uh, thanks,” Jenny said.

She shuffled closer to the closet, halfway hiding behind the door while she waited for a joke about her toy collection.

When none came, she said, “I’ve been collecting clothes for a while. When I had to move out of my apartment in Tucson, I dumped all of my clothing into boxes and rented a storage closet. I couldn’t let go of my clothes after it took me so long to get them.”

Tommy nodded, stepping around Jenny to walk out of the closet.

As he passed her, she felt a strange urge to reach out and touch him. Not as an affectionate gesture, but just to confirm that he was real. She suddenly felt herself getting much warmer, and the room took on a fuzzy, dreamlike quality in her vision.

She resisted the urge, and Tommy kept his distance as he moved to the dresser. He said, “So, this is where Marcus keeps his stuff?”

Jenny stammered, and Tommy opened the top drawer. He looked long enough to register that it was full of panties and bras, and then he shut it. “No, that was your drawer, I think.”

Jenny started blushing. “Yes. His clothes are in the two middle drawers.”

Tommy nodded, his smile softening as his expression became thoughtful. “When did you become the dominant personality?”

Jenny laughed, dropping her gaze while she shook her head. “No, I’m not—”

“Was it before college?” Tommy asked. “Or did you start coming out in high school first?”

Jenny started to make another objection, but it sounded like a lie to her before she said anything. “I started showing up in middle school, when Marcus was thirteen. But I hid in my room, and I couldn’t tell anyone.”

“He got the days, and you got the nights and weekends?”

“Yeah,” Jenny agreed. Then she shook her head. “No, not at first, but later on, yes.”

Tommy turned in a slow circle to take in the decorations on the walls, a combination of fantasy and Japanese anime posters. When he returned to looking at Jenny, he was smiling again. “It’s a nice room. I can see both of your influences here.”

Dean coughed to get everyone’s attention. He had begun to realize how uncomfortable Jenny was with Tommy picking through her things, and he decided to end the inspection early.

“We should head downstairs, perhaps to the dining room for some iced tea?”

“Sure, that sounds good,” Henry said.

Tommy waited to walk in step with Jenny out of her room, but he never got so close that she might feel like he was invading her personal space.

He halted at the door to let her pass, and then he lengthened his stride to bring himself alongside her again.

She was scared of him, or more truthfully, she was scared of his interest. She was scared because on a primal level, his interest excited her; and she was scared because at that same base animal level, she felt intimidated by him.

The fear and intimidation forced her to reassess her first opinion of Tommy. He’d dazzled her by transforming completely into Lana, and then he’d taken advantage of her bemusement to ask her loaded questions.

Sure, she had transformed to meet him, but it was easy to explain as loneliness. She was eager to talk to someone near her own age, someone who might understand how she felt. Marcus had probably wanted to talk to Tommy too, and she couldn’t let him. She had to be the one to meet Tommy first.

She thought about changing back into Marcus, just to show Tommy that she wasn’t that eager for his company. Except, she was eager to talk to him, and she was excited just to be walking near him.

Instead of retreating back into the mental corridor to swap places with Marcus, Jenny asked, “Are you planning to stay for a few days?”

“Yes, just a week,” Tommy said. “We’ll have to get back home and help my cousins take care of my great-aunt Matilda.”

Jenny’s eyes narrowed. Her bullshit meter had spiked into the red zone. “That’s very nice. And, do you rescue stray puppies every day of the week, or only on Sundays?”

“We have rescued one stray dog. We also have one half tame squirrel, and one slightly retarded cat.” Tommy laughed, pausing at the bottom of the steps to let Jenny choose which side of the main hallway she wanted to walk.

He sped up to stay in step with her, still talking while he let her lead the way. “But we don’t go to church, and Diana is a lousy cook.”

Diana shouted, “Hey!”

A second later, Henry chuckled and said, “Preach it, brother.”

They were both behind Jenny, but when she heard a loud pop, she didn’t have to guess who’d just been hit. She giggled and turned to look around at Tommy’s aunt and uncle.

Sure enough, Henry was rubbing the back of his neck, his mouth twisted in a rueful smirk.

“Are you always this loving as a family?” Jenny asked.

“No, nor are we always so honest,” Tommy said.

He followed Jenny into the kitchen, but he veered off to seat himself at the table in the middle of the massive room. “You could say it’s our job to lie for a living.”

Jenny chose to stay up and help Dean fill glasses with ice, and then with tea.

When she looked up at the dining room table over the breakfast bar, she couldn’t stop herself from frowning.

Henry sat on Tommy’s right side, but there was one open seat between them. There was another empty chair between him and Diana on his left.

Again, Tommy was presenting her with a loaded question.

She could choose to sit across from him, and she would have more excuses to look directly at him. Then he could try to use his charming smile more often. Or she could sit at his side, and he might take that as interest. Or, finally, she could sit in one of the opposing chairs from Henry or Diana, letting him know that she wasn’t so interested in him.

Jenny chose the open chair between Tommy and Diana, and Tommy beamed like he’d learned another secret about her.

She chose to spite him by making small talk with Diana during the next few hours.