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dochermes"Let's Go Do Some Shape-Shifting"
6/14/2013
I.
Sheng Mo-Yuan walked in on the squirrel robbing his office at seven in the morning. He had been out all night on a bodyguard assignment that had seen no action at all. At six-thirty, his client had gotten in a van with a Federal Marshall to be taken to a supposedly safe location. Sheng's involvement with the client ended at that point, and since the check had already cleared, the case was history to him. At two minutes to seven, he entered the Hartwicke Building and trudged up the creaky wooden stairs to the third floor where his office was waiting.
Unbuttoning the top of his pale blue dress shirt and loosening the knot of his black knitted silk tie, Sheng dug for his keys. The frosted glass panel of his door had the Chinese symbols 'Chuan Lo Tsing' painted on it. This could be translated as "Hard Worker Fist" or "Fist For Hire." Below that was ARGENT INVESTIGATIONS, then the office hours 12 MIDNIGHT-9 AM. Early on in his practice, he had realized that nearly all his cases took place at night and that most of his clients were urgently trying to reach him late at night as well. He had started sleeping during the day to keep overnight office hours and cases had been plentiful ever since. It suited him fine. Sheng unlocked the door, stepped in and froze where he was as he saw the animal on his desk.
There was nothing unusual about the animal physically. It seemed to be a common Eastern Gray Squirrel, about ten inches long with the bushy tail curled up behind its back. But it was bent down over his daybook, studying the entries and as he watched, it turned a page with its paw.
"What the HELL...?" he began, startling the little beast. The squirrel gave a violent start, almost falling off the desk, then sprinted across the office and dove headlong out the open window. Squirrels can hit twelve miles an hour instantly, and even if Sheng had switched his Argent powers to speed, he wasn't sure he would have been able to catch it. In a haze of puzzlement, the Chujiran closed the door behind him and carefully draped his suit jacket over the back of his chair.
At five feet five and in trim athletic condition, Argent always dressed well. Tailored clothes were a weakness of his. He sat down at his desk, unlaced his polished black shoes and removed them gratefully. It had been a long night spent on his feet. Still wondering if he had misunderstood what he had just seen, he examined his desk. The wide center drawer was open and the daybook listing his appointments, as well as names of new clients and future court appointments, sat open to the previous day's entries. He was absolutely certain that he had placed the ledger in the drawer and closed the drawer before leaving the previous night. He was meticulous when it came to details like that.
Turning on the bright desk lamp, Sheng peered closely at the ledger but saw no damage, no marks on it of any kind. He closed the book and put it away, still mulling over the incident. Over his long years in the Midnight War, he had seen so many bizarre phenomena that he regarded very little as being absolutely impossible. Had the squirrel been trained to do that? Why? Could you even train squirrels? Had there maybe been a tiny camera tied to a collar that he had not spotted in the few seconds the squirrel had been in sight?
...Was the squirrel intelligent?!
Sheng remembered the window and went to examine it. He distinctly remembered leaving it open the barest crack the night before because it had been such an oppressive muggy day. Now, the window was up at least four inches. Who had done that? He found himself locking for tiny claw marks, finding none and shaking his head at the whole situation. Maybe he should put out some traps with walnuts in them? Sheng closed the window, turned the lock and walked over to turn on the AC unit in the office's other window. Today was supposed to be in the low 90s with high humidity.
After another ten minutes of trying to figure things out, Sheng decided to let it go. Maybe his subconscious mind would decipher the meaning of it all while he slept. He locked the office door and stripped down. Under the neat business suit, he was wearing what looked like a tight garment of wet silk that left only his head, hands and feet exposed. This was the Trom armor that dispersed impact over its entire surface. Sheng peeled it off and took it into the bathroom with him after hanging up his slacks neatly in the closet. The bathroom was so small the toilet nearly touched the shower cabinet, from which he could lean out to turn the taps in the sink. But it was all he needed.
Taking a steaming hot shower and scrubbing himself vigorously with a loofah, Argent wistfully remembered the village in Chujir where he had grown up. Like many of the adjacent realms, electricity did not work in Chujir. Even simple flashlights brought from the world would not function there. He had been so used to an outhouse shack with a board seat that had a hole cut in it, and to bathing once a week because it meant heating water on a wood fire. Sheng toweled dry and rubbed his coarse black hair before emerging naked into his office. He would not need to shave today, he did not have much in the way of whiskers in any case.
Pulling white cotton socks, plaid boxers and a brown T-shirt from a cabinet, Sheng pulled them on and went over to settle down on the couch. His legal residence was the KDF building on East 38th Street where he had rooms but he could be found here in his office more often than not. Sheng arranged some pillows, unfolded a thin flannel sheet from one end of the couch and stretched out contentedly. A few hours sleep usually would clear up most puzzles. Argent yawned, rolled over on his side to face inward on the couch and drifted off.
On the ledge outside, the squirrel watched him through the window.
II.
On lower Canal Street, a white Ford Explorer slowed at the corner by the Hartwicke Building and the passenger window slid down. Hopping across the sidewalk and plunging directly into the window flashed a squirrel. The one passerby who happened to witness this blinked in disbelief but never did mention it to anyone. The Explorer sped up just as the car behind it honked its horn impatiently and turned the corner.
Behind the wheel was a pretty brunette about eighteen, wearing a sleeveless light summer dress. She had long wavy brown hair framing an oval face with immense dark green eyes and full lips. At the moment, that piquant face was tense and worried. She drove on, turning at random frequently in case any one might be following.
On the passenger seat, the grey-furred squirrel shuddered and expanded rapidly, its outlines melting and changing. A naked teen appeared where the squirrel had been, immediately reaching behind her to snatch up a brightly colored poncho which she yanked down over her head to cover herself. The second teen resembled the driver to a close degree, but was considerably heavier, with a rounder face. From the glove box, she took out a pair of black-rimmed glasses and slid them on.
"Well? Talk to me, Parker!" demanded the girl driving.
"Amelia! Chill already. I didn't see any mention of Uncle Morgan," the other girl answered. "His name was not in the appointment book. Before I could check the phone for messages, that Chinese detective came in and I had to get out of there."
"Being a squirrel is so cool," the teen called Amelia mused. "You can sneak in and out and listen to outdoor conversations and be a real undercover spy. My kitten form is useless. Maybe as a distraction."
"Well, it suits you," Parker answered. She reached into the knapsack in the backseat to fetch panties, bra and socks. Wriggling awkwardly, she managed to get the garments on under the poncho. "You were always the pretty sister in the Turner family! Even your totem is an adorable calico pussycat. I turn into a mangy squirrel. Just like my Human self."
Amelia scoffed. "Are you kidding? You're hot. Look at the rack on you. What are you, a D-cup now? I still look like a twelve year old boy when I'm naked."
Her sister had pulled a pair of baggy jeans with the knees out from the knapsack and was tugging them on. "Aw, you're just trying to make me feel better, Amy. But thanks anyway."
Amelia was heading for the George Washington Bridge. She pulled down a pair of oversized round-rimmed sunglasses that had been propped on top of her head. "Well, at least we know that Uncle Morgan hasn't been to see this Sheng Mo-whatever his name is. We need to get back for a family meeting and see what everyone wants to do next."
"I'm just sorry it came to this," Parker said. "I never thought Morgan would turn on us."
"Yeah, well, he's crossed the red line now. Letting normals know about the family! One of us will have to kill him. Don't give me that dumb look, you KNOW it's true. I've been practicing with my 9mm..."
"I hope we don't have to turn Zane loose on him," Parker said, and she shivered visibly at the thought.
III.
Sheng awoke a little after two in the afternoon, feeling refreshed and eager to start another day. The office was cool and comfortable. Scratching various body parts and stretching, he went to use the bathroom and came out still wondering what the deal was with that squirrel. Stripping down again, he tugged on the flexible Trom armor he had rinsed in the shower and hung inside-out to dry. Putting on the same slacks as from the day before, he chose an off-white dress shirt to go with the black suitjacket and black tie. You couldn't go wrong with basics. In various hidden pockets and pouches, he concealed a few of the more useful KDF gadgets like two pencil flares, two of the dazzlers, an oxygen membrane and the instant lock-opener.
When he was working on his own cases at his Argent Agency, Sheng did not carry the full array of gimmicks KDF members normally had on them. Usually, he skipped most of the weaponry and the anesthetic dart gun in particular. With his power to focus gralic force for enhanced strength or speed or durability, he much preferred to rely on his own abilities. Some of that was motivated by vanity, he had to admit.
He was ravenous and there was at the moment nothing to eat in the office. Before he went out for lunch, though, he thought he should check the messages on the office phone. The first was from legal counsel Taylor Worth telling him he had to apply for a tax benefit by the end of the month. The second was a chipper call from Unicorn reminding him that Wednesday was Pizza Night at the KDF headquarters and that Jeremy Bane would be there with a surprise guest. It was the third call that made him sit down and listen to again.
A man identifying himself as Morgan Turner earnestly asked to see him today if at all possible. He would stop by the office as soon as he could and hoped Sheng would be available. That was all he said, but the desperation in the man's voice was plain. He had not left a number to call him back.
A brief debate flared up in Sheng's mind before he decided he had to stay here in case this Morgan Turner showed up. Wanting to keep the office phone free, he took out his Link and called the deli on the corner to order a corned beef on rye with mustard, a pint of macaroni salad and a big bottle of cola. He had gotten delivery from them many times and they knew he tipped adequately.
Sheng opened the door to the hallway, turned off the AC and went back to sit behind his desk facing out. Sitting on top of the green metal filing cabinet to his right was a copy of THE NEW YORK TIMES he had purchased the day before and never gotten to. He started on it and was reading about how a dam in Colorado was in imminent danger of failing unless repairs were made when knuckles rapped on the open door. It was the young man from the deli with his order. Thanking him and tipping, Sheng settled back down and unwrapped the sandwich to savor the pungent aroma. He plowed through the food in record time, got a red plastic cup from the closet to chug a few servings of the cola and repressed a belch with difficulty.
After cleaning up the wrappers and empty container, Sheng placed the half empty soda bottle out of sight. He reflected that, as a private investigator, he really should be sitting with a shot glass and a bottle of whiskey in front of him, not to mention having the room filled with cigarette smoke and moody jazz playing in the background. The mental image of himself acting like that made Sheng laugh as he washed his hands and brushed his teeth before settling down to continue with the TIMES.
At four o'clock, he heard footsteps coming up the stairs. There had been customers to the massage spa two doors down and one or two visitors to the insurance company at the opposite end of the hall. But the sound of these footsteps caught his attention. He trusted his instincts. Sheng folded the TIMES and put it aside.
A slim man just under six feet tall approached the open door uncertainly. "Um. Hello? Mr Sheng? Or is it Mr Argent, I'm not sure...?"
Standing up, Sheng gestured for the man to enter. "Please come in and close the door. Argent is a sort of nickname in the business. I'm Sheng Mo-Yuan, Sheng being the family name. I take it you're the Morgan Turner who left me a message earlier?"
"Yes. Yes." Morgan stepped in, shut the door with visible relief and accepted the chair in front of the desk. He was wearing khaki shorts, a maroon polo shirt several sizes too large and sandals. Morgan had a forgettable face with nothing distinctive about it, but the curly brown hair and a beard with reddish highlights at least gave his appearance some individuality. He sat leaning forward with his hands clasped in front of him and gazed over at Sheng with obvious apprehension.
"Okay then. I'm not a subtle guy, Mr Turner, let's jump right in. I'm a Private Investigator licensed by the City and the State of New York. What do you want from me?"
"This.. this may take a little explaining. Please bear with me. I've done some research on you, if I may say so, and to be honest not much is on public record about your career. Wild stories and gossip and what might be called urban legends are plentiful, though. You and your friends with the Kenneth Dred Foundation are said to have dealt with dangerous supernatural beings and manifestations.. especially the man known as Dire Wolf."
"Yeah. Go on."
"Well. I have to ask, how much of all this is based on real events? If I'm not being rude?" Morgan said.
Sheng laughed easily. "Mr Turner, what you've heard is not even half of the truth. Are you familiar with the term, 'Midnight War?'"
"Yes. I've done a lot of digging in old newspaper reports and obscure books lately. So. Skinwalkers, werewolves.. you've actually seen such creatures?"
"Seen them? I've fought and killed them. Are you telling me you have a werewolf problem, Mr Turner?"
The man could not hold still. He jumped up and barely restrained himself from pacing nervously. "Mr Sheng, it's my family. I come from a highly unusual family. It started with my father, I guess he was the first with the ability to shift. I have it, my sister has it and her kids have it. But it's different with each of us. We each have a totem we don't choose."
Argent had become much more serious. His dark eyes behind the double eyelid fold studied his visitor intently. "You're telling me that your entire family can shape-shift? You're all werewolves?"
"No, we each change into a different animal," Morgan explained. He pointed a slender finger at the office window. "I believe you saw proof this morning."
"That damn squirrel, huh?" said Sheng. "You have got some major explainations to give me, Mr Turner. That squirrel was a member of your family spying on me?"
"It was my niece Parker. She's nineteen. My father sent her to find out if I had been here to see you." Morgan managed to sit down again with difficulty. "I think Dad suspects me. He suspects I'm going to reveal what the family is up to."
Sheng was never patient at the best of times. "Man, get to the point. What is this all about--?" He stopped short when he saw that Morgan Turner's face had gone pale and that he was staring in horror past Sheng's shoulder. The Chujiran spun around in his swivel chair. The squirrel was outside the window again, up on its hind legs, watching the two of them.
IV.
Focusing his gralic charge into speed, Sheng was out of his chair and at the window in a single leap across the office. Quick as he was, the squirrel had gotten away by the time he got the lock turned and the window up. Leaning far outward, he just saw the little creature hop up into a white Ford Explorer that pulled away. The angles were wrong for him to get a look at the license plates but he did glimpse a young dark-haired woman at the wheel. The car rounded the corner and was gone.
"This is getting really interesting," Argent muttered to himself. "I have a few thousand questions for you, Mr Turner." As he turned back away from the window, he saw not Morgan Turner but a loose bundle of clothing on the floor with something struggling within it. Sheng moved cautiously closer to see a narrow muzzle poke out of the clothing and two beady eyes fixed on him. An elongated furry shape wriggled free and stood there more calmly than an animal should under the circumstances.
"A weasel?" asked Sheng. "Why is that not a surprise?" He swung around the office but the bathroom door and closet door were closed and there was nowhere for anyone to hide. The couch was against one wall with not enough space beneath it to conceal a person. He did not see how his visitor could possibly have shucked off his clothing, carried a weasel into the office and jammed the animal into his clothes and then escaped naked somehow. It had only been a few seconds that Sheng had been at the window. This was no trick. He bent over and peered at the beast. "Turner, is that you?"
The little animal bowed its head. In an instant, its shape melted and reformed, expanding outward and a nude Morgan Turner was there on his hands and knees instead. The man sat up, grabbed the khaki shorts and yanked them on hurriedly, then picked up the oversized shirt.
"I'm sorry to expose myself like that," he said. "Really, I do apologize but when I saw Parker in the window, I changed without realizing it." He picked up his wallet from where it had fallen out of a pocket and got back up into the client chair.
A decade earlier, the younger Sheng would have been too startled and confused by these events to take it in. But he had seen so much of the Midnight War on his own and as a KDF member that he had gotten a bit jaded. He went back to his seat behind the desk and watched as Turner got the sandals on. "So, let me get a few things straight. Your family can transform at will. They don't wait for a full moon or nightfall or anything like that?"
"Oh, no. We change back and forth whenever we like. The family name isn't really Turner, Dad took it as a sort of inside joke because we 'turn' into our totems."
"Uh-huh. And why is a weasel afraid of a squirrel? If that squirrel got in here, couldn't a weasel defend itself pretty well?"
"It's not Parker, that is, the squirrel that I'm worried about," Morgan answered. "She might have the rest of the family with her. If Dad or Zane came in here and transformed..."
"Why?" asked Sheng. "What do they turn into? Wolves?"
"Much worse. I think coming here was a mistake, Mr Sheng. I should be going now." He started to get up but hesitated as Argent raised a hand.
"It's too late now, Turner. Parker saw you here. I can't believe I'm calling a squirrel 'Parker,' but I just saw you change, so I'm taking your story at face value. If you feel you're in danger from your family, I'll agree to take you as a client. Do you have any cash on you?"
"I think so. Here, I've got four twenties and a five."
Sheng held out his hand. "I'll take twenty-five. It's just a token payment but it's enough to establish legally that I'm working in your interests." Getting his daybook, the Chujiran opened the back section and carefully entered the details of the transaction. He handed Morgan a short form to sign and gave him a receipt in exchange. "Now it's official. Before I go to meet your family, give me their names and a little about them."
"All right. I feel much better knowing you're on my side. I've read about your exploits, Mr Sheng. Now, my father is named Albert Turner, he's definitely the patriarch of our clan. His second wife, Aurora, is much younger and can't change. Their son Chauncey is thirteen and can. I have a sister Blair two years older than me, and she can change but her husband Gil can't. It's only blood descent from Dad that gives the ability, you see. Then Blair and Gil have three kids, all of whom can transform. Parker is nineteen, Amelia is eighteen and their brother Zane is fourteen, maybe fifteen I think."
Sheng sat digesting this information, then repeated it without getting any of the details wrong. Long years of experience had sharpened his retention. "Any more family members and I would have to draw up a chart. Where does everyone live?"
"Over in Norwich. New Jersey. Dad and Aurora and Chauncey have a house on Riverview Drive, while Blair and Gil and their kids live a few miles away on Halcyon. I have an apartment here out on Long Island, near Riverhead."
"You live by yourself?"
"No. I have a roommate. He doesn't know about any of this. We're talking about relocating to Maryland for the law office we work for, and that's what has my family worried. They think I might break away from them."
Sheng could not keep himself from commenting. "You're a lawyer and you turn into a weasel?"
"Heh heh." The laugh sounded forced. "The stereotype has occured to me, of course. But really, I just deal with copyrights and trademarks relating to foreign markets."
Sheng stood up and adjusted the cuffs on his jacket. "I'm going to start stirring things up a bit. Where are you going to be today?"
"Back at my apartment, although I have a two hour ride to get there," Morgan answered as he also rose. "The building has a lobby where visitors have to buzz to get in, so I'm safer there than at work today."
"Sounds good. Come on, I'll escort you to the street until you get in a taxi. Then I believe I will meet the rest of the Turners."
III.
The flagstone patio at the rear of the house was cut off from outside view by a seven foot high white plank fence and several elms. Arranged in a semi-circle were three redwood picnic tables with benches, each table shaded by a green and white fabric parasol. A brick barbecue pit was off to one side, its grill holding only a few remaining hamburgers. A folding table held paper plates and napkins, packages of buns, catsup and mustard containers. Seated on the benches or standing with folded arms were the eight members of the Turner family.
Albert was clearly in charge. When he spoke, everyone sat up and paid attention. He was in his early sixties, looking like a former athlete gone downhill with a thick middle and not much hair above the temples. The head of the family was dressed in remarkably bad taste, including a white T-shirt that was too small, plaid shorts with a white vinyl belt and sandals with white calf-length socks. Fashion meant nothing to him.
He pulled the tab on a can of Pabst Blue Ribbon and stared gloomily at his extended family. Seated near him at the table was a dark-haired woman just hitting thirty, just a bit too voluptuous in a blue dress that only reached just below her waist by enough to avoid being arrested. Standing beside her, munching on a thick grilled cheese sandwich, was a chubby boy who had a marked resemblance to her.
As Albert Turner chugged most of the beer, Parker and Amelia lowered themselves to a bench at the same table. They had chosen a seat well shaded by the parasols. The air was muggy and unpleasant that day, as it had been all week. As soon as they had arrived, the two girls had reported what they had seen through the window of the building on Canal Street.
"This guy Sheng is trouble," Albert said, "I've heard stories about him. He's a Tel Shai knight and you know they are no friends of the children of the night. If Morgan was talking to him, Sheng Mo-Yuan most likely will be coming here. Believe me, wherever he goes, our kind end up dead!"
Sitting near to where he stood, his wife Aurora interrupted. She had a slight French accent from her childhood in Quebec but it was not obtrusive. "I don't think we should be rash. Let this detective come here. What will he find? Perfectly normal human beings enjoying a summer day. There is nothing out of the ordinary here."
"Mom's got a point," said the heavyset boy next to her. "We've been careful to leave no trace of all our killings. Let this guy come here. We'll tell him Morgan is paranoid or drunk or something."
At the table where the two teen girls had seated themselves, they were helping themselves to blue Solo cups from a pitcher of iced lemonade. "I don't think so," said the one with glasses. "I got an eyeful at that window. Uncle Morgan changed. He turned into the weasel he really is..."
"Which means that the detective saw him turn," Amelia said. She shook her head. "He knows something supernatural is going on. If he's as dangerous as you say he is, we should be ready."
Seated on the other side of the table from Parker and Amelia were their parents, a good-looking couple in their mid-thirties. Gil Turner had wavy dark hair and a pleasant square-jawed face. He was wearing black jeans and a short-sleeved shirt that revealed remarkably hairy arms. Next to him was his wife Blair, a typical blonde soccer mom in a tan polo shirt and tight yoga pants. She had her blonde hair pulled up in a swirl at the back of her head. Blair was Albert's older child and had the changing ability, while Gil was not related by blood and could not transform. But it was Gil who spoke up. "I vote that we make this Chinese PI just disappear. Morgan is a problem we'll have to take care of anyway."
"I'm with Gil," Blair said firmly. "Being found out by society has always been our biggest danger. We would end up in some remote government lab being tested and experimented on. We would never leave alive. I also vote that Sheng must die."
Over by the barbecue grill, a thin boy around fifteen was slathering mustard and relish to completely cover the last hot dog. He had a strong resemblance to Gil, even wearing a similar plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Zane Turner swung around to face the gathering. "I'll get rid of this guy. I'd like some action. My totem hasn't done a kill in a long time."
"We all become more and more like our totems as time goes by," said his mother with a distinct lack of enthusiasm. "My own instincts are to run for it and avoid confrontation."
"Yeah but I'm not a Spider Monkey, Mom." Zane took half the hot dog in one bite and mumbled through a full mouth. "Not that there's anything wrong with being one. Or a squirrel or a cat, ha ha. But my totem is a little more, I dunno, demanding?"
Albert clapped his hands together for emphasis. "Zane does need prey once in a while. My own totem has the same primal urge. I think the rest of us should all get in the RV and go down to the shore for the next day or so while Zane settles things here. Kid, remember to try to keep the noise down. The neighbors don't get home until six or so, but someone driving by might hear screams and call 911."
Finishing the hot dog, Zane Turner cackled. "It's be quick. Let's go do some shape-shifting."
V.
For years, Sheng had stubbornly resisted buying a car. He lived down in Chinatown and most of his cases took place within Manhattan. Taxis and subways were usually sufficient for his needs. But the Argent Investigations activity had inevitably started expanding until he found himself sometimes having to travel to Connecticut or upstate New York or Pennsylvania. Sheng's bank account was healthy. For ten years, he had lived at the KDF building with free meals and health coverage and an expense account while on cases, so he had deposited most of his stipend and left it untouched. When he decided to finally get a car of his own, he had no trouble swinging a flashy bright red Ferrari 458 Italia which accelerated so rapidly it seemed to leap up off the street. Everyone agreed it fit his personality.
But he couldn't find a place to store it that suited him. The nearest workable spot by his office was a municipal lot that left the cars open to the elements. Grudgingly, claiming it was only until he found a closer place, he rented a space at the IMPERIAL GARAGE at 40th Street and Third Avenue... the same place where Jeremy Bane and Megan Salenger housed their own vehicles. His two colleagues had no teased him but had good-naturedly agreed that they were taking over the establishment. One benefit was that they each kept an eye on each other's vehicles when picking up their own, just a bit more security.
Sheng walked from his office up to the garage. He enjoyed walking and he moved close enough to a sprint that getting a taxi would not have saved more than a few minutes. Heading down the wide concrete ramp at the entrance, Sheng paused for a few minutes to chat with Mikey, the attendant in the glass-enclosed booth. Nothing more suspicious than the usual assortment of homeless, winos and crazies had been spotted trying to get into the garage.
Moving past Megan's beloved Jeep Cherokee, Argent beeped the locks on his Ferrari and the engine started, so smooth and tuned that it was barely audible. On the driver's sunvisor, four tiny green and blue lights blinked steadily to show the car had not been touched. Sheng got, adjusted his mirrors again out of habit, checked a few spots where he had a weapon or some Trom gadgets concealed, and pulled up to exit on Third Avenue.
As he drove back down toward Canal Street where he had started from, Sheng groused to himself about the inconvenience of leaving his car so far away. Now he knew why so many New Yorkers said owning a car was more trouble than it was worth. He headed for the Holland Tunnel, then into New Jersey. As he drove in silence, he wondered why Morgan Turner had been so reluctant to specify which animals the various members of his family turned into. What was the point? So far he had seen a weasel and a squirrel, neither of which were that intimidating, but he got the impression some of the other Turners were more formidable.
Passing Cherry Hill, he found the mostly residential town of Norwich. All the houses were large and impressive, the extensive lawns were well-tended and the cars he could spot looked as if they had just rolled out of a showroom. Sheng often suspected that as many vile crimes went on behind the walls of mansions as happened deep in the halls of tenements, crimes as brutal and degrading but neatly covered up and keep private.
Riverview Drive led up quite a long slope, with the houses spaced farther apart as the yards grew larger. It was almost like being out in the country.
Near the top of the hill, one property had a seven-foot high wide slat fence beyond which the top two stories of a red brick house could be seen. Sheng drove past and found a gravel-covered area at the very top of the hill. He parked his car and looked around. Below him, sparkling in the bright summer sunlight, was Merrilon River. He gazed back down at the house that he was interested in and could see much of the yard from this vantage point. There was an attached garage large enough for two cars and a flagstone patio at the rear with picnic furniture.
From thhe trunk, Sheng located a pair of binoculars in a box that held assorted equipment he had accumulated over the years. He stood studying the scene, trying to be more patient than he really was. By nature, he was a direct, confrontational personality. Set in the wall facing Riverview Drive was a metal gate that swung outward as he watched to let a motorhome pull out and head south.
As the vehicle stopped to check both ways before easing out on to the road, Sheng got a good look at it, including the license plate which he instantly memorized. It was a white and green Airstream, a Class C motorhome, midsized at 25 feet long. There was a storage area protruding above the driver's cab and in its window he spotted two animals sittting side by side gazing out... a calico kitten and a squirrel.
It was difficult for Argent not to laugh out loud at the small faces peering down at the road. Of course, it was two members of the Turner family sitting in that window. The odds of arranging a cat and squirrel to calmly sit next to each other were remote. Two of the Turners had transformed for the ride, he figured it was so the interior of the RV was not as crowded. A kitten and squirrel took up much less room and friction between family members would be lessened.
Returning the binoculars to the equipment box, he paused with one hand on the travel bag that contained his KDF field suit. With its helmet that had built-in sensors and communications, its inner layor of Trom armor and its dozen useful gadgets and weapons, the field suit was a huge advantage in active situations. But he frowned and closed the trunk. He would stay in the black business suit with its white shirt and narrow black tie. When on cases for Argent Investigations, Sheng preferred to distance himself from Kenneth Dred Foundation methods. Maybe it was just vanity but he wanted to establish his own separate identity.
Leaving his car where it was, Sheng headed down the road toward the Turner home. Only one car went past, a panel van that read PORTER BROS PLUMBING AND ELECTRICAL on the side. The driver was talking on a cell phone and didn't even glance at Sheng. When he reached the wall, the Chujiran circled around to the rear and considered the situation. His slacks were tailored so he could do a full split on the ground without discomfort and, although they looked normal, his polished black shoes had deep ridges on the soles for grip and steel-caps on both toes and heels.
He gave his actions as much planning as usual, which was next to none. From fifteen feet away, Sheng ran at the wall and shifted his focus to strength. Gralic force reinforced his muscles and connective tissues, making him temporarily more powerful than a bodybuilder twice his size. Since he still weighed only a hundred and fifty-five pounds, he was enormously overpowered and he leaped easily up to clear the seven foot fence. Coming down on the grass inside the back yard, Sheng landed on finger and toes, rolled and came up on his feet.
His gift as Argent was to ehance his strength, speed or durability. Since he could only use one effect at a time, Sheng had become proficient at shifting quickly from one to the next for best results. This power was conscious and only lasted as long as he concentrated on it. Sheng gazed around the well-tended lawn, the flower bed made of a circle of smooth rocks, the three elms in a cluster near the house. Then he saw the boy come out of the back door.
Zane Turner was wearing only a pair of excessively baggy dark blue trunks. He was a skinny kid, and the pasty lack of a suntan made him seem even less imposing. But as he walked quickly toward the intruder, Zane grinned wickedly with his mouth only. His eyes had no humor in them, giving his smile a sinister air.
Despite all his ability and Kumundu skill, Sheng abruptly felt himself in mortal danger. He shifted his focus to durability and resilience as strongly as it would go. Over the years, everything from knives to shrapnel to small arms gunfire had glanced harmlessly off his skin while he was in this state. As it happened, he was not an instant too soon.
Kicking off the shorts, the Turner boy took three quick running steps and launched himself bodily into the air. In a blur, his pale body turned tawny with black stripes, lengthened to ten feet and exploded outwards. Five hundred pounds of muscle and bone crashed savagely on Sheng. A full-grown tiger pinned him down and started trying to disembowel him.
Even as he was smashed to the ground, Sheng had reflexes quick enough to jam his right forearm sideways across the tiger's maw. Between his gralic-reinforced density and the Trom armor sleeve under his jacket, his arm was too tough for even the tiger's jaw strength to break. The huge white fangs ripped through jacket material but could not pierce the armor beneath. Even so, the pain in Argent's forearm was agonizing. At the same time, the giant beast got one hind leg up by Sheng's chest and began ripping down in the typical method big cats use to open up prey.
Instantly, Sheng's clothing on his upper body was torn away to reveal to the dark grey sheen of the Trom armor. Combined with his body's superhuman durability, this kept him from being killed within a few seconds from the tiger's attack. He could not breathe. The beast was holding him down so he could not expand his ribs enough to take in a breath. Sheng's mind had never worked more clearly or rapidly. His left arm was still free and he jammed it into his inner jacket pocket to come out with a metal tube the size of a pencil. With a thumb, he popped off the cap and the blinding white plume of thermite hissed into life. Sheng shoved the burning flare as deeply into the tiger's ear as it would go.
The next few seconds were a confused haze of pain as the shrieking cat flung him halfway across the yard with a bat of one massive paw. Sheng gasped to take in air, rolled over and tried to get up but fell. His right arm was broken and would not support weight. Breathing deeply and rapidly, trying to clear his head, Argent managed to get up on his knees. Every breath ached like fire, so he figured a few ribs had been cracked if not completely broken. He could not stand up.
Across the yard, the tiger rolled over and over, screaming like a banshee. The smell of burning flesh and fur was vile. With the still-blazing flare dislodged, the injured animal crouched and fixed its green eyes on Sheng with a murderous intent that revealed the Human mind still guiding it. It began to stalk in closer, one step forward at a time.
Part of Sheng's racing mind was amused that his policy of not usually carrying a handgun made no difference at this moment. What good would a pistol have done against an animal this size? Strangely enough, fear itself didn't enter his thoughts. Sheng had up against everything from Skinwalkers to Trolls, and the tiger was just one more incredibly dangerous threat to face.
In another second, the gigantic beast would pounce again and this time Zane's mind in the feline skull would know enough to go directly for the unprotected face. Sheng pulled a metal globe the size of a cherry tomato from an inner pocket with his good hand, depressed its stud and flung directly at the tiger's head. As soon as he had done that, the Chujiran opened his mouth to protect his eardrums and squeezed his eyes shut while turning his head.
It was like lightning striking at point-blank range. The white flash and sharp detonation both blinded and deafened any unsuspecting living thing nearby. Even warned as he had been, Sheng still could not hear anything except ringing and his vision was blurred by an afterimage. Crawling on his knees, supporting his weight on his one good arm, Argent made his way over to find that the dazzler grenade had exploded in contact with the tiger's head. Its skull was depressed across the top, and the beast was dead with blood covering its face. Waiting a minute, Sheng experimentally prodded the beast's head with his foot but got no response.
Odd that the tiger did not revert to its Human form upon death. Usually shape-shifters did return, but there were always exceptions.
With enormous difficulty, Sheng got up on his feet. Everything hurt. He put his focus into increased strength and felt his legs were able to carry him. Holding his broken arm still with his good hand, Argent began limping toward the front gate. He did not know how long he had before company arrived. If no one was home at the nearest neighbors, and it was a weekday afternoon, there was a chance no calls would be made to report the strange explosion or the inexplicable jungle roars coming from the Turner home. But he couldn't be sure. Any second now, firetrucks or police cars could be rolling up and he had no idea how he would explain the situation. He still couldn't hear, sirens could be right outside and he wouldn't know.
The gate opened electrically and there were controls on a panel set on a post next to it. Sheng got out onto Riverview Drive and started trudging up the hill. Why the hell hadn't he parked closer? With each second, his enhanced healing from the Tagra tea diet repaired some of the damage to his body, but everything had its limits. He recovered from trauma much faster and more completely than a normal Human would but he couldn't just shrug off injuries like these. Although it was getting easier to walk as he kept moving, he was still in great pain.
A motorcycle roared past him. Sheng made every effort to stand up straight and appear normal, even though his clothing was fluttering in tatters and his face was bruised as if he had been beaten with a hammer. Evidently the biker barely glanced at him and went on his way. Sheng eventually reached his car after what seemed like years. As he leaned up against it, he suddenly realized it was a stick and he couldn't possibly drive it with his right arm broken. Damn. It was his fault for making fun of cars with automatic shift. There went his plan of continuing to handle this case by himself.
Opening the door, Argent plopped down heavily in the driver's seat. Not much remained of his shirt or the front of his jacket, which hung together by one sleeve but his slacks were almost intact. He discovered with relief he still had his Link. Patching into the standard phone service, he called the number he knew best. A second later, a dry voice with a vaguely East European accent answered. "Sheng? Hi, this is Josef. How are you doing?"
"Wow, Josef," Argent answered in a strained voice that gave away how pain he was in. "I'm glad you're on duty. I'm in Norwich, New Jersey. At the end of Riverview Drive."
"Yeah, I know that area. Are you all right? You sound out of breath."
Sheng sighed. "I'm afraid I need you and anyone else at base to come get me and drive my car home. I won a fight with a tiger but it wasn't easy."
VI.
In the emergency ward at KDF headquarters, Sheng was stretched out on the first of the three regulation hospital beds. A blood pressure cuff and leads went up to the monitor, showing his vitals were fine. A saline solution dripped from a stainless steel tree down into an IV inside his left elbow. Sheng had a sheet pulled up to his waist, and a soft cast on his right forearm. The bruises over his body and face were already fading from purple to yellow, although he had only been here two hours.
Sheng appeared to be peacefully sleeping, but he was not. He was actually in a deep healing trace induced by Ted Wright. A faint blue aura flickered around his body, barely visible in the bright overhead lights. The Chujiran's breathing was steady and relaxed.
Standing at the foot of the bed, head bowed and eyes closed in concentration, Dr Thaddeus James Wright used his gralic art to strengthen the lifeforce in Sheng's battered body. He had become a Blue Guide more than thirty years earlier when Teacher Kerlaw of Tel Shai had seen a spark of genius still smoldering in the broken, dispirited American black man who had somehow found his way to the Order. Wright's ability to sense disease or poor function anywhere in a person's body, quicker and more accurate than any blood test or MRI, had earned him a unique position as diagnostic specialist at Metropolitan General. Now, satisfied, he raised his head and the blue glow around Sheng Mo-Yuan faded away.
Wright was showing his age. There was more white than black in the short beard and closely-cropped hair, and grooves cut by worry ran deeply down his cheeks. The thoughtful dark eyes regarded Sheng somberly. Wright was wearing black dress slacks, a long-sleeved white shirt without a tie and a white smock he kept here at KDF base. He put his hands in the pockets of that smock and let out a long breath as he eased off his concentration.
Behind him, Josef Jubilec watched without getting in the way. The Blind Archer was a little over six feet in height, lean and fit, with sandy blond hair and a face weathered by long exposure to the elements. He said, "He's been hurt worse before, Ted. We all have."
Turning to face the Blind Archer, Wright managed a weary smile. It was just chance that he was still at his clinic in the next building before leaving for his night shift at Metro's ER. "That never makes it easier, Josef, but you're right."
Stepping closer, Josef studied the monitor readings. "Looks good. Heartbeat steady as a metronome, blood pressure 110 over 70, blood oxygen level 99 per cent. How's his arm, doctor?"
Wright saw that the saline bag was empty and he removed it, then snapped on blue latex gloves to remove the needle from Sheng's elbow. He pressed a gauze pad to stop the tiny bit of blood, then applied clear tape to hold the pad on. Glancing back at Josef, he allowed himself a smile. "Sheng has one of the cleanest breaks I've ever seen. I think it would show up as just a wire-thin line on an X-Ray. The bones did not move apart at all and they should heal together without a trace."
The Blind Archer smiled back. "He's always had more luck than common sense. The rest of his injuries?"
"Three ribs on the left side show surface fractures on the ventral surface, not deep enough to pose a danger. With his Tagra regimen, the ribs and his arm will heal within two to three days. His chance of infection is almost zero. No signs of internal bleeding."
Josef reached up to touch Wright on the shoulder. "Thanks again for coming over. Going to the hospital is always risky for us."
"I know, I know. The way we heal would raise too much curiosity. Did you know Shiro was kidnapped by a surgeon once?"
"No, I hadn't heard that."
"Oh, yes. Shiro showed up at the man's office bleeding from multiple stab wounds but the wounds started closing up before the doctor could call for an ambulance. Within an hour, Shiro had recovered enough that he was getting ready to leave so the surgeon shot him with a huge dose of tranquilizer and kept him prisoner."
"To study him like a guinea pig?" asked Josef.
"Yes. The surgeon had some idea he could isolate whatever was making Shiro bounce back like that and sell it for millions. That wouldn't work, of course. Tagra is only found at Tel Shai and we are sworn not to reveal his secret."
Josef had a sardonic edge to his voice, "I bet the surgeon didn't survive the encounter."
"No," Wright said without the slightest amusement. "Shiro had to escape and the man pulled an Army 45 automatic on him. Well, I need to get rolling. My shift starts at six and there's always paperwork and a meeting first. Call me if there's any change for the worse, but I expect Sheng will wake up in an hour feeling ready to tackle the world again. He should stay off active duty for a few days no matter what he thinks."
"All right, doctor," Josef said, watching Wright hang up the smock in one corner and then tug on his suit jacket again. "I'll tell our boy Argent it's doctor's orders he remains here. When Sable comes back, she can make sure he rests and doesn't sneak out of the building."
Heading for the door, Ted Wright gave Josef a curious look. "And what are your plans regarding this Turner family of shape-shifters?"
Josef smiled thinly. The pale blue eyes were unreadable as always. "They're in for a rude awakening. They have never met a Blind Archer before."
FAMILY OF TURNERS: Let's Go Do Some Shape-Shifting
4/17/2017
6/14/2013
I.
Sheng Mo-Yuan walked in on the squirrel robbing his office at seven in the morning. He had been out all night on a bodyguard assignment that had seen no action at all. At six-thirty, his client had gotten in a van with a Federal Marshall to be taken to a supposedly safe location. Sheng's involvement with the client ended at that point, and since the check had already cleared, the case was history to him. At two minutes to seven, he entered the Hartwicke Building and trudged up the creaky wooden stairs to the third floor where his office was waiting.
Unbuttoning the top of his pale blue dress shirt and loosening the knot of his black knitted silk tie, Sheng dug for his keys. The frosted glass panel of his door had the Chinese symbols 'Chuan Lo Tsing' painted on it. This could be translated as "Hard Worker Fist" or "Fist For Hire." Below that was ARGENT INVESTIGATIONS, then the office hours 12 MIDNIGHT-9 AM. Early on in his practice, he had realized that nearly all his cases took place at night and that most of his clients were urgently trying to reach him late at night as well. He had started sleeping during the day to keep overnight office hours and cases had been plentiful ever since. It suited him fine. Sheng unlocked the door, stepped in and froze where he was as he saw the animal on his desk.
There was nothing unusual about the animal physically. It seemed to be a common Eastern Gray Squirrel, about ten inches long with the bushy tail curled up behind its back. But it was bent down over his daybook, studying the entries and as he watched, it turned a page with its paw.
"What the HELL...?" he began, startling the little beast. The squirrel gave a violent start, almost falling off the desk, then sprinted across the office and dove headlong out the open window. Squirrels can hit twelve miles an hour instantly, and even if Sheng had switched his Argent powers to speed, he wasn't sure he would have been able to catch it. In a haze of puzzlement, the Chujiran closed the door behind him and carefully draped his suit jacket over the back of his chair.
At five feet five and in trim athletic condition, Argent always dressed well. Tailored clothes were a weakness of his. He sat down at his desk, unlaced his polished black shoes and removed them gratefully. It had been a long night spent on his feet. Still wondering if he had misunderstood what he had just seen, he examined his desk. The wide center drawer was open and the daybook listing his appointments, as well as names of new clients and future court appointments, sat open to the previous day's entries. He was absolutely certain that he had placed the ledger in the drawer and closed the drawer before leaving the previous night. He was meticulous when it came to details like that.
Turning on the bright desk lamp, Sheng peered closely at the ledger but saw no damage, no marks on it of any kind. He closed the book and put it away, still mulling over the incident. Over his long years in the Midnight War, he had seen so many bizarre phenomena that he regarded very little as being absolutely impossible. Had the squirrel been trained to do that? Why? Could you even train squirrels? Had there maybe been a tiny camera tied to a collar that he had not spotted in the few seconds the squirrel had been in sight?
...Was the squirrel intelligent?!
Sheng remembered the window and went to examine it. He distinctly remembered leaving it open the barest crack the night before because it had been such an oppressive muggy day. Now, the window was up at least four inches. Who had done that? He found himself locking for tiny claw marks, finding none and shaking his head at the whole situation. Maybe he should put out some traps with walnuts in them? Sheng closed the window, turned the lock and walked over to turn on the AC unit in the office's other window. Today was supposed to be in the low 90s with high humidity.
After another ten minutes of trying to figure things out, Sheng decided to let it go. Maybe his subconscious mind would decipher the meaning of it all while he slept. He locked the office door and stripped down. Under the neat business suit, he was wearing what looked like a tight garment of wet silk that left only his head, hands and feet exposed. This was the Trom armor that dispersed impact over its entire surface. Sheng peeled it off and took it into the bathroom with him after hanging up his slacks neatly in the closet. The bathroom was so small the toilet nearly touched the shower cabinet, from which he could lean out to turn the taps in the sink. But it was all he needed.
Taking a steaming hot shower and scrubbing himself vigorously with a loofah, Argent wistfully remembered the village in Chujir where he had grown up. Like many of the adjacent realms, electricity did not work in Chujir. Even simple flashlights brought from the world would not function there. He had been so used to an outhouse shack with a board seat that had a hole cut in it, and to bathing once a week because it meant heating water on a wood fire. Sheng toweled dry and rubbed his coarse black hair before emerging naked into his office. He would not need to shave today, he did not have much in the way of whiskers in any case.
Pulling white cotton socks, plaid boxers and a brown T-shirt from a cabinet, Sheng pulled them on and went over to settle down on the couch. His legal residence was the KDF building on East 38th Street where he had rooms but he could be found here in his office more often than not. Sheng arranged some pillows, unfolded a thin flannel sheet from one end of the couch and stretched out contentedly. A few hours sleep usually would clear up most puzzles. Argent yawned, rolled over on his side to face inward on the couch and drifted off.
On the ledge outside, the squirrel watched him through the window.
II.
On lower Canal Street, a white Ford Explorer slowed at the corner by the Hartwicke Building and the passenger window slid down. Hopping across the sidewalk and plunging directly into the window flashed a squirrel. The one passerby who happened to witness this blinked in disbelief but never did mention it to anyone. The Explorer sped up just as the car behind it honked its horn impatiently and turned the corner.
Behind the wheel was a pretty brunette about eighteen, wearing a sleeveless light summer dress. She had long wavy brown hair framing an oval face with immense dark green eyes and full lips. At the moment, that piquant face was tense and worried. She drove on, turning at random frequently in case any one might be following.
On the passenger seat, the grey-furred squirrel shuddered and expanded rapidly, its outlines melting and changing. A naked teen appeared where the squirrel had been, immediately reaching behind her to snatch up a brightly colored poncho which she yanked down over her head to cover herself. The second teen resembled the driver to a close degree, but was considerably heavier, with a rounder face. From the glove box, she took out a pair of black-rimmed glasses and slid them on.
"Well? Talk to me, Parker!" demanded the girl driving.
"Amelia! Chill already. I didn't see any mention of Uncle Morgan," the other girl answered. "His name was not in the appointment book. Before I could check the phone for messages, that Chinese detective came in and I had to get out of there."
"Being a squirrel is so cool," the teen called Amelia mused. "You can sneak in and out and listen to outdoor conversations and be a real undercover spy. My kitten form is useless. Maybe as a distraction."
"Well, it suits you," Parker answered. She reached into the knapsack in the backseat to fetch panties, bra and socks. Wriggling awkwardly, she managed to get the garments on under the poncho. "You were always the pretty sister in the Turner family! Even your totem is an adorable calico pussycat. I turn into a mangy squirrel. Just like my Human self."
Amelia scoffed. "Are you kidding? You're hot. Look at the rack on you. What are you, a D-cup now? I still look like a twelve year old boy when I'm naked."
Her sister had pulled a pair of baggy jeans with the knees out from the knapsack and was tugging them on. "Aw, you're just trying to make me feel better, Amy. But thanks anyway."
Amelia was heading for the George Washington Bridge. She pulled down a pair of oversized round-rimmed sunglasses that had been propped on top of her head. "Well, at least we know that Uncle Morgan hasn't been to see this Sheng Mo-whatever his name is. We need to get back for a family meeting and see what everyone wants to do next."
"I'm just sorry it came to this," Parker said. "I never thought Morgan would turn on us."
"Yeah, well, he's crossed the red line now. Letting normals know about the family! One of us will have to kill him. Don't give me that dumb look, you KNOW it's true. I've been practicing with my 9mm..."
"I hope we don't have to turn Zane loose on him," Parker said, and she shivered visibly at the thought.
III.
Sheng awoke a little after two in the afternoon, feeling refreshed and eager to start another day. The office was cool and comfortable. Scratching various body parts and stretching, he went to use the bathroom and came out still wondering what the deal was with that squirrel. Stripping down again, he tugged on the flexible Trom armor he had rinsed in the shower and hung inside-out to dry. Putting on the same slacks as from the day before, he chose an off-white dress shirt to go with the black suitjacket and black tie. You couldn't go wrong with basics. In various hidden pockets and pouches, he concealed a few of the more useful KDF gadgets like two pencil flares, two of the dazzlers, an oxygen membrane and the instant lock-opener.
When he was working on his own cases at his Argent Agency, Sheng did not carry the full array of gimmicks KDF members normally had on them. Usually, he skipped most of the weaponry and the anesthetic dart gun in particular. With his power to focus gralic force for enhanced strength or speed or durability, he much preferred to rely on his own abilities. Some of that was motivated by vanity, he had to admit.
He was ravenous and there was at the moment nothing to eat in the office. Before he went out for lunch, though, he thought he should check the messages on the office phone. The first was from legal counsel Taylor Worth telling him he had to apply for a tax benefit by the end of the month. The second was a chipper call from Unicorn reminding him that Wednesday was Pizza Night at the KDF headquarters and that Jeremy Bane would be there with a surprise guest. It was the third call that made him sit down and listen to again.
A man identifying himself as Morgan Turner earnestly asked to see him today if at all possible. He would stop by the office as soon as he could and hoped Sheng would be available. That was all he said, but the desperation in the man's voice was plain. He had not left a number to call him back.
A brief debate flared up in Sheng's mind before he decided he had to stay here in case this Morgan Turner showed up. Wanting to keep the office phone free, he took out his Link and called the deli on the corner to order a corned beef on rye with mustard, a pint of macaroni salad and a big bottle of cola. He had gotten delivery from them many times and they knew he tipped adequately.
Sheng opened the door to the hallway, turned off the AC and went back to sit behind his desk facing out. Sitting on top of the green metal filing cabinet to his right was a copy of THE NEW YORK TIMES he had purchased the day before and never gotten to. He started on it and was reading about how a dam in Colorado was in imminent danger of failing unless repairs were made when knuckles rapped on the open door. It was the young man from the deli with his order. Thanking him and tipping, Sheng settled back down and unwrapped the sandwich to savor the pungent aroma. He plowed through the food in record time, got a red plastic cup from the closet to chug a few servings of the cola and repressed a belch with difficulty.
After cleaning up the wrappers and empty container, Sheng placed the half empty soda bottle out of sight. He reflected that, as a private investigator, he really should be sitting with a shot glass and a bottle of whiskey in front of him, not to mention having the room filled with cigarette smoke and moody jazz playing in the background. The mental image of himself acting like that made Sheng laugh as he washed his hands and brushed his teeth before settling down to continue with the TIMES.
At four o'clock, he heard footsteps coming up the stairs. There had been customers to the massage spa two doors down and one or two visitors to the insurance company at the opposite end of the hall. But the sound of these footsteps caught his attention. He trusted his instincts. Sheng folded the TIMES and put it aside.
A slim man just under six feet tall approached the open door uncertainly. "Um. Hello? Mr Sheng? Or is it Mr Argent, I'm not sure...?"
Standing up, Sheng gestured for the man to enter. "Please come in and close the door. Argent is a sort of nickname in the business. I'm Sheng Mo-Yuan, Sheng being the family name. I take it you're the Morgan Turner who left me a message earlier?"
"Yes. Yes." Morgan stepped in, shut the door with visible relief and accepted the chair in front of the desk. He was wearing khaki shorts, a maroon polo shirt several sizes too large and sandals. Morgan had a forgettable face with nothing distinctive about it, but the curly brown hair and a beard with reddish highlights at least gave his appearance some individuality. He sat leaning forward with his hands clasped in front of him and gazed over at Sheng with obvious apprehension.
"Okay then. I'm not a subtle guy, Mr Turner, let's jump right in. I'm a Private Investigator licensed by the City and the State of New York. What do you want from me?"
"This.. this may take a little explaining. Please bear with me. I've done some research on you, if I may say so, and to be honest not much is on public record about your career. Wild stories and gossip and what might be called urban legends are plentiful, though. You and your friends with the Kenneth Dred Foundation are said to have dealt with dangerous supernatural beings and manifestations.. especially the man known as Dire Wolf."
"Yeah. Go on."
"Well. I have to ask, how much of all this is based on real events? If I'm not being rude?" Morgan said.
Sheng laughed easily. "Mr Turner, what you've heard is not even half of the truth. Are you familiar with the term, 'Midnight War?'"
"Yes. I've done a lot of digging in old newspaper reports and obscure books lately. So. Skinwalkers, werewolves.. you've actually seen such creatures?"
"Seen them? I've fought and killed them. Are you telling me you have a werewolf problem, Mr Turner?"
The man could not hold still. He jumped up and barely restrained himself from pacing nervously. "Mr Sheng, it's my family. I come from a highly unusual family. It started with my father, I guess he was the first with the ability to shift. I have it, my sister has it and her kids have it. But it's different with each of us. We each have a totem we don't choose."
Argent had become much more serious. His dark eyes behind the double eyelid fold studied his visitor intently. "You're telling me that your entire family can shape-shift? You're all werewolves?"
"No, we each change into a different animal," Morgan explained. He pointed a slender finger at the office window. "I believe you saw proof this morning."
"That damn squirrel, huh?" said Sheng. "You have got some major explainations to give me, Mr Turner. That squirrel was a member of your family spying on me?"
"It was my niece Parker. She's nineteen. My father sent her to find out if I had been here to see you." Morgan managed to sit down again with difficulty. "I think Dad suspects me. He suspects I'm going to reveal what the family is up to."
Sheng was never patient at the best of times. "Man, get to the point. What is this all about--?" He stopped short when he saw that Morgan Turner's face had gone pale and that he was staring in horror past Sheng's shoulder. The Chujiran spun around in his swivel chair. The squirrel was outside the window again, up on its hind legs, watching the two of them.
IV.
Focusing his gralic charge into speed, Sheng was out of his chair and at the window in a single leap across the office. Quick as he was, the squirrel had gotten away by the time he got the lock turned and the window up. Leaning far outward, he just saw the little creature hop up into a white Ford Explorer that pulled away. The angles were wrong for him to get a look at the license plates but he did glimpse a young dark-haired woman at the wheel. The car rounded the corner and was gone.
"This is getting really interesting," Argent muttered to himself. "I have a few thousand questions for you, Mr Turner." As he turned back away from the window, he saw not Morgan Turner but a loose bundle of clothing on the floor with something struggling within it. Sheng moved cautiously closer to see a narrow muzzle poke out of the clothing and two beady eyes fixed on him. An elongated furry shape wriggled free and stood there more calmly than an animal should under the circumstances.
"A weasel?" asked Sheng. "Why is that not a surprise?" He swung around the office but the bathroom door and closet door were closed and there was nowhere for anyone to hide. The couch was against one wall with not enough space beneath it to conceal a person. He did not see how his visitor could possibly have shucked off his clothing, carried a weasel into the office and jammed the animal into his clothes and then escaped naked somehow. It had only been a few seconds that Sheng had been at the window. This was no trick. He bent over and peered at the beast. "Turner, is that you?"
The little animal bowed its head. In an instant, its shape melted and reformed, expanding outward and a nude Morgan Turner was there on his hands and knees instead. The man sat up, grabbed the khaki shorts and yanked them on hurriedly, then picked up the oversized shirt.
"I'm sorry to expose myself like that," he said. "Really, I do apologize but when I saw Parker in the window, I changed without realizing it." He picked up his wallet from where it had fallen out of a pocket and got back up into the client chair.
A decade earlier, the younger Sheng would have been too startled and confused by these events to take it in. But he had seen so much of the Midnight War on his own and as a KDF member that he had gotten a bit jaded. He went back to his seat behind the desk and watched as Turner got the sandals on. "So, let me get a few things straight. Your family can transform at will. They don't wait for a full moon or nightfall or anything like that?"
"Oh, no. We change back and forth whenever we like. The family name isn't really Turner, Dad took it as a sort of inside joke because we 'turn' into our totems."
"Uh-huh. And why is a weasel afraid of a squirrel? If that squirrel got in here, couldn't a weasel defend itself pretty well?"
"It's not Parker, that is, the squirrel that I'm worried about," Morgan answered. "She might have the rest of the family with her. If Dad or Zane came in here and transformed..."
"Why?" asked Sheng. "What do they turn into? Wolves?"
"Much worse. I think coming here was a mistake, Mr Sheng. I should be going now." He started to get up but hesitated as Argent raised a hand.
"It's too late now, Turner. Parker saw you here. I can't believe I'm calling a squirrel 'Parker,' but I just saw you change, so I'm taking your story at face value. If you feel you're in danger from your family, I'll agree to take you as a client. Do you have any cash on you?"
"I think so. Here, I've got four twenties and a five."
Sheng held out his hand. "I'll take twenty-five. It's just a token payment but it's enough to establish legally that I'm working in your interests." Getting his daybook, the Chujiran opened the back section and carefully entered the details of the transaction. He handed Morgan a short form to sign and gave him a receipt in exchange. "Now it's official. Before I go to meet your family, give me their names and a little about them."
"All right. I feel much better knowing you're on my side. I've read about your exploits, Mr Sheng. Now, my father is named Albert Turner, he's definitely the patriarch of our clan. His second wife, Aurora, is much younger and can't change. Their son Chauncey is thirteen and can. I have a sister Blair two years older than me, and she can change but her husband Gil can't. It's only blood descent from Dad that gives the ability, you see. Then Blair and Gil have three kids, all of whom can transform. Parker is nineteen, Amelia is eighteen and their brother Zane is fourteen, maybe fifteen I think."
Sheng sat digesting this information, then repeated it without getting any of the details wrong. Long years of experience had sharpened his retention. "Any more family members and I would have to draw up a chart. Where does everyone live?"
"Over in Norwich. New Jersey. Dad and Aurora and Chauncey have a house on Riverview Drive, while Blair and Gil and their kids live a few miles away on Halcyon. I have an apartment here out on Long Island, near Riverhead."
"You live by yourself?"
"No. I have a roommate. He doesn't know about any of this. We're talking about relocating to Maryland for the law office we work for, and that's what has my family worried. They think I might break away from them."
Sheng could not keep himself from commenting. "You're a lawyer and you turn into a weasel?"
"Heh heh." The laugh sounded forced. "The stereotype has occured to me, of course. But really, I just deal with copyrights and trademarks relating to foreign markets."
Sheng stood up and adjusted the cuffs on his jacket. "I'm going to start stirring things up a bit. Where are you going to be today?"
"Back at my apartment, although I have a two hour ride to get there," Morgan answered as he also rose. "The building has a lobby where visitors have to buzz to get in, so I'm safer there than at work today."
"Sounds good. Come on, I'll escort you to the street until you get in a taxi. Then I believe I will meet the rest of the Turners."
III.
The flagstone patio at the rear of the house was cut off from outside view by a seven foot high white plank fence and several elms. Arranged in a semi-circle were three redwood picnic tables with benches, each table shaded by a green and white fabric parasol. A brick barbecue pit was off to one side, its grill holding only a few remaining hamburgers. A folding table held paper plates and napkins, packages of buns, catsup and mustard containers. Seated on the benches or standing with folded arms were the eight members of the Turner family.
Albert was clearly in charge. When he spoke, everyone sat up and paid attention. He was in his early sixties, looking like a former athlete gone downhill with a thick middle and not much hair above the temples. The head of the family was dressed in remarkably bad taste, including a white T-shirt that was too small, plaid shorts with a white vinyl belt and sandals with white calf-length socks. Fashion meant nothing to him.
He pulled the tab on a can of Pabst Blue Ribbon and stared gloomily at his extended family. Seated near him at the table was a dark-haired woman just hitting thirty, just a bit too voluptuous in a blue dress that only reached just below her waist by enough to avoid being arrested. Standing beside her, munching on a thick grilled cheese sandwich, was a chubby boy who had a marked resemblance to her.
As Albert Turner chugged most of the beer, Parker and Amelia lowered themselves to a bench at the same table. They had chosen a seat well shaded by the parasols. The air was muggy and unpleasant that day, as it had been all week. As soon as they had arrived, the two girls had reported what they had seen through the window of the building on Canal Street.
"This guy Sheng is trouble," Albert said, "I've heard stories about him. He's a Tel Shai knight and you know they are no friends of the children of the night. If Morgan was talking to him, Sheng Mo-Yuan most likely will be coming here. Believe me, wherever he goes, our kind end up dead!"
Sitting near to where he stood, his wife Aurora interrupted. She had a slight French accent from her childhood in Quebec but it was not obtrusive. "I don't think we should be rash. Let this detective come here. What will he find? Perfectly normal human beings enjoying a summer day. There is nothing out of the ordinary here."
"Mom's got a point," said the heavyset boy next to her. "We've been careful to leave no trace of all our killings. Let this guy come here. We'll tell him Morgan is paranoid or drunk or something."
At the table where the two teen girls had seated themselves, they were helping themselves to blue Solo cups from a pitcher of iced lemonade. "I don't think so," said the one with glasses. "I got an eyeful at that window. Uncle Morgan changed. He turned into the weasel he really is..."
"Which means that the detective saw him turn," Amelia said. She shook her head. "He knows something supernatural is going on. If he's as dangerous as you say he is, we should be ready."
Seated on the other side of the table from Parker and Amelia were their parents, a good-looking couple in their mid-thirties. Gil Turner had wavy dark hair and a pleasant square-jawed face. He was wearing black jeans and a short-sleeved shirt that revealed remarkably hairy arms. Next to him was his wife Blair, a typical blonde soccer mom in a tan polo shirt and tight yoga pants. She had her blonde hair pulled up in a swirl at the back of her head. Blair was Albert's older child and had the changing ability, while Gil was not related by blood and could not transform. But it was Gil who spoke up. "I vote that we make this Chinese PI just disappear. Morgan is a problem we'll have to take care of anyway."
"I'm with Gil," Blair said firmly. "Being found out by society has always been our biggest danger. We would end up in some remote government lab being tested and experimented on. We would never leave alive. I also vote that Sheng must die."
Over by the barbecue grill, a thin boy around fifteen was slathering mustard and relish to completely cover the last hot dog. He had a strong resemblance to Gil, even wearing a similar plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Zane Turner swung around to face the gathering. "I'll get rid of this guy. I'd like some action. My totem hasn't done a kill in a long time."
"We all become more and more like our totems as time goes by," said his mother with a distinct lack of enthusiasm. "My own instincts are to run for it and avoid confrontation."
"Yeah but I'm not a Spider Monkey, Mom." Zane took half the hot dog in one bite and mumbled through a full mouth. "Not that there's anything wrong with being one. Or a squirrel or a cat, ha ha. But my totem is a little more, I dunno, demanding?"
Albert clapped his hands together for emphasis. "Zane does need prey once in a while. My own totem has the same primal urge. I think the rest of us should all get in the RV and go down to the shore for the next day or so while Zane settles things here. Kid, remember to try to keep the noise down. The neighbors don't get home until six or so, but someone driving by might hear screams and call 911."
Finishing the hot dog, Zane Turner cackled. "It's be quick. Let's go do some shape-shifting."
V.
For years, Sheng had stubbornly resisted buying a car. He lived down in Chinatown and most of his cases took place within Manhattan. Taxis and subways were usually sufficient for his needs. But the Argent Investigations activity had inevitably started expanding until he found himself sometimes having to travel to Connecticut or upstate New York or Pennsylvania. Sheng's bank account was healthy. For ten years, he had lived at the KDF building with free meals and health coverage and an expense account while on cases, so he had deposited most of his stipend and left it untouched. When he decided to finally get a car of his own, he had no trouble swinging a flashy bright red Ferrari 458 Italia which accelerated so rapidly it seemed to leap up off the street. Everyone agreed it fit his personality.
But he couldn't find a place to store it that suited him. The nearest workable spot by his office was a municipal lot that left the cars open to the elements. Grudgingly, claiming it was only until he found a closer place, he rented a space at the IMPERIAL GARAGE at 40th Street and Third Avenue... the same place where Jeremy Bane and Megan Salenger housed their own vehicles. His two colleagues had no teased him but had good-naturedly agreed that they were taking over the establishment. One benefit was that they each kept an eye on each other's vehicles when picking up their own, just a bit more security.
Sheng walked from his office up to the garage. He enjoyed walking and he moved close enough to a sprint that getting a taxi would not have saved more than a few minutes. Heading down the wide concrete ramp at the entrance, Sheng paused for a few minutes to chat with Mikey, the attendant in the glass-enclosed booth. Nothing more suspicious than the usual assortment of homeless, winos and crazies had been spotted trying to get into the garage.
Moving past Megan's beloved Jeep Cherokee, Argent beeped the locks on his Ferrari and the engine started, so smooth and tuned that it was barely audible. On the driver's sunvisor, four tiny green and blue lights blinked steadily to show the car had not been touched. Sheng got, adjusted his mirrors again out of habit, checked a few spots where he had a weapon or some Trom gadgets concealed, and pulled up to exit on Third Avenue.
As he drove back down toward Canal Street where he had started from, Sheng groused to himself about the inconvenience of leaving his car so far away. Now he knew why so many New Yorkers said owning a car was more trouble than it was worth. He headed for the Holland Tunnel, then into New Jersey. As he drove in silence, he wondered why Morgan Turner had been so reluctant to specify which animals the various members of his family turned into. What was the point? So far he had seen a weasel and a squirrel, neither of which were that intimidating, but he got the impression some of the other Turners were more formidable.
Passing Cherry Hill, he found the mostly residential town of Norwich. All the houses were large and impressive, the extensive lawns were well-tended and the cars he could spot looked as if they had just rolled out of a showroom. Sheng often suspected that as many vile crimes went on behind the walls of mansions as happened deep in the halls of tenements, crimes as brutal and degrading but neatly covered up and keep private.
Riverview Drive led up quite a long slope, with the houses spaced farther apart as the yards grew larger. It was almost like being out in the country.
Near the top of the hill, one property had a seven-foot high wide slat fence beyond which the top two stories of a red brick house could be seen. Sheng drove past and found a gravel-covered area at the very top of the hill. He parked his car and looked around. Below him, sparkling in the bright summer sunlight, was Merrilon River. He gazed back down at the house that he was interested in and could see much of the yard from this vantage point. There was an attached garage large enough for two cars and a flagstone patio at the rear with picnic furniture.
From thhe trunk, Sheng located a pair of binoculars in a box that held assorted equipment he had accumulated over the years. He stood studying the scene, trying to be more patient than he really was. By nature, he was a direct, confrontational personality. Set in the wall facing Riverview Drive was a metal gate that swung outward as he watched to let a motorhome pull out and head south.
As the vehicle stopped to check both ways before easing out on to the road, Sheng got a good look at it, including the license plate which he instantly memorized. It was a white and green Airstream, a Class C motorhome, midsized at 25 feet long. There was a storage area protruding above the driver's cab and in its window he spotted two animals sittting side by side gazing out... a calico kitten and a squirrel.
It was difficult for Argent not to laugh out loud at the small faces peering down at the road. Of course, it was two members of the Turner family sitting in that window. The odds of arranging a cat and squirrel to calmly sit next to each other were remote. Two of the Turners had transformed for the ride, he figured it was so the interior of the RV was not as crowded. A kitten and squirrel took up much less room and friction between family members would be lessened.
Returning the binoculars to the equipment box, he paused with one hand on the travel bag that contained his KDF field suit. With its helmet that had built-in sensors and communications, its inner layor of Trom armor and its dozen useful gadgets and weapons, the field suit was a huge advantage in active situations. But he frowned and closed the trunk. He would stay in the black business suit with its white shirt and narrow black tie. When on cases for Argent Investigations, Sheng preferred to distance himself from Kenneth Dred Foundation methods. Maybe it was just vanity but he wanted to establish his own separate identity.
Leaving his car where it was, Sheng headed down the road toward the Turner home. Only one car went past, a panel van that read PORTER BROS PLUMBING AND ELECTRICAL on the side. The driver was talking on a cell phone and didn't even glance at Sheng. When he reached the wall, the Chujiran circled around to the rear and considered the situation. His slacks were tailored so he could do a full split on the ground without discomfort and, although they looked normal, his polished black shoes had deep ridges on the soles for grip and steel-caps on both toes and heels.
He gave his actions as much planning as usual, which was next to none. From fifteen feet away, Sheng ran at the wall and shifted his focus to strength. Gralic force reinforced his muscles and connective tissues, making him temporarily more powerful than a bodybuilder twice his size. Since he still weighed only a hundred and fifty-five pounds, he was enormously overpowered and he leaped easily up to clear the seven foot fence. Coming down on the grass inside the back yard, Sheng landed on finger and toes, rolled and came up on his feet.
His gift as Argent was to ehance his strength, speed or durability. Since he could only use one effect at a time, Sheng had become proficient at shifting quickly from one to the next for best results. This power was conscious and only lasted as long as he concentrated on it. Sheng gazed around the well-tended lawn, the flower bed made of a circle of smooth rocks, the three elms in a cluster near the house. Then he saw the boy come out of the back door.
Zane Turner was wearing only a pair of excessively baggy dark blue trunks. He was a skinny kid, and the pasty lack of a suntan made him seem even less imposing. But as he walked quickly toward the intruder, Zane grinned wickedly with his mouth only. His eyes had no humor in them, giving his smile a sinister air.
Despite all his ability and Kumundu skill, Sheng abruptly felt himself in mortal danger. He shifted his focus to durability and resilience as strongly as it would go. Over the years, everything from knives to shrapnel to small arms gunfire had glanced harmlessly off his skin while he was in this state. As it happened, he was not an instant too soon.
Kicking off the shorts, the Turner boy took three quick running steps and launched himself bodily into the air. In a blur, his pale body turned tawny with black stripes, lengthened to ten feet and exploded outwards. Five hundred pounds of muscle and bone crashed savagely on Sheng. A full-grown tiger pinned him down and started trying to disembowel him.
Even as he was smashed to the ground, Sheng had reflexes quick enough to jam his right forearm sideways across the tiger's maw. Between his gralic-reinforced density and the Trom armor sleeve under his jacket, his arm was too tough for even the tiger's jaw strength to break. The huge white fangs ripped through jacket material but could not pierce the armor beneath. Even so, the pain in Argent's forearm was agonizing. At the same time, the giant beast got one hind leg up by Sheng's chest and began ripping down in the typical method big cats use to open up prey.
Instantly, Sheng's clothing on his upper body was torn away to reveal to the dark grey sheen of the Trom armor. Combined with his body's superhuman durability, this kept him from being killed within a few seconds from the tiger's attack. He could not breathe. The beast was holding him down so he could not expand his ribs enough to take in a breath. Sheng's mind had never worked more clearly or rapidly. His left arm was still free and he jammed it into his inner jacket pocket to come out with a metal tube the size of a pencil. With a thumb, he popped off the cap and the blinding white plume of thermite hissed into life. Sheng shoved the burning flare as deeply into the tiger's ear as it would go.
The next few seconds were a confused haze of pain as the shrieking cat flung him halfway across the yard with a bat of one massive paw. Sheng gasped to take in air, rolled over and tried to get up but fell. His right arm was broken and would not support weight. Breathing deeply and rapidly, trying to clear his head, Argent managed to get up on his knees. Every breath ached like fire, so he figured a few ribs had been cracked if not completely broken. He could not stand up.
Across the yard, the tiger rolled over and over, screaming like a banshee. The smell of burning flesh and fur was vile. With the still-blazing flare dislodged, the injured animal crouched and fixed its green eyes on Sheng with a murderous intent that revealed the Human mind still guiding it. It began to stalk in closer, one step forward at a time.
Part of Sheng's racing mind was amused that his policy of not usually carrying a handgun made no difference at this moment. What good would a pistol have done against an animal this size? Strangely enough, fear itself didn't enter his thoughts. Sheng had up against everything from Skinwalkers to Trolls, and the tiger was just one more incredibly dangerous threat to face.
In another second, the gigantic beast would pounce again and this time Zane's mind in the feline skull would know enough to go directly for the unprotected face. Sheng pulled a metal globe the size of a cherry tomato from an inner pocket with his good hand, depressed its stud and flung directly at the tiger's head. As soon as he had done that, the Chujiran opened his mouth to protect his eardrums and squeezed his eyes shut while turning his head.
It was like lightning striking at point-blank range. The white flash and sharp detonation both blinded and deafened any unsuspecting living thing nearby. Even warned as he had been, Sheng still could not hear anything except ringing and his vision was blurred by an afterimage. Crawling on his knees, supporting his weight on his one good arm, Argent made his way over to find that the dazzler grenade had exploded in contact with the tiger's head. Its skull was depressed across the top, and the beast was dead with blood covering its face. Waiting a minute, Sheng experimentally prodded the beast's head with his foot but got no response.
Odd that the tiger did not revert to its Human form upon death. Usually shape-shifters did return, but there were always exceptions.
With enormous difficulty, Sheng got up on his feet. Everything hurt. He put his focus into increased strength and felt his legs were able to carry him. Holding his broken arm still with his good hand, Argent began limping toward the front gate. He did not know how long he had before company arrived. If no one was home at the nearest neighbors, and it was a weekday afternoon, there was a chance no calls would be made to report the strange explosion or the inexplicable jungle roars coming from the Turner home. But he couldn't be sure. Any second now, firetrucks or police cars could be rolling up and he had no idea how he would explain the situation. He still couldn't hear, sirens could be right outside and he wouldn't know.
The gate opened electrically and there were controls on a panel set on a post next to it. Sheng got out onto Riverview Drive and started trudging up the hill. Why the hell hadn't he parked closer? With each second, his enhanced healing from the Tagra tea diet repaired some of the damage to his body, but everything had its limits. He recovered from trauma much faster and more completely than a normal Human would but he couldn't just shrug off injuries like these. Although it was getting easier to walk as he kept moving, he was still in great pain.
A motorcycle roared past him. Sheng made every effort to stand up straight and appear normal, even though his clothing was fluttering in tatters and his face was bruised as if he had been beaten with a hammer. Evidently the biker barely glanced at him and went on his way. Sheng eventually reached his car after what seemed like years. As he leaned up against it, he suddenly realized it was a stick and he couldn't possibly drive it with his right arm broken. Damn. It was his fault for making fun of cars with automatic shift. There went his plan of continuing to handle this case by himself.
Opening the door, Argent plopped down heavily in the driver's seat. Not much remained of his shirt or the front of his jacket, which hung together by one sleeve but his slacks were almost intact. He discovered with relief he still had his Link. Patching into the standard phone service, he called the number he knew best. A second later, a dry voice with a vaguely East European accent answered. "Sheng? Hi, this is Josef. How are you doing?"
"Wow, Josef," Argent answered in a strained voice that gave away how pain he was in. "I'm glad you're on duty. I'm in Norwich, New Jersey. At the end of Riverview Drive."
"Yeah, I know that area. Are you all right? You sound out of breath."
Sheng sighed. "I'm afraid I need you and anyone else at base to come get me and drive my car home. I won a fight with a tiger but it wasn't easy."
VI.
In the emergency ward at KDF headquarters, Sheng was stretched out on the first of the three regulation hospital beds. A blood pressure cuff and leads went up to the monitor, showing his vitals were fine. A saline solution dripped from a stainless steel tree down into an IV inside his left elbow. Sheng had a sheet pulled up to his waist, and a soft cast on his right forearm. The bruises over his body and face were already fading from purple to yellow, although he had only been here two hours.
Sheng appeared to be peacefully sleeping, but he was not. He was actually in a deep healing trace induced by Ted Wright. A faint blue aura flickered around his body, barely visible in the bright overhead lights. The Chujiran's breathing was steady and relaxed.
Standing at the foot of the bed, head bowed and eyes closed in concentration, Dr Thaddeus James Wright used his gralic art to strengthen the lifeforce in Sheng's battered body. He had become a Blue Guide more than thirty years earlier when Teacher Kerlaw of Tel Shai had seen a spark of genius still smoldering in the broken, dispirited American black man who had somehow found his way to the Order. Wright's ability to sense disease or poor function anywhere in a person's body, quicker and more accurate than any blood test or MRI, had earned him a unique position as diagnostic specialist at Metropolitan General. Now, satisfied, he raised his head and the blue glow around Sheng Mo-Yuan faded away.
Wright was showing his age. There was more white than black in the short beard and closely-cropped hair, and grooves cut by worry ran deeply down his cheeks. The thoughtful dark eyes regarded Sheng somberly. Wright was wearing black dress slacks, a long-sleeved white shirt without a tie and a white smock he kept here at KDF base. He put his hands in the pockets of that smock and let out a long breath as he eased off his concentration.
Behind him, Josef Jubilec watched without getting in the way. The Blind Archer was a little over six feet in height, lean and fit, with sandy blond hair and a face weathered by long exposure to the elements. He said, "He's been hurt worse before, Ted. We all have."
Turning to face the Blind Archer, Wright managed a weary smile. It was just chance that he was still at his clinic in the next building before leaving for his night shift at Metro's ER. "That never makes it easier, Josef, but you're right."
Stepping closer, Josef studied the monitor readings. "Looks good. Heartbeat steady as a metronome, blood pressure 110 over 70, blood oxygen level 99 per cent. How's his arm, doctor?"
Wright saw that the saline bag was empty and he removed it, then snapped on blue latex gloves to remove the needle from Sheng's elbow. He pressed a gauze pad to stop the tiny bit of blood, then applied clear tape to hold the pad on. Glancing back at Josef, he allowed himself a smile. "Sheng has one of the cleanest breaks I've ever seen. I think it would show up as just a wire-thin line on an X-Ray. The bones did not move apart at all and they should heal together without a trace."
The Blind Archer smiled back. "He's always had more luck than common sense. The rest of his injuries?"
"Three ribs on the left side show surface fractures on the ventral surface, not deep enough to pose a danger. With his Tagra regimen, the ribs and his arm will heal within two to three days. His chance of infection is almost zero. No signs of internal bleeding."
Josef reached up to touch Wright on the shoulder. "Thanks again for coming over. Going to the hospital is always risky for us."
"I know, I know. The way we heal would raise too much curiosity. Did you know Shiro was kidnapped by a surgeon once?"
"No, I hadn't heard that."
"Oh, yes. Shiro showed up at the man's office bleeding from multiple stab wounds but the wounds started closing up before the doctor could call for an ambulance. Within an hour, Shiro had recovered enough that he was getting ready to leave so the surgeon shot him with a huge dose of tranquilizer and kept him prisoner."
"To study him like a guinea pig?" asked Josef.
"Yes. The surgeon had some idea he could isolate whatever was making Shiro bounce back like that and sell it for millions. That wouldn't work, of course. Tagra is only found at Tel Shai and we are sworn not to reveal his secret."
Josef had a sardonic edge to his voice, "I bet the surgeon didn't survive the encounter."
"No," Wright said without the slightest amusement. "Shiro had to escape and the man pulled an Army 45 automatic on him. Well, I need to get rolling. My shift starts at six and there's always paperwork and a meeting first. Call me if there's any change for the worse, but I expect Sheng will wake up in an hour feeling ready to tackle the world again. He should stay off active duty for a few days no matter what he thinks."
"All right, doctor," Josef said, watching Wright hang up the smock in one corner and then tug on his suit jacket again. "I'll tell our boy Argent it's doctor's orders he remains here. When Sable comes back, she can make sure he rests and doesn't sneak out of the building."
Heading for the door, Ted Wright gave Josef a curious look. "And what are your plans regarding this Turner family of shape-shifters?"
Josef smiled thinly. The pale blue eyes were unreadable as always. "They're in for a rude awakening. They have never met a Blind Archer before."
FAMILY OF TURNERS: Let's Go Do Some Shape-Shifting
4/17/2017
