A Trickster's Tail - Part 10

Warning: Adult content; reader discretion advised

After a pause this long, I suppose an explanation is more than overdue...

I reached a very uncomfortable part of the story for me. I had the plot of what would happen clearly in mind, so clearly that I couldn't even conceive of things going another way. But I just couldn't find the right way to write it; I'd get two or three paragraphs in, then grind to a halt, toss them out and start over. I've had writers' block before, but I've never had it this bad on something this short.

Well, I fought with it and fought with it. And when the other NMF stories tapered off to a halt, I guess I breathed a sigh of relief. But it wasn't really relief; I like this story, and I wanted to write it--I just had a devil of a time doing it. So when Bryan posted his latest Raucous Chicken piece, and it was so darned good... well, it shamed me into finishing this. :-)

This is, to put it mildly, a radical departure from what I'm used to writing. I'm not at all happy with it. But it's not going to get any better if I just stare at it, so here goes nothing...

WARNING: The following post contains descriptions of unconventional sex. It could easily be offensive to those easily offended, or to those of sufficiently tender years. Reader discretion is strongly advised. (And if you're offended by this, don't even think about reading any good Coyote stories. :-) )

The night club was full of college students, and thirtysomethings trying to feel like college students.

It was dark. It was crowded. The music was loud. The smells were intense. The dance floor was packed. There were over two dozen varieties of beer.

Kickaha was in his element.

He danced indiscriminately; he had no idea what he was doing, but that was part of the fun. What he lacked in talent he made up for in exuberance. He danced with every woman he could reach who wasn't nailed down, and a few men who didn't get out of the way fast enough. Some of them talked. Some of them bought him drinks. Who was he to be unsociable?

For some reason, Keith was taking exception to this. He pointed out the problems last night. Kickaha taught him a quick spell to dampen the alcohol level in the bloodstream. This let Keith keep him at the "comfortable with life" stage of drunkenness, which made Keith happy. And it gave Keith something to do other than nag, which made Kickaha happy.

And, when Kickaha was in the mood for a little more fun, the place put the "rich" in "target-rich environment". People were doing stupid things left and right. Nobody was paying much attention. And, of course, if people did happen to see something weird, "magic" wasn't likely to be the first explanation to come to mind--unless they were really drunk, in which case who cared?

Over in the corner, a balding manager in a three-piece suit was trying a bit too hard to "get to know" his new secretary, buying her drink after drink, while he sipped at his own. Odd how she didn't seem to be getting tipsy at all, while he seemed to be having a hard time getting the glass upto his mouth...

At another table, some twentysomethings were playing poker; the quality of play had gone down steadily as the night wore on, and now all but two were cleaned out. The remaining two looked at their cards, blinked, bet heavily, raised, reraised; finally, they both smiled broadly, showed their hands--each had a seven-high straight. A tie. They dealt again, blinked again, bet even more heavily, until all their money was in the pot; again they showed their hands--this time both had a royal flush, one in diamonds, one in hearts. They stared at the hands for a while, then agreed to call it a night...

A UW student in a "FUCK OBSCENITY" T-shirt was clearly convinced that he was God's Gift To Dance, and that entitled him to whatever portion of the floor that he might dignify with his presence. Shortly after elbowing Kickaha in the back for encroaching on his territory, he went into one of his patented spins, heard a long, loud ripping sound from the direction of his pants, and suddenly felt a draft...

The night seemed to spin on and on. Finally, the crowd started to thin out. Just past midnight, Kickaha sauntered out, walking back towards the Hilton. He looked up, howled noiselessly at the starless sky. Life was damn good.

Just a block away from the Hilton. If Keith could have, he would have breathed a sigh of relief.

{Well, I've gotta admit it; that went well. And it was damn fun to watch.}

{So, ready to call it a night?}

{{Not quite yet. Good things have happened today; it seems like we ought to help somebody. Even up the karmic balance a little bit, you know.}}

{Why, Kickaha, that's... sweet. But who's going to need help at this time of night?}

Then Keith noticed where Kickaha was looking. Standing under an umbrella near the entrance to the Hilton, a blonde in a tight red dress and high heels stood idly, facing away from them, watching the street. She didn't exactly look sleazy, but she clearly wasn't waiting for a cab.

{{I think the evening just got a lot more interesting,}} said Kickaha, as he picked up his pace a bit.

Keith's heart sank. {What sort of "help" are we talking about here?}

{Kickaha, please tell me you're not talking about what I know you're talking about.}

{I didn't go breaking the law...}

{{Oh, sure. Ringing up a few grand on a magic credit card is perfectly legal. Besides, how can you pass up a damsel in distress?}}

{What sort of 'distress'?}

Keith knew when he was beat. {Isn't she going to notice our, er, anatomical differences?}, he said halfheartedly.

{Oh, words can't describe it.}

{No, I don't think I would.}

As they approached, she turned around. She wasn't beautiful, but she was certainly attractive. "Hey, sugar. Whatcha doin' tonight?"

"Oh, just getting a feel for the town."

"Like what you see so far?"

"Oh, absolutely."

"That's real nice. I'm Candy. How'd you like me to show you a few more things tonight?"

"Sounds reeeal interesting."

{As in, "May you live in interesting times"?}

Keith wasn't sure whether to be fascinated or appalled. He decided to be fascinated. For now.

He had never used a prostitute before; he'd certainly thought about it enough times, but he'd never actually gone through with it. He had often imagined what it would be like. This wasn't it.

The preliminaries had been dispensed with very quickly. Kickaha seemed to approach sex in the same way that he approached dance. It was athletic; it showed very little sense of timing; it sometimes involved bumping into things. You certainly wouldn't teach anyone to do it that way. But it was a heck of a thing to watch. And everyone involved seemed to be enjoying it.

Keith wasn't quite enjoying it yet. Okay, he was a humanoid coyote; he had that part down cold. And he could even accept that he was a humanoid coyote having sex. Appearance aside, he had to admit that it had some pretty compelling advantages; his weapon seemed to have unlimited ammunition, for one thing. But there was still something a little bit weird about just watching himself have sex. Candy wasn't very active either; she seemed to have given up on trying to keep up with what Kickaha was doing, and had just settled in for the ride. But she was still obviously having a good time. She leaned into Kickaha, as he licked her ear...

...which was getting longer.

If Keith had been in control of his body at that moment, he would have bounced about two feet off the bed in surprise. As it was, he did nothing of the sort; Kickaha kept things going smoothly (or what passed for smoothly with Kickaha), and he chose that moment to close his eyes. But Keith could still feel the fur starting to sprout from the middle of her chest.

{KICKAHA!}

{WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON???}

{HOW???}

{{Keith, I'm really kinda busy right now. How about if you take a look around for yourself and get back to me in a bit?}}

{KIC--}

And then Keith was in Candy's head.

Yes, she was definitely having a good time. There was a warmth all over; her eyes were closed, her breathing slow and even, her perceptions muted, detached. Kickaha and the real world hardly seemed to register; it was like floating in space. When he tried, he could feel Kickaha pumping into him--into her, his fur pressing on her chest, his legs bracketing hers, his nose behind her ear. He could feel her push back into him, almost by instinct. He could also feel the beginnings of her own fur emerging, working its way across her chest. Another patch ran along her spine, down the back of her legs, starting to spread out over her back. Her mouth had pushed out a half-inch or so, and her nose was flattening a bit, moving closer to the mouth. The stub of a tail had emerged from the base of her spine, and it slowly pushed out another inch or so, pressed up against her back. The change felt nothing like what he was used to; there was no sudden rush--just slow, even ripples.

When he tried, he could feel all this. But he knew Candy wasn't trying. And he could understand why not.

Then Keith changed his focus, looking towards her mind, her memories. And as he found himself drawn in, he too lost track of reality.

Her name was Tabitha Wilkins.

Her family was poor. Her father often worked two part-time jobs, when he worked at all; her mother did odd jobs when she could. They rarely fought, but they rarely loved either; their marriage was largely taken on as an obligation, "for the child's sake." But "the child" was largely left to fend for herself.

At school, she was a good student; she was never exactly popular, but she always had friends, and she spent most of her time with them. She had always had an interest in the law; so she was thrilled when she was accepted as a pre-law major at the University of Washington, with a partial scholarship.

But once she got to Seattle, she quickly found herself swamped. She had never had to work very hard at her studies in high school; but here, nothing came easy--she was getting average grades, and she knew that "only average" wouldn't get her into law school. And her scholarship didn't cover all the bills; she had to take night jobs to make ends meet. She often got back to her dorm after midnight, studied till 3, then woke up at 6. Coffee helped at first, but it lost its punch quickly. She found herself falling behind; she was certain that she wasn't going to make it.

Then, at one late-night study session, someone offered her some cocaine, saying that it would give her an energy boost. Out of desperation, she tried it. And it worked. While the high lasted, nothing could stop her; she could understand anything, remember anything. She snorted some in the restroom just before a crucial midterm, and aced it. She thought she finally had her answer.

And she had. For about a month.

But then it all came crashing down again. The high wore off too fast, and left her feeling more and more drained. And her financial situation, bad before, was desperate now; she maxed out her credit cards, borrowed money from friends, pawned her stereo, finally sold her books. It wasn't enough. But she couldn't stop.

She drifted away from her friends. She stopped going to classes, tried to find work--any work. But she couldn't hold a job. Finally, someone offered her a way to work at night, to make some quick money--and get a quick fix--while meeting interesting people.

She took it. She had nothing left to lose.

Everything became a blur.

Keith was back in his own skull. He wanted to shiver. It was one thing to hear about people making one wrong decision and derailing their lives as a result. Living it was something else again. He didn't know what to think anymore.

Keith had clearly been away for a while. The change had progressed; Tabitha--he couldn't bring himself to think of her as Candy now--was almost as much a coyote as he was now. She was on her chest now, her head turned to one side, her muzzle--just reaching its full length--pressed gently against the mattress. Her tail draped off to the other side, its tip just curling over the edge of the bed. The bedcovers were in a lump at their feet, which was a good thing; it was getting awfully warm in here. And Kickaha showed no signs of slowing down; neither did the transformation.

And didn't his legs used to be a little longer?

Just then, Keith felt his fingers start to shorten. A tingle ran down his spine and into his pelvis, and he felt his legs twist forward a bit.

{Kickaha?}

{{Is that you, Keith? You sound so different when you're not SCREAMING...}}

Keith paused, took a deep mental breath. {How far do you have in mind to go here?}, he finally said, as calmly as he could manage.

{I see. How exactly is this helping her?}

{{You know, if we have to explain everything we do to each other, we'll both go bugfuck nuts.}}

{So, no change then.}

{{Tou-damn-che! There's hope for you yet. Yes, there's a point to this. I suppose you'd like to know what it is.}}

{Urgently.}

{{Good. And I'll be happy to tell you. In juuust a few minutes. Right now, there's something I gotta do. And I need to concentrate. So it's reeeeally important that you take over right now. 'kay?}}

{Wait a sec! This is--}

And then Keith was in control. In a manner of speaking.

The changes in both of them seemed to be accelerating; their legs weren't much longer than their arms, and the whole bed seemed to be growing slowly larger.

His vocal chords still didn't seem changed, though.

"Is it just me, or has life gotten too complicated?", he muttered softly.

Tabitha had no reply.

"I knew you'd agree."

Keith didn't think he could stand up. His fingers were nearly gone. And his member had swelled to the point where he didn't think he could withdraw completely in any case. That was good, he supposed. That limited his options. That meant that he didn't have to think as much. And he really didn't want to think very much right now. He just tried to settle into a steady rhythm.

Kickaha's attention was elsewhere.

He had a very clear picture of his target, and he knew that he'd be around somewhere. He extended his awareness, taking in the streets below.

It didn't take long. Sure enough, there he was, circling the block.

He wished they'd gotten a room nearer the ground. At this range, under these conditions, there wasn't much he could do; just little things, nudges. But maybe that would be enough.

He reached out a bit farther. Yes, there was what he needed. And it was always nice to actually get some use out of one of them. Yes, this could be fun after all.

The red Camaro passed the front door of the Hilton. Still no one there.

Hank slapped the dashboard. Shit. The bitch had never been this late. She brought in good money, but if he had to have this little conversation with her one more time... He clenched the wheel, picturing her neck.

Blue lights flashed in the rear-view mirror. Shit. Just what he needed. He pulled to the curb, rolled down the window a bit, tried to pull himself together.

"Good evening, sir. Could I see your driver's license and registration, please?"

"Sure thing, officer." He fished them out of the glove compartment, a practiced move. "What's up?"

"Mister...Calhoun, I noticed that you've been around this block four times. There's an anti-cruising ordinance in effect after eight PM. What brings you out here so late?"

"Oh, nothing really, officer. I'm just... waiting for a friend."

"I see. Is your friend at the Hilton, then?"

"Yeah, she's just in town for a few days."

"It's after one in the morning, sir; isn't that a little late to be picking someone up?"

"Well... we were just going to talk for a little while, you know, maybe find a drink somewhere."

"I see. Well, maybe she'll show up in a moment here and we can straighten things out. In the meantime, just sit tight for a moment, okay? I'll make sure you don't have any outstanding warrants, and we can get you on your way here."

"No problem, officer."

As the cop went to his car, Hank drummed his fingers over the wheel, slapping the dash once in frustration. Another damn ticket. The bitch was gonna pay for this.

Then he noticed that the cop was coming back. So was his partner. Their hands were on their holsters. And another set of blue lights was coming in the distance.

"Mister Calhoun, I need you to open the door and step out of the car. Now. Keep your hands where I can see them. Do it now."

Hank climbed out slowly, hands in the air. "What's the problem, officer?", he said, forcing a laugh.

There was no laughter in return. "Sir, we'll get to that in a second. Step around to the front of the car. Lean down on the hood. Put your hands on the hood. Spread your legs. A little farther, please."

Hank complied. Firm hands pulled his arms behind his back, locked the handcuffs on. Another voice read him his rights.

"What the hell is wrong here? I don't have a warrant out for me, right?"

"Sir, that's not the problem. Let me show you the problem." Someone hauled him around to the passenger side; a flashlight lit up the floorboards. "The problem is that large bag of white powder that fell out of your glove compartment. Would you like to tell us something about that, Mister Calhoun?"

"That's impossible! I never keep that there!" He stopped. What the hell was he saying? "I mean... I never saw that before! Get me my lawyer now..."

"We'll arrange that soon enough, Mister Calhoun. Right this way, please. That's it. Just get right in back here. Watch your head..."

Ah, yes. Kickaha did love it when things all came together.

{{Sorry 'bout that. I'm afraid that Tabitha here is just going to have to find a new employer. Seems that hers just ran into some legal complications.}}

{That's nice to hear. Could you take over here? You seem to be getting a lot more out of this than I am.}

{I would hope so.}

The changes had certainly completed. Two coyotes were stacked on the bed, Keith still firmly embedded in Tabitha, who looked to have fallen asleep underneath him. There was fur everywhere, among other things. Keith didn't feel at all uncomfortable physically; but the whole situation just seemed like a big social "don't".

Keith knew--in the same way that he knew everything else about his body now--that the swelling would take another hour or so to subside. He was also pretty certain of what Kickaha's reaction to his mentioning that would be-- {{Who's in a hurry?}} And, when it came down to it, he wasn't sure he had an answer.

{Since we're not going anywhere for a while, how about letting me in on what the hell is going on?}

{{Oh, I suppose. Well, if you do a change the right way, it's really great at getting bad stuff out of your system. And it makes withdrawal a lot easier to deal with. Sort of resets things.}}

{Is this the only way you know of to do that?}

{Won't that just wear off when the change does?}

{{She's already burned up what was in her system; that won't come back. She's still gonna want it in a few days, though; you're right about that.}}

{Is there anything we can do about that?}

{{Not a whole lot. I mean, if you were her, would you want us coming around every few days?}}

{I think I'd take my chances on cocaine and prostitution.}

{So, she's still got no job, no support, no money. She's just going to wind up going back to the same old crowd, isn't she?}

{{Could be. I'm a mage, not a miracle worker. Got any bright ideas?}}

Keith thought for a few seconds. {Yeah. Maybe I do.}

{Just the PC.}

There was a puff of smoke, and the laptop was sitting on the bed in front of them. Keith felt his forelegs grow a bit, his paws expand into clawed hands. He sighed a bit; this wasn't quite what he had in mind. But he prided himself on his ability to work through distractions. He fired up AOL's Web browser; the modem wasn't connected to anything, but that didn't seem to matter. He tapped in an address, and set to work...

Tabitha opened her eyes, looked around. The last thing she remembered, she was working; now she was sitting on a park bench, and the sun was high in the sky. Damn. She'd never blacked out before. What happened?

Wait a minute. If she'd blacked out, then why didn't she feel like hell? Geez, she felt...

Normal.

"Not a bad feeling, huh?"

She whirled around. A man was sitting next to her, an ordinary-looking man, in a jacket and tie. Where had he been a second ago?

"Who are you?" she said weakly.

"We met last night, Tabitha. I don't know how it was for you, but it was very educational for me."

This was too weird. She stood up, backed a few steps away.

"Tabitha."

The voice was still calm. But something in it made her stop, turn around.

"Tabitha, I need you to answer two questions for me, and I need you to think carefully before you answer them. And once you've answered, you can walk away if you want. Is this the way you want your life to go?"

She thought about what she had been through. It didn't take long. "Hell, no!"

"If I give you a second chance, a chance to do what you want to do, are you ready to work as hard as you ever have before to make it happen?"

"Yes. Yes."

"That's what I needed to hear." He reached into his jacket, pulled out an envelope, and held it out to her. "Take it."

Trembling a bit, she took it, looked at it. "AST Travel Agency" was neatly printed in one corner; "TABITHA WILKINS" was handwritten across the front. She opened it; inside was a ticket, some sheets of computer printout, and a quarter-inch stack of $50 travelers' checks. Disbelievingly, she pulled one out. It was already signed. In her handwriting.

"You're booked on Alaska flight 403 to San Jose. It leaves at 5:40. You have a room booked at the Airport Inn down there for a week. The first thing you will do is call Anna Connell, at the law office of Connell, Gregors and Tucker, and confirm your interview. The number's in there. Be honest with her; tell her that you're looking for a new start. She will hire you as a clerk, and help you find a place, and treatment if you need it. It's her way of building good karma. You should learn a lot from her. And once you've done good work for her for about a year, she'll help you get back into a good school. Her recommendation carries a lot of weight, and not just with law schools. Don't waste it."

Tabitha numbly looked at him. "Why are you so sure I'll do all that?"

"Because if you don't, if you mess this up, then you're going to know for the rest of your life that somebody gave you a shot, as good a shot as you ever hoped for, and you blew it. And I don't think that you'll let that happen. Am I wrong about that?"

She shook her head, still in disbelief. "Who are you? Why are you doing this?"

"Because sometimes good things just happen. And sometimes they just need a little push."

"I can't pay this back."

"Yes, you can. Someday, when you've got your life together, find somebody else who needs help, and return the favor."

She stood still for a few seconds. "I don't know what to think."

"Then don't think. Do something. You've got about three hours to get to your place, pack what you need, and get to the airport. Good luck, Tabitha. You sure as hell deserve some."

Tabitha stared at the envelope again. This couldn't be happening. "But who..."

She looked up, and her voice left her in mid-sentence. The bench was empty. She was alone.

She pinched herself. She was awake. She held the envelope in her hands, even tore the flap a bit. It was real.

She sat down heavily on the bench. She sat there for a few long minutes, staring at the envelope, staring at nothing at all.

Then she got up, quickly, and walked to the cab.

Part 9

A Trickster's Tail Index

Part 11