Changer (Athanor) Read Online Free PDF Page B

pulls out a dark purple stone carved into the shape of a thunderbird, lightning gripped in its claws.  With anyone else, he would have teased longer, but, for anything except music, Tommy’s attention span is tragically short.
    “Cool,” Tommy says, taking the pendant from Sven’s hand.
    “It’s amethyst,” Sven explains, “long believed to be sovereign against the ills of intoxication.  It’s also the birthstone for February and associated with the eighth hour of the day.”
    “Yeah?”
    “Yeah.  And it’s also an emblem of deep, pure love.”
    “Cool.”
    “I’ve had it ensorcelled to protect against detrimental intoxication—whether from alcohol or drugs.  It will also neutralize your bodily fluids so that you will pass drug checks.”
    “Wild!”
    “Do you want it?”
    Tommy doesn’t let go of the satin cord holding the pendant, but he looks suspicious.
    “What’s the price?”
    “Nothing.  Just be my friend.”
    Tommy ties the cord around his neck.  “Okay, friend.”
    He picks up the guitar again and begins playing.  At first, he glances at Sven from time to time, as if seeking audience response.  Then he clearly forgets all about him.
    Rising, Sven tiptoes from the room.  With luck, Tommy will forget all about Sven’s visit until next time they meet.  Well, with luck…
    And a little help from his friends.

    Almost as soon as the Changer turns his car into the Martinez’s dirt-and-gravel driveway, his arrival is heralded by the barking of several dogs.  He does not need to be a coyote to know that they are saying: “Stranger, Boss!  Stranger!”
    Prudently he rolls down the window so that the dogs can get a whiff of his scent.  He has been told that no matter what shape he takes, there is a hint of wildness about him, a strange scent that identifies him as more than he seems.  Although he cannot smell this himself, he has concluded that it may be an ancient defense mechanism, something that warns potential predators that he is dangerous.
    Two great dogs, one a shepherd mix, the other a mutt that looks like an unfortunate cross between a blue heeler and a coon hound, come baying up to the car.  The shepherd looks as if he is about to plant his paws on the side of the car and learn what the interior acoustics will do to the sound of his bark, when suddenly he drops back onto his haunches.
    “Easy fellows,” the Changer says, opening the car’s door and getting out.  “We don’t want any trouble.”
    The shepherd rolls over and shows his belly.  The other dog is less submissive, but he sits and begins scratching vigorously behind one ear.  Knowing that his apparent ease with their animals will help ingratiate him with the Martinezes, the Changer rubs the shepherd’s belly with the toe of his shoe, then bends to stroke the other mutt’s ear.
    Hearing the house’s back door open, he straightens.  A woman in her late forties, her black hair untouched with grey, but her carriage slightly stooped, has stepped out onto the back step.  She studies him with a confidence that tells him someone is close enough for her to call if he proves to be trouble.
    He takes a few steps in her direction, trailed by the now obedient dogs.
    “Mrs. Martinez?”
    “Yes.”
    There is a lilt to that single word that makes him suspect that her first language is Spanish.
    “I’d like to speak with your husband.”
    “My husband?”
    He is close enough to see the lines around her mouth and eyes and reestimates her age as perhaps twenty years older than he had first believed.  So many women of Spanish or Indian descent do not grey at all until they are quite old.
    “Or perhaps your son,” he continues, “a tall man with dark hair cut short.  He rides a bald-faced brown horse with a white stocking on its off hind leg.  There was another man, younger, but enough like him to be his son.  He rode a chestnut with four white stockings and a scar across its near shoulder.”
    She smiles, perhaps