Were- Read online

  WERE-

  Other Anthologies Edited by

  Patricia Bray & Joshua Palmatier

  After Hours: Tales from the Ur-Bar

  The Modern Fae’s Guide to Surviving Humanity

  Clockwork Universe: Steampunk vs Aliens

  Temporally Out of Order

  Alien Artifacts

  WERE-

  Edited by

  Patricia Bray

  &

  Joshua Palmatier

  Zombies Need Brains LLC

  www.zombiesneedbrains.com

  Copyright © 2016 Patricia Bray, Joshua Palmatier, and Zombies Need Brains LLC

  All Rights Reserved

  Interior Design (ebook): April Steenburgh

  Interior Design (print): C. Lennox

  Cover Design by C. Lennox

  Cover Art “Were-” by Justin Adams

  ZNB Book Collectors #7

  All characters and events in this book are fictitious.

  All resemblance to persons living or dead is coincidental.

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions of this book, and do not participate or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted material.

  Kickstarter Edition Printing, July 2016

  First Printing, August 2016

  Print ISBN-10: 1940709105

  Print ISBN-13: 978-1940709109

  Ebook ISBN-10: 1940709113

  Ebook ISBN-13: 978-1940709116

  Printed in the U.S.A.

  Copyrights

  Introduction copyright © 2016 by Joshua Palmatier

  “Best In Show” copyright © 2016 by Seanan McGuire

  “We Dig” copyright © 2016 by Ashley McConnell

  “Eyes Like Pearls” copyright © 2016 by Susan Jett

  “Among the Grapevines, Growing” copyright © 2016 by Eliora Smith

  “A Party For Bailey” copyright © 2016 by David B. Coe

  “Cry Murder” copyright © 2016 by April Steenburgh

  “Missy the Were-Pomeranian vs the Masters of Mediocre Doom” copyright © 2016 by Jeanne Cook

  “Paper Wasp” copyright © 2016 by Mike Barretta

  “Point Five” copyright © 2016 by Elizabeth Kite

  “The Promise of Death” copyright © 2016 by Danielle Ackley-McPhail

  “The Five Bean Solution” copyright © 2016 by Jean Marie Ward

  “Witness Report” copyright © 2016 by Katharine Kerr

  “Attack of the Were-Zombie Friendship With Benefits”

  copyright © 2016 by Sarah Brand

  “The Whale” copyright © 2016 by Anneliese Belmond

  “Anzu, Duba, Beast” copyright © 2016 by Faith Hunter

  “Shiftr” copyright © 2016 by Patricia Bray

  “Sniff For Your Life” copyright © 2016 by Phyllis Irene Radford

  Table of Contents

  Introduction

  by Joshua Palmatier

  “Best In Show”

  by Seanan McGuire

  “We Dig”

  by Ashley McConnell

  “Eyes Like Pearls”

  by Susan Jett

  “Among the Grapevines, Growing”

  by Eliora Smith

  “A Party For Bailey”

  by David B. Coe

  “Cry Murder”

  by April Steenburgh

  “Missy the Were-Pomeranian vs. the Masters of

  Mediocre Doom”

  by Gini Koch

  “Paper Wasp”

  by Mike Barretta

  “Point Five”

  by Elizabeth Kite

  “The Promise of Death”

  by Danielle Ackley-McPhail

  “The Five Bean Solution”

  by Jean Marie Ward

  “Witness Report”

  by Katharine Kerr

  “Attack of the Were-Zombie Friendship With Benefits”

  by Sarah Brand

  “The Whale”

  by Anneliese Belmond

  “Anzu, Duba, Beast”

  by Faith Hunter

  “Shiftr”

  by Patricia Bray

  “Sniff For Your Life”

  by Phyllis Ames

  About the Authors

  About the Editors

  Acknowledgments

  INTRODUCTION

  When Patricia and I sit down at the bar, order our drinks, and begin brainstorming anthology ideas, as depicted on the cover—I’m the guinea pig, Patricia is the goat—we often get a ton of ideas, none of them good. However, during one such session, we both agreed it would be cool to have an anthology based around the idea of “shifters,” people that could shift into animal forms. But we also agreed that we didn’t want an anthology filled with werewolves. They’ve been done before, have become a standard trope of urban fantasy, and we’re always more interested in something different, something unique. But how could we get that across to the reader and the writers with the least amount of fuss?

  Thus, WERE- was born. It seemed obvious to me that if there were werewolves, then there were likely werelions, weretigers, and werebears out there as well. (Oh my!) Why weren’t we telling their stories? What would those stories be? How would they be different from the standard werewolf story?

  As soon as we announced the project, we had authors knocking on our door to participate. The results are the seventeen stories you have here, stories that take a were-something and tell its tale. We hope you enjoy.

  In the meantime, Patricia and I have slipped into our alternate forms, slid onto our barstools, and ordered our next round. It’s time to start brainstorming again.

  BEST IN SHOW

  Seanan McGuire

  The office was dark. Michael had found that the sort of clients who went looking for a private investigator in a strip mall rather than hiring one online wanted that classic Phillip Marlowe vibe as part of the service. They wanted to open the door and feel like they were stepping into a noir movie, complete with leggy dames, liquid lunches, and the threat of being gunned down at any moment.

  Michael would have preferred bright lights and an ergonomic desk. But that would have been bad for business, and he liked his job. He liked setting his own hours, and he liked the fact that no two days were the same. If he had to live in the city until he’d saved up enough to buy himself a farm, a degree of enforced noir was a small price to pay for doing it the way he wanted.

  Except on days like this one. The couple currently sitting across from him looked like they’d stepped out of a movie, and not one where the heroic detective saved the day with quick thinking and legwork. No, they were from the sort of murder mystery where a little old lady with blue-rinsed hair came along after half the cast was dead, declared that the butler had done it, and went home for tea. The man was tall, thin to the point of verging on cadaverous, and wearing a suit that was easily thirty years out of style, but was still impeccably pressed. The woman was slightly softer, with enough meat on her to keep her skin from actually sticking to her bones, and wearing a sensible pantsuit that was probably pale lavender. Under the dim office lights, it was exactly the color of grave dust.

  Michael frowned. “I’m sorry, you want me to do what, exactly?”

  “We want you to find proof that the Harrisons are cheating,” said the woman, as if it were the most reasonable thing in the world.

  “At cat shows.”

  “And dog shows, although that’s less important at the moment.” The man smiled, the smug, self-satisfied expression of someone who had always been able to get what he wanted out of life, and wasn’t intending to change that any time soon. “Westminster is months away. The
North American Grand Championship title will be awarded this coming weekend. I’m sure you can see where time is of the essence.”

  “Of course,” said Michael slowly. “But if you’re so confident that these people are cheating, why not bring it to the attention of the governing board of your association? I’m sure there are rules.”

  “We have brought it to their attention, and they’ve informed us that there are no signs of impropriety,” snapped the woman. “It simply isn’t true. No one has a cat that well-groomed, that well-behaved, and that obedient. Cats aren’t like that. Dogs, maybe—”

  “Although even the best dog will act up more than Thea Harrison’s Great Dane,” said the man, cutting her off without a trace of apology. “These people are doing something. Witchcraft, robotics, drugs, I don’t know, and I don’t care. It needs to stop. You’re going to find out what it is, and then we’re going to put a stop to it.”

  “I’m afraid this isn’t my normal area of expertise,” said Michael carefully. He didn’t like refusing work, and more, he didn’t like refusing work offered by the sort of entitled, arrogant customers who’d think it was completely appropriate to leave him bad reviews on all the website aggregators. Sometimes he thought wistfully about burning Yelp to the ground. Not because the company itself had done anything wrong, but because the mere existence of a public review system had turned the entire world into a baying pack of hostage-takers, willing to dangle a good review or threaten a bad one for the slightest infraction.

  “We were told you were the best,” said the woman. She sniffed, gaze turning suddenly sharp. “Were we mis-informed?”

  “If you could tell me who referred you—”

  “Elizabeth Denkinger.”

  Michael frowned. Elizabeth Denkinger had been an embezzlement case: she was a small business owner whose profits had gone into freefall after her new boyfriend’s teenage son had figured out how to access her accounting software. She’d lost the boyfriend but gained a great deal of peace of mind, and a much better safety net, after using Michael’s services.

  “I’m not sure her case relates to yours,” he said.

  “Of course it does,” said the man. “Those titles are ours. They’re being stolen from us. Every time we come in second—or worse, fail to place at all—our business is devalued. It’s embezzlement, plain and simple.”

  “I see.” If he thought about it that way, he could almost see where they were coming from. And being able to pay his bills would, as always, be a rare thrill. “My usual rates apply.”

  “Naturally. We’ve brought the first payment.” The man offered an envelope across the desk.

  Michael took it, opened the flap, and looked inside. He managed not to whistle at the figure on the check, instead mustering a professional smile and asking, “Where do you want me to get started?”

  * * *

  According to his clients—the Sanfords, of the Rhode Island Sanfords, although what East Coast old money was doing in California was anybody’s guess—the Harrisons never appeared together when there was a show. One of them always stayed home with the animals, while the other went to smile at the judges, greet the onlookers, and keep the cats or dogs that they had on display from going completely out of their minds. Because this weekend was a cat show, Nathaniel Harrison would be present, along with a selection of the couples’ Maine Coon cats…and of course, their three-time International Grand Champion queen, Unto the Maine’s Lady of Shallot, more commonly referred to as “Shelly.” He’d been showing her for nearly five years, and it seemed like there wasn’t a ribbon or award in North America not claimed by that cat.

  (That wasn’t quite true. There were awards reserved exclusively for kittens, and Shelly had done her first show as a two-year-old adult. The more Michael read about the dizzying web of rules and regulations governing the world of show cats, the more convinced he became that he wanted absolutely nothing to do with it.)

  Getting into the show was easy. Michael paid his forty dollars at the door, electing against the upgraded eighty dollar ticket that would have come with a goodie bag and early access to the judging rings, and he was in. The woman in charge of taking his money smiled as she affixed a plastic band to his wrist, dropping her voice to a conspiratorial whisper as she said, “You made the right choice. I’m supposed to upsell you, but we’ve sold so damn many ‘VIP’ bands that it won’t make any difference at this point. Save your money, get yourself something nice.”

  “Thank you for the advice,” he said, with a polite nod. “Do you think you could point me in the right direction? My sweetie’s been asking about getting a Maine Coon, and I thought I’d come and have a look at the local breeders.”

  “Oh, you’ll want aisle six in the main show room.” The woman beamed, bright as a fluorescent bulb. “There are some incredible cats there. Wonderful bloodlines on display. I’m sure you’ll find what you’re looking for.”

  “I hope so.”

  That had been a good fifteen minutes ago. When he’d been approaching the cat show, he had expected this to be an easy assignment. Get in, find the Harrisons, take some pictures, maybe ask a few pointed questions about whether anyone other than his clients felt the couple cheated. Instead, he’d found himself wandering through a maze of makeshift rows formed from folding tables, collapsible cat cages, and portable awnings that wouldn’t have looked out of place in a flea market or Renaissance Fair. There were vendors selling cat-themed merchandise everywhere he looked, their products ranging from sweaters and embroidered pillows to portraits of your pet painted while you wait.

  And of course, there were the cats. Everywhere cats. So many cats. Most of the fancy awnings belonged to the breeders, creating little enclaves of cat-dom where a single expression of a single breed could reign supreme. Fluffy cats, naked cats, big cats, little cats, cats, cats, cats. More cats than Michael had ever seen in his life. More types of cat than he had been aware existed.

  He stopped in front of a sign proclaiming “FairyTail Siamese: We Put the Wow Back in Meow.” There was a woman in the booth on the other side of the sign, dangling a feather on a string above a playpen filled with Siamese kittens. They were mostly snowy white at this age, with sooty paws and noses. Michael wasn’t sure he’d ever seen anything more adorable, and was equally sure that there would be something twice as cute on the next aisle. Which was why he needed to get out of here. He was going to suffer permanent cuteness overload if he didn’t.

  “Excuse me, ma’am?” he said.

  The woman looked up and smiled, dazzlingly bright. She had the sort of teeth that really qualified more as an investment, white and straight and perfectly aligned. Michael fought the urge to shy back from the glare.

  “Yes?”

  “Can you tell me how to find the Maine Coons? I thought it was going to be simple, but all of this,” he waved his hands vaguely, “is more complex than I’d expected.”

  The woman’s expression softened, the frighteningly white teeth vanishing behind expertly painted lips. “Oh, you poor dear,” she said. “First cat show?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Go to the end of the row. Make a left at the kiosk selling catnip tea, go down two aisles, and turn right. You’ll come to the Maine Coons. Although if you’re here because you’re looking for the perfect cat for your lifestyle, may I suggest the Siamese? You look like an active fellow. Maine Coons need a lot of brushing, on a daily basis, and they won’t appreciate it if you need to leave the house for work. A Siamese, on the other hand, will be a devoted companion who understands that sometimes you need your own space. The best of all possible worlds.”

  “I’ll take that under advisement, ma’am,” he said. “Thank you for the directions.”

  “Think nothing of it,” she said, and went back to dangling the feather over her bushel of kittens. They jumped and swatted, tempting in every possible way, and Michael found himself thinking about how nice it would be to have a cat at home.

  No, he silently scolded
. Bad. He had a job to do, and besides, white cat hairs on a black duster didn’t really go with the “big, bad noir detective” reputation he was trying to cultivate. It might be attractive to a very specific sort of clientele…but working for those people might wind up dumping him in more situations like this one, where he was expected to prove cheating by a cat. Could cats even cheat? Most of the cats he knew spent their time sleeping in the sun and complaining about the state of their food dishes. Not much cheating there.

  The woman’s directions were good: in no time at all, he found himself walking down an aisle filled with the sort of cats that weren’t actually supposed to exist outside of horror movies. The smallest one in sight had to weigh at least fifteen pounds, making it look more like a long-tailed bobcat than anything that belonged in a private home, and according to the tag on its cage, it was competing in the kitten category. The kitten category.