Stephen Leigh - Card Sharks

"My God," she said, "oh, my God."

Clara, nestled next to my heart, said, "Jessica, it's Maman ."

"Clara, come here." Jessica held out her arms. Her voice was shrill.

I didn't let go of Clara. "It's me, Jessica. It's all right. It's the wild card, that's all."

Jessica squatted. Her voice was tinged with hysteria. "Clara, come here right now ."

I released Clara and gave her a gentle push. "We need to talk, honey. Go on out for a minute. Jessica — "

But she snatched Clara up, took her out, and slammed the door. Loud bumps and thumps told me she had blocked the door with the rolltop desk. I crept over and tested it anyway; it was blocked.

I collapsed on the floor and panted. I was ill from hunger, all but unconscious.

I moved back to the bed and flicked my tongue all up and down Frou Frou. He was dead and nothing I could do would bring him back. He smelled like what I needed to eat. Fresh, newly killed meat.

I dragged him out from under the bed, lifted his limp head, removed his collar with trembling hands, and then gave him a last caress. I shuddered. The dog was so big, I wasn't sure I could go through with it.

I forced his head into my mouth. My throat gagged but I kept pushing, salivating heavily, and my jaw unhinged as a snake's does, so he could pass more easily. The skin of my mouth stretched over him. My throat expanded to take him.

He got stuck when his shoulders reached the back of my mouth. No matter how hard I shoved and punched at him he'd go no further. So I propped his hindquarters against the floor, struggled up atop him, and used my own weight to push him all the way in, fur, claws, and all.

It hurt a lot. I swallowed and swallowed. Tears streamed down my face. Eating him was a great labor. I swallowed some more and my powerful throat muscles carried him farther down my gullet, where he pressed hard against my ribcage and made my breathing labored.

The ache of famine was ebbing. The pain of an overlarge object stuck in my gullet remained but my body knew it had the right kind of sustenance.

Exhausted, still swallowing feebly, I lay on my side and looked down at myself. Frou Frou had lodged at about where my diaphragm tapered into the snake's trunk. My stomach — if that's what it was, though I guessed it was just a long tube with digestive juices; there didn't seem room for a set of intestines — growled and burbled. I looked pregnant.

At that thought I started to retch, and then couldn't stop. The same strong muscles that had swallowed him tried to force him back up my throat. But they were weakened now, and by concentrating and taking deep breaths I managed keep him down.

Lethargy settled over me. I stretched out against the wall behind, the bed, folding my tail double, and my scales faded to eggshell white, moonstone, and sand. I slept.

"Joan?" It was Brand's voice, and it roused me to semi-wakefulness.

The color and angle of the sunlight told me it was mid-afternoon. essica must have called him home early. I was in the throes of a massive, reptilian-grade digestive stupor, so I have only a vague memory of their voices, and of blurred images moving about the room, though I managed gradually to force myself to complete wakefulness.

Jessica said, "It was in here before. It said 'it's me' in her voice." A moment later, "Where's the dog?"

They looked right at me at least twice. And then past.

"It was here," she repeated in a defensive tone. Brandon gave her one of his patronizing looks. "It killed the dog. It tried to attack Clara, too. I rescued her."

"I've never known you to be this excitable. I pray you'll do it on your on time next time, and not disturb me at work."

They were on their way out when Clara came in. "Maman?"

"Get back!" Jessica snapped, but Brand said, "There's no one here. Don't be a twit."

"Maman." Clara had a child's eyes, not as easily fooled by expectations. She saw me at the wall and came over, knelt beside me and touched my face.

I should have regretted her revealing me. But all I knew was joy at the relief and delight in her eyes and voice. She threw her arms about my neck and I enveloped her with arms and coils.

"I'm sorry I yelled at you about Frou Frou," she said.

"And I'm sorry," I replied. "I'm sorry that I scared you and hurt Frou Frou."

"He's not ever coming back, is he?"

"No, not ever," I said. "He's dead now. Gone. I'm sorry."

She gave it some thought. "You couldn't help it. I saw what happened. He was trying to bite you. You must have been really scared."

"Yes. I was."

"But I wish he wasn't gone."

"Me too, honey."

She pressed her cheek against my scaly breast. She stroked my skin, and as if her fingers were tiny paintbrushes, my scales changed color beneath their touch: silver, rose, amethyst.

She released a contented sigh. "You look pretty, Maman . Prettier than ever."

That brought tears to my eyes.

I heard a sound and looked up. Brand had a poker in his hand now, and was lifting it to strike a blow to my head.

My colors grew bright, blue / red / yellow / black and dangerous. My coils curled up beneath me and my hood spread. I felt my glands taut and warm with venom, pressing against my sinuses and palate. Brand hesitated.

But I was sluggish, and couldn't maintain my erect posture. My colors began to fade to smoke, rust, sand, and ash. I leaned against the wall with Clara in my arms, striving for fierceness.

"Put that thing down before someone gets hurt," I said. "Put it down."

He lowered his arm and regarded me. Then Jessica looked closely at my misshapen trunk, and her hand went to her mouth. "It ate the dog."

Brand winced. "My God."

"Leave us be," I muttered.

"Give me my child." Fear had entered Brand's voice. Fear for his child. "I'll let you go if you give me Clara."

I was shocked at that. "I'd never hurt her, Brand."

He dropped the poker and went down on his knees before me, folded his hands and held them out to me, pleading. A bead of sweat rolled from his temple to his chin.

"You were human once. You adored her. Swear to me that you won't harm her. Swear, or let her go."

I remembered, when she had struck me, precisely how close I had come to lashing out, poisoning her as I had Frou Frou. I remembered how the dog had thrashed when I'd struck him and I remembered the sensation as I'd shoved him down my throat. The thought turned me numb with dread.

I looked at Clara's trusting face, pressed against my chest, and sobbed. I'd just killed and eaten a pet I'd had since I was fourteen. I couldn't be sure of myself at all.

I handed her over to him and slumped back against the wall.

I wouldn't have hurt her, you know. I would never have hurt her. If only I could go back, reassure that younger, frightened me. Yd tell her, take Clara, hold her to you. Trust yourself. She needs you. You can do it.

I've never hurt a human soul, since my changeover. Except to help the terminally ill on to a better life at their own pleading. And surely that's a gift, not a curse. I've forsworn bigotry and pettiness, and devoted my life to helping others.

I've killed animals, to be sure. Often. Famine drove me to eat Frou Frou that day, but it wasn't a human's hunger. This body needs the nutrients, the minerals and proteins in animal blood, skin, hair, and bones. That was why the craving was so strong. It's a part of my nature now, to require live or newly dead, whole animals. Raw meat is as close as I can come to human foods, and it's not adequate to sustain me for very long. I'm not human any more, in that way.

My eating habits are certainly less sanitary and more immediate than buying ground round at the grocery store. But it's not so different in concept, is it, after all?