Mercedes Lackey - Werehunter (anthology)

This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.

Copyright © 1999 by Mercedes Lackey

“Werehunter” copyright © 1989 ( Tales of the Witch World ); “SKitty” copyright © 1991 ( Catfantastic , Andre Norton, ed.); “A Tail of Two SKitties copyright © 1994 ( Catfantastic 3 , Andre Norton and Martin Greenberg, eds.); “SCat” copyright © 1996 ( Catfantastic 4, Andre Norton and Martin Greenberg, eds.); “A Better Mousetrap” copyright © 1999 ( Werehunter , Baen Books); “The Last of the Season” copyright © American Fantasy Magazine ; “Satanic, Versus …” copyright © 1990 ( Marion Zimmer Bradley’s Fantasy Magazine, Fall 1990 ); “Nightside” copyright © 1990 ( Marion Zimmer Bradley’s Fantasy Magazine, Spring 1990 ); “Wet Wings” copyright © 1995 ( Sisters of Fantasy 2 , Susan Shwartz and Martin Greenberg, ed.); “Stolen Silver” copyright © 1991 ( Horse Fantastic ); “Roadkill” copyright © 1990 ( Marion Zimmer Bradley’s Fantasy Magazine, Summer 1990 ); “Operation Desert Fox” copyright © 1993 ( Honor of the Regiment: Bolos, Book I, eds. Keith Laumer and Bill Fawcett); “Grey” copyright © 1997 ( Sally Blanchard’s Pet Bird Report October 1997 ); “Grey’s Ghost” copyright © 1999 ( Werehunter , Baen Books)

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form.

A Baen Books Original

Baen Publishing Enterprises

P.O. Box 1403

Riverdale, NY 10471

ISBN: 0-671-57805-7

Cover art by Bob Eggleton

First printing, April 1999

Distributed by Simon and Schuster

1230 Avenue of the Americas

New York, NY 10020

Typeset by Windhaven Press, Auburn, NH

Printed in the United States of America

Something very large occluded the light for a moment in the next room, then the lights went out, and Diana Tregarde distinctly heard the sound of the chandelier ­being torn from the ceiling and thrown against the wall. She winced.

There go my Romance Writers of the World dues up again , she thought.

“I got a glimpse,” Andre said. “It was very large, perhaps ten feet tall, and— cherie , looked like nothing so much as a rubber creature from a very bad movie. Except that I do not think it was rubber.”

What shambled in through the door was nothing that Diana had ever heard of. It was, indeed, about ten feet tall. It was covered with luxuriant brown hair—all over. It was built along the lines of a powerful body-builder, taken to exaggerated lengths, and it drooled. It also stank, a combination of sulfur and musk so strong it would have brought tears to the eyes of a skunk.

Di groaned, putting two and two together and coming up with— Valentine Vervain cast a spell for a tall, dark and handsome soul-mate, but she forgot to specify “human.” “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

The other writer nodded. “Tall, check. Dark, check. Long hair, check. Handsome—well, I suppose in some circles.” Harrison stared at the thing in fascination.

The thing saw Valentine and lunged for her. Reflexively, Di and Harrison both shot. He emptied his cylinder and one speed loader. Di gave up after four shots. No effect. The thing backhanded Andre into a wall hard enough to put him through plasterboard. Andre was out for the count. There are some things even a vampire has a little trouble recovering from.

“Harrison, distract it, make a noise, anything!” Diana pulled the atheme from her boot sheath and began cutting Sigils in the air with it, getting the Words of Dismissal out as fast as she could without slurring the syllables.

The thing lunged toward Harrison, missing him by inches, just as Di concluded the Ritual of Dismissal.

To no effect. . . .

—from “Satanic, Versus …”

Those of you who are more interested in the stories than in some chatty author stuff should just skip this part, since it will be mostly about the things people used to ask us about at science fiction conventions.

For those of you who have never heard of SF con­ventions (or “cons” as they are usually called), these are gatherings of people who are quite fanatical about their interest in one or more of the various fantasy and sci­ence fiction media. There are talks and panel discussions on such wildly disparate topics as costuming, prop-making, themes in SF/F literature, Star Wars , Star Trek , Babylon 5 , X-Files , SF/F art, medieval fighting, horse-training, dancing, and the world of fans in general. There are workshops on writing and performance arts. Guests featured in panels and question and ­answer sessions are often featured performers from television and movies along with various authors and the occasional profes­sional propmaker. Larry and I no longer attend con­ventions for a number of reasons, not the least of which is that we have a great many responsibilities that require us to be home.

Some of those responsibilities are that we are vol­unteers for our local fire department. Larry is a driver and outside man; I am learning to do dispatch, and hopefully will be able to take over the night shift, since we are awake long after most of the rest of the county has gone to sleep. Our local department is strictly volunteer and works on a very tight budget. Our equipment is old and needs frequent repair, we get what we can afford, and what we can afford is generally third or fourth-hand, having passed through a large met­ropolitan department or the military to a small municipal department to the Forestry Service and finally to us. In summer I am a water-carrier at grass-fires, meaning that I bring drinking-water to the overheated firefighters so they don’t collapse in the 100 plus degree heat.

Another duty is with the EOC (formerly called the Civil Defense Office). When we are under severe weather conditions, the firefighters are called in to wait at the station in case of emergency, so Larry is there. I go in to the EOC office to read weather-radar for the storm-watchers in the field. Eventually I hope to get my radio license so I can also join the ranks of the storm-watchers. We don’t “chase” as such, although there are so few of the storm-watchers that they may move to active areas rather than staying put. Doppler radar can only give an indication of where there is rotation in the clouds; rotation may not produce a tornado. You have to have people on the ground in the area to know if there is a funnel or a tornado (technically, it isn’t a tornado until it touches the ground; until then it is a funnel-cloud). Our area of Oklahoma is not quite as active as the area of the Panhandle or around Oklahoma City and Norman (which is why the National Severe Storms Laboratory is located there) but we get plenty of severe, tornado-producing storms.

In addition, we have our raptor rehabilitation ­duties.

Larry and I are raptor rehabilitators; this means that we are licensed by both the state and the federal government to collect, care for, and release birds of prey that are injured or ill. Occasionally we are asked to bring one of our “patients” for a talk to a group of adults or children, often under the auspices of our local game wardens.

I’m sure this sounds very exciting and glamorous, and it certainly impresses the heck out of people when we bring in a big hawk riding on a gloved hand, but there are times when I wonder how we managed to get ourselves into this.