Robert Weinberg - A Logical Magician

“I’m not terribly convinced about the wisdom of staying here,” Jack said to Simon.

“Nonsense,” declared the changeling, grinning. “You’re letting puritan morality blind your judgment. No one would ever think of looking for us in a place like this. It’s one of the few spots in town we can rent a room without luggage. And the manager definitely guarantees the privacy of his guests.”

“Okay,” said Jack reluctantly. Digging into his pockets, he pulled out a wad of cash, which he handed to Simon. “But you check in for the two of us. I can’t.”

The Brit chuckled. “No problem. Stick around and I’ll demonstrate the joys of shapeshifting.”

The changeling passed a hand over his face. As before, his features wavered, shifted, and reformed in the space of seconds. Jack gasped at the transformation. Simon’s visage was gone, replaced by the snarling mug of Benny Anderson.

“Like it?” growled Simon, his voice a perfect copy of the security chief’s. “I’ve wanted to do Benny for a long time. He’s got personality.”

Simon in the lead, they marched into the motel office. A heavyset woman, in her forties, with bleached blonde hair and black roots, sat at the desk, her attention riveted on a portable TV mounted on the rear wall.

“Be withcha in a minutoo,” she said in a shrill voice. “Soon as dey run a commershill.”

“Well,” said Simon loudly, “hurry it up. I ain’t waiting all bloody morning for some crap TV show.”

Smiling broadly, the clerk swiveled around and faced the changeling. A nametag on her blouse proclaimed her to be Mona. “Benny, my love,” she said cheerfully, “I didn’t expect you today. It ain’t Tuesday.”

“No it ain’t,” said Simon, casting a surprised glance at Jack. He winked, then turned back to the clerk. “I had a bad week at the school. I needed a break today.”

“Sure,” said Mona knowingly. She jerked her head at Jack. “Who’s your friend?”

“None of your friggin’ business,” said Simon. “We got some business to discuss. Private business.”

“My lips are sealed,” said Mona. “You want me to round up a few of da girls? Cheri and Lola ain’t busy this early in the morning. For the right price, they’d hop right on over.”

The clerk laughed coarsely. “You remember Cheri,” she said, wiggling her hands six inches in front of her chest. “She’s the one with the huge …”

“Not today,” interrupted Simon hastily. “I don’t want any visitors. Anybody asks, I’m not here and you never saw me.”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Mona, “just like always. Your regular suite, 11-B, is free. Take that.” She pushed across a room key. “I don’t know nothing.”

“How much?” asked Simon.

“Usual rate,” said Mona, “minus the courtesy discount. You want me to put it on your tab?”

Jack coughed loudly before Simon could answer. Using the security chief’s identity was bad enough, but making him pay for it as well was too much.

“Not today,” said the changeling, sounding mildly disappointed. He pulled out Jack’s roll of cash. “Write me out a bill, would you? In case I need a receipt for taxes.”

The clerk chuckled. “Entertaining clients, huh. Two C-notes will cover it.”

Simon peeled off ten twenties, paused, then added another. “Don’t forget. I said Privacy, with a capital P.”

“Your wish is my command,” said Mona, stuffing the extra twenty into a back pocket.

She winked at Simon. “Enjoy yourself, boys,” she said, turning back to the TV.

Neither Jack nor Simon said a word until they reached room 11-B. Once inside, the changeling exploded with laughter.

“You see the look she gave me?” he asked Jack, tears of mirth running down his cheeks. “Especially after I turned down the girls. She thinks you’re my new boyfriend. Won’t that do Anderson’s reputation a world of good.”

“Huh,” replied Jack. “Boyfriend? You lost me. Besides, she swore not to reveal a thing.”

“And the moon is made from green cheese,” said Simon. “As soon as we leave today, you can bet your last dollar that Mona will be burning the phone lines with news that our buddy Benny has come out of the closet.”

“But, but,” stuttered Jack, “that’s despicable.”

“Welcome to the real world, compadre,” said Simon. “You’re incredibly naive for a graduate student. It must be that mathematics background.”

The changeling surveyed the motel room. A low whistle escaped his lips. “Don’t worry too much about Anderson’s reputation. Judging by this setup, a guilty conscience is the last thing on his mind.”

Leather and handcuffs dominated the suite’s decor. An umbrella stand full of whips stood next to an oak bar stool with padded black leather seat. Several pairs of fuzzy white wrist and ankle restraints dangled from the headboard of the king-size bed. Looking up, Jack observed without much surprise that a huge mirror covered much of the ceiling.

Gingerly, he sat on the edge of the bed. “Silk sheets,” he declared. “Nice quality, too.”

“At two hundred bucks an afternoon, they should be,” replied Simon, rummaging around behind the bar at the back of the room. “The refrigerator’s well stocked. Want a beer? Or a bottle of champagne?”

“Nothing,” said Jack. “Just five or six hours of uninterrupted slumber.”

“There’s a whirlpool tub in the bathroom,” added Simon.

“Nothing,” said Jack, stretching out on the bed. Kicking off his shoes, he folded his arms behind his head. “Don’t you need sleep?”

“Very little,” said Simon, munching on a bag of chips. “It’s one of the benefits of not being mortal. We rarely sleep and when we do, we never dream.”

“To sleep, perchance to dream,” murmured Jack wearily. Simon’s words bothered him for some reason he could not fathom.

“One of Willy’s best lines,” said the changeling. “He had us faeries in mind, of course, when he wrote it.”

Simon headed for the door. “I’ll walk back to campus and see what’s up.” Anderson’s features dissolved and reformed into the changeling’s own. “To be on the safe side, I’ll lock the door and take the key. You rest.”

“Rest,” repeated Jack groggily. He was asleep before the faerie left the room.

“Hello, Jack,” said the woman in red, her voice deep and seductive. “My name is Crystal.”

“Uh, hi,” said Jack, frowning. Sitting in the midst of the black silk sheets, he had no memory of waking up. Or of letting anyone into his room. And Crystal was definitely not someone forgotten easily.

She stood at the edge of the bed, dressed in a bright red sheath dress that could not be any tighter. A lycra knit, the outfit hugged her body like a second skin. A micro-mini, it barely covered me tops of her thighs. Long-sleeved and low-cut, the dress revealed an astonishing amount of cleavage. Crystal was extremely well endowed, and her taut nipples pressing against the thin material proclaimed she was not wearing a bra.

Wavy red hair coiled down across her milk-white shoulders. She had an oval face with a pert nose, beautiful blue eyes, and the whitest teeth imaginable. Her full lips curled in a sensual smile.

“Like what you see?” she asked in the same throaty tones. The sheer, undisguised desire in her voice set his whole body trembling. Crystal was too good to be real. It was then that Jack realized the truth.

“I’m asleep,” he said sadly. “You exist only in my dreams.”

Crystal nodded, setting her delightful breasts jiggling. Jack’s mouth went dry. Dream or not, the girl was having an astonishing effect on his body.

“That’s me,” she replied. “A dream girl. I’m merely a figment of your unconscious mind.”