A Wolf in Sacrificial Lamb's Clothing
By Autolycus, maynlinz@earthlink.net
A genetically altered female werewolf battles evil cultists.


A SPANISH WEREWOLF IN HOLLYWOOD II:

A WOLF IN SACRIFICIAL LAMB'S CLOTHING

(c) 1999 Autolycus

Her name is Lupe Bacalao and she is a werewolf...sort of. She is currently the
houseguest of Dr. Cassandra Trotter, an old friend and former teacher of
Jessica Chance who runs a consulting business and writes mystery novels. The
good doctor's daughter, LAPD Officer Saba Trotter, disapproves of her mother's
businesses--She runs a "fight club" in addition to the consulting firm--and of
Lupe, personally, but will nevertheless help them out. This is the story of
the time they encountered a gang of evil cultists led by the sinister figure
known as "Apollyon."

Lilith Kahira was furious. Not only had she been soundly trounced and degraded
by that insufferable Spaniard, but some of her priceless Egyptian artifacts
had been seriously damaged in their battle. Battle? HA! she thought to herself
as her personal physician attended to her slight, but painful, wounds. It
wasn't much of a battle on my part! I hardly put up a fight at all.

She was a beautiful woman with dark skin, dark hair, dark eyes, and a soul to
match. She was in reasonably good shape, with well-formed, if not overly
large, breasts and a thin waist. Her body was that of a housecat, instead of a
lion or tigress: sleek and sexy, but with obvious signs of having led a
pampered existence.

Once the doctor had finished Lili had the security tapes from the previous
evening sent up so she could review them and discover how Lupe had managed to
avoid being dinner for her lioness form. Defeating me is one thing, she
reasoned. Defeating a lioness is quite another.

Her dark eyes grew even darker, clouding with rage as she watched Lupe destroy
her Mummy Guardians and then give her the beating of her life before she
turned into a lioness, thanks to a spell she had learned in her role as High
Priestess to the Cult of Sakhmet, the Mighty One, the Lady of Pestilence. She
watched with growing confusion as the big cat tore into Lupe, inflicting
wounds that should have left her dead, but of which no trace had been visible
this morning.

Then, her eyes widened in surprise before narrowing in understanding when she
saw Lupe transform into a wolf. Oh, Lili was still frustrated that even as a
wolf Lupe had been able to defeat her lioness form, but she at least
understood how the other had survived the grievous wounds the big cat had
given her. And she was still definitely annoyed that she had no memory of what
she had done as the lioness. According to the incantation, she should have
been in control, but she hadn't been. She had quite literally become a
lioness, instead of the lioness-headed personification of her Awful Mistress.
Obviously, she would need to study the ancient scrolls more scrupulously
before trying the transforming spell again.

In the meantime, however, she needed to do something to make sure Lupe didn't
humiliate her again. Two things, actually, which she'd gotten the idea for
while reading over her information on Dr. Trotter after her visit the other
day.

She pressed the button on her intercom. "Pam?"

"Yes, Ms. Kahira?" the pretty receptionist responded.

"I need you to contact whoever owns 'The Mudslide' and buy it. Money is no
object."

"The Mudslide, boss? You mean the topless night club?"

"That's the one. I want to own it by lunchtime. I also need you to find me a
martial arts instructor, the best, and arrange for private lessons to commence
immediately. Afternoons work best, but you know my schedule, so I leave the
details to you, darling, as always. I intend to become a black belt by the end
of the year. Possibly sooner."

"This is November, boss. Is that possible?"

"I'll make it possible. Let me know when I'm the owner of the club and when my
first lesson is."

She sat back in her chair, a cruel smile playing about the corners of her full
lips, and watched as the workmen cleaned up her shattered display cases and
transferred the artifacts into new, sturdier ones. Her lusty contemplations
concerning the sweating male figures were interrupted when her intercom
buzzed.

"That was fast, darling."

"I'm good, boss, but even I'm not that good. You have a call on your security
line. Shall I patch it through?"

Lili frowned. She wasn't expecting any calls. "Of course." There was a click
that indicated the transfer. "Hello?"

"Lili, baby, good to hear your voice again. How's tricks, beautiful?"

Lili bristled at the familiar language and tone of the man on the other end of
the line. "What do you want, Curtis?"

"Awww, now don't go bein' like that, sugar. You know you miss me."

"Yeah, that's why I sent you to look after my East Coast holdings. What do you
want?"

"You never were one for small talk, Lil. Okay, here's the deal: You've been
robbed."

"What?! By who and what did they take?"

"It happened a few days ago, but I didn't realize that it was gone, too, until
this morning."

"What did they take, Curtis?"

"The Seal."

Lili's breath suddenly exploded from her lungs. "Who?" she inquired softly.

"A local DC gang broke into the warehouse and trashed it pretty good. That's
why it took so long to determine what all was missing. They also made off with
some of the Babylonian pieces that just-"

"The other pieces are of no consequence. They were merely priceless. Which
gang did it?"

"The Mals."

"Find the Seal and kill anyone who had contact with it. I don't need to remind
you-"

"That's just it, Lili: We did find the gang, but they didn't have it. Seems
one of their members split with it."

"So? Find him and kill him and get back the Seal."

"Well, that's why I called you, babe. It turns out the traitor is in your neck
of the woods. The Mals' leader only knew that she had taken a flight to LA
once before when she was in trouble, and that was his best guess as to where
she'd go now. So, we got the surveillance tapes from the airport and what to
his wondering eyes should appear but the bitch who betrayed him boarding
Global Air. She arrived in LA a few days ago. I'm faxing a blowup of her from
the surveillance tape to you now."

Lili pulled the photo from her fax. "I've got it. Did you find out who she
came to see?"

"He didn't know. And, believe me, babe, I was extremely persuasive. Besides, I
can't figure why he'd wanna protect her anyway, so-"

"I suppose it never occurred to you that he wasn't protecting her, but was
taking care of her himself? You do know that the Mals have a West Coast
chapter which operates out of LA, right?" Her voice was practically dripping
with sarcasm.

"Uh...of course I did. But if he was holding out on me, he had a lot more guts
than I gave him credit for. And than I saw, if you get my meaning," he added
with a chuckle.

"I'll take it from here. A pleasure as always, Curtis." She severed the
connection before he could reply. "I wonder if you've any idea just what
you've stolen, my young friend?" she asked the photo, staring thoughtfully
into the defiant eyes of the young woman. She pushed the intercom button.

"I'm still working on your requests, boss," Pam replied before Lili had a
chance to say anything.

"Fine. Let me add another to the list: Find out who runs the Mals--Yes, the
gang--and arrange for Mr. Nazif to pay him a visit. I'll forward the details
to Nazif personally once you've contacted him. Got that?"

"Got it."

"No questions?"

"I'm smarter than that, boss," Pam replied with a laugh.

"So you are, darling." Lili severed the connection and then began preparing
the information Mr. Nazif would need for his assignment.

* * * * *

Genevieve Tucker, known to her friends, since she had no family, as 'Vixen',
pulled the strange object out of her bag for the hundredth time and rolled it
around in her hand, wondering why Paul, or 'Baelzebub', as he preferred to be
called, considered it so valuable. It was just an old cylinder made out of
clay and covered with strange protrusions. He had called it the 'Seal of
Erishkigal', but the name meant nothing to her. She wasn't into the Mals'
mythology kick; she had only been interested in kicking butt and Paul.

Then she'd found Paul with one of the few other women in the gang--A blonde
slut with big tits named Juno whom she'd dealt with before heading for the
West coast; the bitch wouldn't be flashing those tits around for quite a
while, not with the scratches she'd left on them--and decided she'd had enough
of him, the Mals, and their silly ceremonies and rituals. She'd belonged to
gangs for as long as she could remember, and they all had their little quirks
and traditions, but none of them had been as weird as those of the Mals. It
was more like a cult than a gang, with all the midnight rites and sacrifices
to demons and monsters she'd never heard of. School had never been a priority
and myths and legends left her cold. She could care less about some bigger
than life idiots interested only in saving the world and doing good all the
time.

At least, that had been her feeling before she'd met Jessica on the plane trip
out here and helped her stop a gang of air pirates from kidnapping the Vice
President's sister. She hated to admit it, but it had felt kind of good to be
on the other side of the coin for once, stopping the bad guys instead of being
one of them. And Jessica hadn't been like the cops and social workers she'd
dealt with in the past, trying to save her soul and preaching at her. No,
Jessica had been cool. And she had kicked some serious ass, which was always a
plus in Vixen's book.

Still holding the Seal in one hand, her other fished out the card the redhead
had given her and she thought about calling and talking to Jessica for the
thousandth time.

"Vik? You here?" shouted the familiar voice of Pandora, the only real friend
she had left since deserting the Mals. She had known Vixen for years, ever
since the two had been in foster care together when they were barely
teenagers, and each considered the other to be her sister in every meaningful
sense of the word, barring that of actual biology. Pandora, whose real name
was Catherine Driver, had been adopted by a wealthy Hollywood couple who had
more money than brains and adopted kids like most people bought furniture, and
for roughly the same reason: Because they looked good in their home.

It had been an okay life, and, while her adoptive parents never failed to
shower her and her numerous siblings with money and material items, they were
far less generous with their love, saving that for their actor friends and the
media. But it had left Pandora with an emptiness inside, so she was overjoyed
when her childhood friend had called and asked about coming for an extended
visit. She and Vixen had kept in touch via e-mail over the years, and her
friend had even come out for awhile after one of her numerous step-fathers had
tried to rape her and stayed for two weeks until the cops found her and
dragged her back to DC.

Unlike Pandora, Vixen had never stayed with any foster parents long enough to
get adopted. But that seemed to suit her just fine.

Vixen quickly stuffed the Seal and the card back in her pack. "In here,
Pandy."

"I got us lunch. Fish tacos. Yummy. Come on."

Vixen padded out to the kitchen. She was an attractive young lady in her early
20's with an unruly tangle of black hair, which she usually kept beneath a
garishly colored bandanna, and bright blue eyes. She was of slight build, but
the muscles on her arms and legs were well developed. She had the look of an
alley cat, sporting several scars to testify that she'd been in her share of
scraps and that smug expression common to feral toms. "No need to call me
twice! That's one thing I always hated about DC, you couldn't find a decent
fish taco anywhere," she smiled, biting into the soft tortilla.

"I thought, if you wanted, we could go to a movie tonight. I'm dying to see
the latest Star Trek. You haven't seen it yet, have you?" she asked, taking a
sip of her soda. Pandora was about five and half feet tall with long blonde
hair and soft brown eyes. She was in terrific shape, thanks to a grueling
workout regimen at one of the local gyms three times a week, which served to
balance her atrocious diet of fast food and pasta, with well-developed breasts
and a trim figure. But, unlike her friend, she was obviously no fighter, for
she had no definition to her muscles to speak of. They were just there to hold
her bones together. No more.

"Nope. I wasn't crazy about number 13. I hope this one isn't another yawner,"
she frowned.

"It's an even number," her friend winked. "It should be great."

"I forgot," Vixen laughed. "Okay, I'm game."

"Great. I'll come and get you after I get off work and-"

"Hey, I can take the bus or walk. No need to come all the way back here again.
Just tell me what time and where and I'll meet you there."

Pandora quickly scribbled the information down on a pad by the phone. "Don't
be late. I hate missing the previews," she admonished.

"How could I forget," Vixen teased. "I'll be there. Early. With our tickets."

"I'll believe it when I see it," Pandora giggled, downing the last of her
taco, grabbing her drink, kissing Vixen on the cheek, and dashing out the
door.

* * * * *

Lilith answered the insistent buzz of her intercom, "I hope this is good news,
darling."

"It is. You're now the proud new owner of the Mudslide, boss," Pam announced
brightly. "And it cost you less than 500k."

"Excellent. Two more things: File whatever papers you have to and change the
name to 'Club Femizon', then get the current manager on the phone."

"Got it."

"How are the other things going?"

"Still trying to get hold of the martial arts instructor--He's up in the
mountains on some kind of spiritual retreat according to the receptionist at
his school. And a friend at the LAPD is getting back to me about the leader of
the Mals--Oh! There he is on the other line. Hang on."

Lili was unruffled by her secretary's familiar tone, even though she would
fire or kill just about anyone else who dared to treat her with such
familiarity. Pam Dunn had been with her for nearly five years and had proved
to be a miracle worker on more than one occasion. Like now, Lili thought as
she answered an incoming call from the former Mudslide's manager.

"Mr. Vernon?"

"Call me Martin, Ms. Kahira. And congratulations, I think you've made a wise
investment. I know the Mudslide hasn't been doing all that great, but with a
little capital, I know I can make it-"

"You're fired. Clear your things out of the club by 5 o'clock or they'll be
thrown out with the rest of the garbage."

"You're kidding, right? This is a joke, isn't it?"

"Make it 4, Marty," she said and severed the connection. Almost before her
finger had risen from the button, Pam buzzed in. "Talk to me."

"The leader of the Mals is a two-time loser named Jerry Billings who goes by
the improbable name of 'Apollyon'."

"An ancient name for the Devil," Lili mused. "That might explain their
interest in my artifacts. What do we know about the Mals, Pam?"

"Well, they branched off from the original East Coast Mals about three years
ago as an extension of that gang, and not as the result of any split within
the organization itself. As far as police and the FBI know, they're still
affiliated with them, and may even take their orders from the leader of their
eastern parent."

"Not anymore. What sorts of things do they do?"

"The usual: Steal, kill, rape, pillage. They pretty much break all the biggies
when it comes to the Ten Commandments. And, of course, they deal in
prostitution and drugs, both of the cyber variety. But here's a wrinkle: They
usually steal priceless artifacts from museums and private collectors, as
opposed to easily fenceable jewels or electronics. Pretty weird, huh?" she
inquired.

"Not at all, darling. Keep trying to reach the instructor. Oh, and good work,
as usual."

"Will do. And thanks, boss."

When she suddenly remembered one more thing she needed done, Lili almost
buzzed her back, but then, giving it a bit more thought, she decided it would
be more satisfying to conduct this business deal face to face. And, she smiled
to herself, glancing out the windows at the beautiful, sunny day, it would be
good to get outside and bask in the life-giving glow of my Goddess.

Odina opened the door to the club in response to the loud and persistent
knocking, and despite the fact that it was barely past one o'clock and they
didn't open for business until six, and squinted in the bright sunlight. She
saw a tall woman, easily six feet, wearing a chauffeur's outfit, complete with
the hat and sunglasses. "Can I help you?" she asked, annoyed, yet curious.

"My employer would like to speak with you, Ms. Running Deer," the dark-skinned
woman replied, gesturing toward the stretch limousine in the parking lot.

"What about?" Odina asked suspiciously.

"That's between you and her."

Odina regarded the chauffeur silently for a moment, gauging whether she could
take her in a fight, and deciding that she could if she had to. At well over
six feet herself, she wasn't easily intimidated. The Indian had the bronze
skin and dark eyes that her heritage was famous for and a finely chiseled
figure of muscle and curves that had been her own doing, thanks to years of
strenuous work-outs after taking the raw end of the stick from her brothers
while growing up on the reservation. Of course, she thought wryly as she made
her way over to the limo, if there's half a dozen guys with guns in here that
doesn't really matter.

As she approached, the back window slid down halfway, revealing a woman with
dark hair and a dark complexion seated in the back seat, sipping an iced
drink. "Hello, Ms. Running Deer. My name is Lilith Kahira and I have a
proposition for you," she said, her dark eyes glinting with malice.

Odina was about to turn and walk back to the club when Lili casually reached
over and opened a briefcase sitting next to her on the seat. Inside was more
money than the big Indian had ever seen. "Okay, you've got my attention, lady.
Start talking."

Lili nodded and the chauffeur opened the door and she stepped out of the car.
"Thank you, Zaynah. I'll get right to the point," she said, leaning against
the side of the limo, stretching her long legs out in front of her. She was
wearing a light colored blouse and an off-white and very short skirt, which
showed off her shapely legs very nicely. She was also wearing a large, floppy
white hat, keeping her face in the shade. "I've just become the owner of a
club and I want you to work for me."

"I already have a job," Odina replied. "Which club?"

Lili smiled. "The Mudslide. But I'm having the name changed to Club Femizon as
we speak. And I'd like to make a lot more changes, with your help," she added,
sipping at her drink.

"Why me?"

"I like what you did with this place," she said, gesturing back at Mortal
Fembat, "and I want you to give Club Femizon the same treatment, only more so.
I want it to become the premiere women's fight club in LA."

Odina frowned, But before she could speak, Lili continued, "You'd have a free
hand, and enough money to do whatever you wanted. Plus, I'm prepared to give
you the money you saw in the limo as a gesture of good faith. $50,000. What do
you say, Ms. Running Deer?"

"I say call me Odina, kimosabe," she smiled, extending her hand.

"Welcome aboard, Odina," Lili nodded, shaking her hand.

* * * * *

By the time Lupe woke up the sun was already beginning to sink into the ocean,
although it was impossible to see it from Dr. Trotter's home anyway. She had
meant to grab no more than "40 blinks," as she put it, but ended up sleeping
for several hours; her body, while fully healed, was still exhausted from the
battle, and from the nightly stress of the transformation itself. Simone was
still in bed, too, recovering from the venomous bite of the cobra-headed
Minion of Apep she'd sustained the day before, and Lupe let her sleep as she
quietly padded downstairs to get something to eat.

Lupe was a big woman, standing at just over six feet, with extremely large,
round breasts and a powerfully muscled body. Her eyes were dark and displayed
more intelligence than people usually gave her credit for, thanks to her
broken English and the fact that she'd spent the better half of the last
century living in the sewers of Paris with her vampire lover.

The phone rang as she reached the bottom of the stairs and her heart both
soared and quaked with fear when she heard the doctor address Jessica. Dr.
Cassandra Trotter was a still-attractive woman in her early 50's. She had
black hair and brown eyes and skin like polished ebony. She was in fairly good
shape, but the weight that usually accompanies middle age had begun to make
its presence known. Lupe silently pleaded with the older woman not to reveal
how disastrously her friend's cure for her lycanthropy had backfired and was
relieved when she brushed the question aside with a vague answer.

Then, after saying goodbye, she handed the phone to Lupe and Jessica quickly
explained that she was going to see the General, and hopefully find out who
her mother was.

"Jessica, is the past worth your future?" Lupe asked, concern tinging her
voice.

"It's something I have to know. Besides, if Kallista was telling the truth,
she doesn't even know she has a daughter," Jessi explained. "I owe it to her
to let her know she does."

"You know it's a trap, my friend," the Spaniard sighed.

"Of course."

She laughed. "Be careful, Jessica. Lupe misses you a great deal already."

"And I miss you, too, Lupe. I will be careful. And, I'll join you as soon as I
can. How are things going, by the way? No odd effects from the serum, I hope,"
she added brightly, but the worry in her voice was obvious to Lupe.

She hesitated ever so slightly before replying. "No, no. Of course, it's not
even close to being a full moon yet. Lupe will keep her fingers crossed," she
lied with a sad smile.

"And I'll cross my toes. Are you sure everything is all right?" Jessi pressed,
not altogether satisfied that Lupe was telling her everything.

"Everything is fine. It's just some...dreams. You've got more important things
to worry about than my nautical visions," she chided.

"All right, but I want to hear all about them when I get there in a couple of
days."

Again, Lupe almost imperceptibly paused. "Of course. I will tell you
everything when you get here. In the meantime, be careful and take care of
yourself. I'll see you soon."

"Maybe in your dreams?" Jessica suggested impishly.

"I hope not," she whispered. "Goodbye, Jessica, and good luck." Then, she
quickly hung up the phone before her friend could respond and force more lies
from her mouth.

"You should have told her," Dr. Trotter admonished, her brown eyes full of
sadness. "Maybe she can help. I certainly wasn't able to find out anything
useful in my research yesterday, beyond the usual elements of the legends."

"You may think of them as myths and legends, Dr. Clutter, but to Lupe they are
more real than the words spoken by the Holy Father," she said earnestly. "If
there is an answer, it is there, among the old stories."

"That may well be, my dear, but would you or I recognize it if we saw it?" she
asked, not really expecting an answer.

Lupe just shrugged and headed for the kitchen at the insistence of her
growling stomach.

* * * * *

Jerry Billings, known to his followers as 'Apollyon', suddenly sat up in bed,
startling the dark haired woman next to him. He was a well-built man in his
late 20's, with long, dirty blonde hair and a neatly trimmed goatee. His
sweat-covered body was large and heavily developed, particularly his tattooed
forearms.

"What's the matter, lover?" the woman asked, sitting up and brushing back the
hair from her brown eyes. She was in her mid 20's, with small, pert breasts
and a muscular figure that contained enough scars to ensure that no one
mistook her physique for mere show. She'd obviously been in a lot of fights.
Her real name was unimportant. The only one that mattered now was the one
Apollyon had given her: Hecate.

"I thought I heard something," he replied, cocking his head.

"Probably the gang, having some fun," she said, tugging on his arm. "Lay back
down and let's finish what we started, hmmm?"

He grinned and was about to do just that when the door to the bedroom opened
and a short man with dark skin walked in. He was a little over five feet tall,
with a full beard of black hair that curled around his chin like an
affectionate caterpillar and a stocky frame. He was wearing a cream colored
suit with a red tie, dark glasses, and a red fez. His face, what little the
pair could see of it anyway, wore no expression, and his eyes, hidden behind
the dark lenses, were equally unreadable.

"How the Hell did you get in here? Where are Baal and Dagon?" Apollyon
demanded, naming the two gang members who had been guarding the room.

"Your associates are unconscious, but alive. They could easily be dead," the
little man said calmly.

"You're the one who's going to be dead!" Hecate snarled, leaping from the bed
with her nails bared.

The strange man casually reached up and caught the naked woman by the throat.
His fingers flexed and Apollyon heard a distinct snap and then her body went
limp. He dropped her at his feet. "She could be dead, too," he added, stepping
over her.

"Who are you? What do you want?" Apollyon asked, getting out of the bed and
slipping into his briefs.

"My name is as unimportant as yours, Jerry. What I want is the address of the
person Genevieve Tucker came here to see," he stated.

"Never heard of her," Apollyon shrugged, turning and putting on his pants. He
then reached down for his shirt, and the semi-automatic handgun beneath it. He
snatched the gun and whirled around, firing, but the dark-skinned man wasn't
there.

Suddenly, the gun was knocked from his grasp and he felt a cold hand close
around his throat as the man stepped from behind him. "Not wise. Perhaps you
know the young lady in question as Vixen?" he inquired, increasing the
pressure slightly.

Apollyon struck out, landing his fist square on the bridge of the man's nose,
breaking his dark glasses in two. But when the eyes behind the glasses turned
out to be glowing red embers of death, he nearly fainted. "What the Hell are
you???" he gasped.

"The girl, Mr. Billings. Where is she?" he asked, ignoring the question.

"I don't know. I swear I don't! All we were told is to be on the lookout for
her. Baelzebub didn't know the name of her friend or have an address. Honest,
man!" He stared directly into the twin pits of Hellfire. "Honest."

"Very well, Jerry. I believe you." He released the man's neck and handed him a
card that contained nothing but a phone number. "If your people find her
before I do, call me...immediately. Is that understood?"

"Yeah. But just tell me who you are, okay?" Apollyon looked up from the card,
but the little man was gone. He rushed over to Hecate and was relieved to find
that, as he'd said, she was still alive. And, if the moaning he heard coming
from the hallway was any indication, so were his men.

* * * * *

The helicopter descended into the small clearing, disturbing the tranquillity
of the mountain meadow and causing all but one of the people sitting in it to
run for cover. The exception was a solidly built man with Asian features and a
bald head. He was wearing a white gi...and floating a full foot off the grassy
floor of the meadow.

Pam Dunn, looking a bit disheveled and even more annoyed that she'd had to go
through all this bother to reach the elusive master, stepped from the vehicle
and cocked her head, unsure whether to believe the evidence of her eyes or
not. She was an attractive woman in her early 30's, with strawberry blonde
hair and blue eyes that twinkled with both intelligence and mischief. Her body
was clearly female, with high, prominent breasts and a slim, inviting waist,
but she had the air of masculinity about her, too, in the way she carried
herself and her brusque manner. With a slight scowl on her pretty face, she
approached the levitating man and cleared her throat loudly. When he made no
indication that he'd heard her, or the noisy helicopter not a hundred yards
from him, she asked, "Are you Master Po?" in a voice just shy of a full-blown
shout.

"There is no need to raise your voice, Ms. Dunn, I can hear you perfectly
well," he replied without opening his jade eyes. "Tell Ms. Kahira that I
accept her offer and that her lessons will begin as soon as I return from this
retreat in two days. You can arrange the details with Miss Fong, my secretary.
I'm sorry to have troubled you with this trip."

"Oh, that's all right. But I would like to know how you knew my name and who I
worked for?" she asked, still not quite believing that he was floating. "Some
sort of mind reading kung fu trick?"

He calmly pulled a small cell phone from within his gi. "Miss Fong informed me
of your call and your employer's determination," he explained, with just the
hint of a smile breaking through his stoic features.

Pam sighed and then laughed as she headed back to the waiting helicopter.

* * * * *

Lupe looked up from the empty plate on the table in front of her and noticed
that Dr. Trotter was putting on her coat. "Are you going out, Dr. Snipper?"
she asked.

Cassandra sighed, wishing that once in a while the Spaniard would get her name
right, and nodded. "Odina quit, so I have to go to the club myself tonight,"
she replied.

"She quit?! That seems very sudden to Lupe. Did she give a reason?"

"She was hired to run another club, and given a hefty signing bonus to sweeten
the deal. It really is for the best, for her, since she wasn't making nearly
enough working for me to afford to put her son through college. Now, with her
new salary, she can do it easily."

"Lupe is sensing that you are not entirely happy for her. What is the hatch?"

It took Cassandra only a moment to figure out what Lupe meant. "Her new boss
is Lilith Kahira. I suspect that Lili resents our interfering in her business
with Simone and this is her way of getting back at me for my part in it," she
explained. "I just hope this isn't some sort of trick and that she doesn't
intend to hurt Odina."

"Maybe Lupe should pay Senorita Kahira another visit?" She grinned wolfishly
and ground her right fist into her left palm.

"I don't think that's a good idea, Lupe. For the time being, let's just keep
out of Lili's way and see what she's up to. She might just want to humiliate
and bankrupt me," Cassandra said with a wink. Lupe frowned, obviously itching
for another go-round with the haughty Egyptian, but nodded. "Besides, given
your present condition, I think it's best if you're secured at night. Speaking
of which, I need to lock you up before I go. Run and get...What's that?" She
looked out the window and saw the familiar sight of her daughter's patrol car
pulling into the drive. "Uh oh...Saba's here. Probably come to check on
Simone's condition."

"If you don't mind my asking, what is the story with them? Did they used to
date?" Lupe asked, following the doctor through the sitting room.

"Date?! Oh, my heavens, no. Saba isn't interested in women, not like that. And
certainly not in someone like Simone. No, they've never gotten along, ever
since I first started working on her films. It really is a long story, but the
short version is that I didn't spend much time with Saba growing up, so she
resented anyone who took time away from her. Including Jessica and Simone, and
now, I'm afraid, you, Lupe." She shrugged apologetically and opened the door.
"Why, what a pleasant surprise. How are you, dear?" she asked, hugging her
daughter.

"I'm fine, Mama. I was on my way to work and thought I'd stop and see how
Simone is doing," she replied, fixing her jade eyes on Lupe. "Still here,
huh?" Saba Trotter was an exotic beauty with lighter skin than her mother and
faintly Asian features. She was in excellent shape and her 5' 8" frame was
well muscled, while losing none of its feminine charms. Her ample breasts
strained in their bra against her blue police uniform while the corded muscles
of her thighs and calves rippled beneath the dark nylons.

"Lupe will be here for awhile, senorita. I'm sorry that displeases you." Her
tone was civil, but her brown eyes flashed with barely suppressed annoyance.
Then, she felt the familiar sensation of incredible heat, as if her entire
body was racked with a fever, and she knew that the nightly transformation
into a wolf was moments away.

Saba saw the sudden sweating and attributed it to the drugs she was sure the
foreigner was taking. But Cassandra knew the signs all too well and said
quickly, "Simone is fine, sweetheart. But she's resting and really shouldn't
be disturbed. If you come back in the morning, she should be awake and ready
for a visit."

"Oh. I guess I'll see you in the morning..." She stopped, noticing her
mother's jacket for the first time. "Where are you going?"

"Out, dear. I'm a grown woman, surely I'm allowed to go out once in a while,
aren't I?" Cassandra replied, a bit testily.

"Of course you are. Just be careful, all right?" Saba leaned over and kissed
her on the cheek.

"And you do the same, dear," the doctor smiled, returning the kiss. "I'll see
you in the morning."

"Good night, senorita," Lupe called after her, fighting the incredible urge to
tear off her clothes and roll in the dirt driveway.

Saba ignored her and walked back to her car and Dr. Trotter quickly closed the
door. "Get to the bathroom, Lupe. I'll bring the handcuffs."

* * * * *

Lilith and Odina stood in front of the dozen women who comprised the regular
stable of the Mudslide and both of them looked like generals inspecting their
troops before a battle...and finding them in their pajamas, instead of in
their battle gear.

"Ladies, I am Lilith Kahira, the new owner of this club, and this is Odina
Running Deer, the new manager. I called you all in here this evening to inform
you that we will be closing the club for some weeks while we make some major
changes. One of which will be the discontinuation of mud wrestling--Although,
given that you're all a sorry bunch of out of shape pigs, I can see why you
preferred to roll around in mud." One or two of the women bristled at the
insult, but the big Indian standing next to Lili kept them from voicing their
objections, or making any sort of physical response. "When this club reopens
it will feature women in combat, not play fighting in fake mud. The question
of concern to you, though, is will it feature any of you? The answer is up to
you." She gestured to Odina and the Indian set the briefcase she'd been
holding on the table and opened it, revealing stacks of neatly bound bills.
"I'm going to give you each $10,000 and one month to get your sorry asses in
shape in time for the reopening. If, at the end of thirty days, you are in no
better shape than you are right now, don't even bother coming back. But if
you've managed to shed some of that fat and turn it into muscle, and if you
can pass a simple test of your fighting abilities, I will hire you back at
double your previous salary. So, I would suggest that you also take this
opportunity to either hone your combat skills, or, in some cases, actually
develop some."

She turned and walked out without another word and the women cautiously
approached Odina who silently passed out their money as she inwardly shook her
head at how out of shape they were and wondered that anyone would pay to see
them do anything. She also doubted if a month would make much difference and
thought Lili was just throwing her money away.

Of course, if there was one thing she'd already learned about her new
employer, it was that she had plenty of money to throw away.

After the last of the women had left, Odina joined Lili in her new office,
shaking her head. "They're even worse than I thought they'd be, chief," she
said, sitting on the edge of the new desk.

"On the contrary, Odina darling, they're perfect," Lili returned, smiling in
that disconcerting way the Indian had already gotten accustomed to. "They'll
make perfect fodder for our new fighters."

"Our new fighters?" the big Indian asked. "And what do you mean by 'fodder'?"

"What I mean is that during the next month you will be busy hiring us a stable
of the best talent money can buy: women with muscles, curves, and attitude,
darling, lots of attitude. When we open, we send those cows in against them,
rather like the Christians being fed to the lions, and the crowds will love it
just as much as the Romans did," Lili stated, her dark eyes blazing. "Then,
every once in a while, we'll pit a Lion against a Lion and maybe even a
Christian against a Christian, if the crowd seems to like that sort of
pathetic rolling around."

Odina frowned and folded her arms across her large chest. "I thought you said
I would have a free hand, chief," she reminded the smaller woman.

"Of course you do, darling. I said you would be hiring the Lions."

"That's not what I meant."

"Do you want me to fire the Christians, then? Just take back the money I gave
them and hand them their pink slips instead? I'm thinking of their welfare,
darling. They'll be getting paid a lot of money to have their teeth handed to
them once a night. But if you'd rather just fire the lot of them..."

Odina gritted her teeth and clenched her fists until the veins in her neck and
arms stood out in sharp relief. Then, she let her breath out in a long,
exasperated sigh and shook her head. "You're right, chief," she said quietly.

Lilith smiled that smile and patted her knee. "I knew you'd see it my way,
darling."

* * * * *

Vixen arrived at the theatre after a brisk three-mile walk, unaware that a
pair of Apollyon's gang members had followed her ever since she reached the
downtown area. She purchased two tickets to "Star Trek: Final Conflict" (The
producers had ceased using numbers in the titles after "Star Trek VI: The
Undiscovered Country" in the hope that they could break the curse of the odd
numbered flops; they couldn't, and the fans still added numbers anyway, making
this film's full fan title "Star Trek XIV: Final Conflict.") and headed inside
to purchase some goodies while she waited for Pandora. The two Mals went up to
the ticket counter, but had no idea which of the twenty-four screens their
quarry had bought tickets for and the person behind the bulletproof glass
refused to tell them. "Just give us two for whatever starts next," growled the
male.

"Two for 'Noodleheads', which begins in five minutes. That'll be $25," the
ticket seller said.

"Cool! I've been wanting to see this one," said the female as her partner slid
some bills under the glass and retrieved two tickets.

"We're not actually going to watch the movie, you idiot," he growled, shoving
her into the lobby.

"Oh, yeah. I forgot," she shrugged.

He sighed and pulled a wrinkled piece of paper from his jacket and studied the
blurry image of the woman it contained. "That's her, all right. You watch her
while I call Apollyon," he said, shoving the paper back in his jacket.

The young woman nodded sullenly and the man headed for the pay phones. As soon
as he was gone, she made a beeline for the snack counter and purchased several
items.

While she was doing that, however, Pandora arrived and she and Vixen
disappeared into the maze of the multiplex, chatting quietly and munching on
popcorn.

The young man returned and found their quarry missing and his partner loading
up on goodies. "What the Hell is wrong with you?" he shouted, knocking the
purchases from her arms and scattering them on the floor of the lobby. "She's
gone! Did you see where she went?"

The woman glared at him and at the food she'd purchased. "No," she confessed,
stooping to retrieve a box of Whoppers.

He kicked them out of her reach and grabbed her by the collar and hauled her
to her feet. "Will you forget the fucking candy! We've gotta find her! The
boss wants her, and he wants her now. Come on!" He took her hand and dragged
her to the ticket collector and handed him their tickets.

"Screen 16, enjoy the movie," he said, handing them their stubs.

The man snatched the stubs from his hand and he and the woman entered the
labyrinthine confines of the theatre.

=*=

The wolf snarled in frustration at finding herself once more trapped in the
small cavern. She cast her nose about frantically searching for the scent of
the hated cat, but all she detected was the familiar stench of her human
captors. Rising shakily to her hind feet, she peered into the strange pool
that hung on the wall of the maddening cave. Even though she was well aware
that the wolf she was looking at was merely a reflection of herself, the image
gave her comfort and made her feel considerably less alone.

For a while at least.

Tiring of her less-than-satisfying "companion," she sank to all fours and
curled up on the patch of short, brightly colored grass and fell asleep
glaring at the device that bound her forelegs together.

=*=

Vixen and Pandora sat in their seats, happily munching popcorn and blissfully
unaware that the two Mals had just spotted them and were closing in from
opposite sides of their row--The theatre was small, but practically empty,
containing only a dozen other patrons at most. On the screen, Captain Picard
was giving his usual impassioned plea for peace that occurred just past the
halfway point of every movie in the series.

Suddenly, the two friends felt the sharp tips of knives poking into their
sides and the male gang member hissed, "Not a word, not so much as a fucking
whisper or we'll gut you like trout. Understand?" Vixen and Pandora both
nodded fearfully. "Good girls. Now, you have something that belongs to the
Mals, bitch," he indicated Vixen with a gruff nod in her direction, "and we
want it back."

"I don't have it with me," Vixen whispered, feeling the point of the woman's
blade reminding her to keep her voice down.

"Pity. But we didn't think you would. So, we'll take your friend here and hold
on to her until you deliver the item in question to us," he smirked, casually
licking the side of Pandora's face. "Bring it to the old Hollywood Bowl by
midnight tomorrow or you'll never see this bitch again."

Before Vixen could so much as nod, he had forced Pandora up and down the row
to the aisle, leaving his female accomplice, and her knife, next to the angry,
but worried, young woman. "Don't do anything stupid, bright eyes," the Mal
snarled, jabbing her with the blade and piercing not only her clothing, but
her flesh as well, which caused her to wince in pain.

"See you tomorrow night, sweetheart," she giggled, standing up and wiping the
blood from her knife on the back of one of the seats as she walked away.

"I'm looking forward to it already," Vixen growled, pressing her hand tightly
against her side.

She waited until they had all gone and then was about to get up and follow
them when she saw the lobby door open and a short man in a light-colored suit
and wearing a red fez enter. For some reason, she knew that he was looking for
her, too...and that he wasn't a friend.

Still holding her side, she dropped to the sticky ground and quietly crawled
towards the other side of the theatre.

The man, meanwhile, paused in the aisle next to her row and raised his nose
and sniffed the air...like a dog trying to pick up the scent of some prey.
Vixen stopped and pressed herself onto the disgusting floor as tightly as she
could. When the stranger started moving down her row she suddenly stood up and
bolted for the nearest exit.

With an almost bestial howl, the man in the red fez pursued her, to the
immense relief of the others in the audience.

"The scent of She Who Is Full Of Rage is strong upon you, girl," he growled.
"With that aroma burning in my nostrils, you cannot long escape me."

But when he approached the swinging door to the lobby, it suddenly shot back
and slammed him in the face, knocking him backwards and sending him tumbling
head over heels down the aisle.

Vixen chuckled to herself and raced for another theatre. Without pausing, she
ran down the aisle and straight out the exit.

Meanwhile, by the time Mr. Nazif had collected himself and exited the theatre,
the hallway was filled with people both entering and leaving movies and he
scowled as he made his way out of the multiplex, reluctantly admitting his
defeat...this time.

* * * * *

It just so happened that Dr. Cassandra Trotter was not having a very good
evening either. While there was no question she was a brilliant woman, the act
of running a fight club was not one of her many, and various, skills. She
found almost immediately that she and the bartender--A skinny woman in her
early 20's named Cindi--didn't get along, mostly owing to the fact that she
and Odina were quite good friends and she held the owner responsible for her
leaving. The waitresses--All incredibly busty young women of varying ages and
ethnicities--were surly, but they had a right to be, given what they had to
endure from the club's patrons...of both sexes. In fact, the doctor felt a bit
sorry for them after watching several get mauled and pawed throughout the
course of the night, and she determined to look into giving them a raise as
soon as she could afford to. The club's single bouncer, a large, solidly built
Italian named Joey, quite frankly gave Cassie the creeps. He did his job all
right, but the relish with which he manhandled unruly customers and bodily
threw them out of the club made her uneasy. And, he had a most disconcerting
habit of staring at the fighters, waitresses, and certain patrons that
reminded her of films she'd seen depicting jackals and hyenas on the prowl. He
was a predator, but a cautious one, despite his bulk and obvious physical
talents, and that worried Dr. Trotter more than if he'd simply been a
blustering bully for some undefinable reason.

Finally, there were the fighters themselves.

On this particular evening, only six of her regulars were there, the others
having the night off until they had a fight scheduled. The night's bill
consisted of a tag team match between the Twin Megs--The crowd favorites--and
the Black and Blues--A pair of African-American women who were also members of
a local jazz band--and two singles competitions between Tigra, a big chested
Mexican, and Stacie Simpson, whose gig was playing up her bisexual tendencies,
and Paula Primrose, the mandatory "sweet & innocent" who nevertheless fought
like a Tasmanian Devil when angered, and Double D, a fiery redhead whose chest
size gave her her name.

It was a good bill and the crowd really got into the three matches, especially
the one involving Tigra, whose real name was Consuela Ramirez, and Stacie.
After the fight, which Tigra won, much to the hooting and whistling crowd's
delight, Cassandra went back to the locker/shower room and talked briefly with
both women. She was curious how much of what she had witnessed was real and
how much was a show for the locals. She learned quite quickly that there was
genuine hostility between the two women and that it apparently stemmed from
Consuela's decidedly heterosexual preferences. She honestly hated it when
Stacie, or any of the other bi or lesbian wrestlers, touched her in what she
felt were inappropriate ways. Especially when her boyfriend, a big bruiser
named Ramon, was in the audience. When the doctor pressed further she found
that it was because Ramon enjoyed that a great deal and he had been trying to
get her and one of the other women to let him watch them make love. With her
strict Catholic upbringing, Consuela naturally refused.

For her part, Stacie simply enjoyed putting "straights," as she called them,
like Consuela off their game by kissing and fondling them whenever an
opportunity presented itself. She was happily partnered with a woman named
Midge who wasn't her biggest fan in the wrestling world, and was probably
jealous of the ring antics, even though she would never admit it, Stacie
confided.

The fact that Stacie had been one of the women approached by Ramon did nothing
to lessen the Mexican's genuine dislike of her.

Dr. Trotter spoke only briefly with the other four women, but her impression
of them was generally good and she was pleased to confirm that most of the
nastiness exhibited by Double D, whose real name was Dereka Donaldson, was
simply for the benefit of the crowd.

At the end of the night she locked the doors to the club and was feeling
considerably less uneasy about having to manage things herself--Although she
was still of a mind to hire a replacement for Odina as soon as possible so she
could get back to her writing. As she opened the door of her beloved Nova,
however, all her uneasiness disappeared as a hand clamped itself over her
mouth and a gruff, but feminine, voice warned her to keep quiet and then
quickly slipped into the coupe's back seat, pulling the doctor into the
driver's seat at the same time.

Cassie's hand fumbled wildly in her purse for her cell phone, and the
emergency feature that called her daughter with the push of a single button
that Saba had insisted on, against her mother's wishes.

"I'm not gonna hurt you, Dr. Trotter," the person in the back seat said, but
this time her voice had lost its edge and she sounded more like a frightened
child. "I just had to talk to you, and I can't really afford to be standing
around where he might see me."

The doctor's hand had found her cell phone, and her finger was resting on the
button, but she hadn't pushed it...yet. Instead, she turned around to get a
good look at the young lady in the back seat. "Do I know you? You
look...familiar."

The girl shook her head and a tangle of dark hair fell over one blue eye. "No,
we didn't meet. Not exactly. But I saw you at the airport, and Jessica gave me
your number and told me to call you if I needed help." She lifted her right
hand, which had been pressing a colorful bandanna tightly against her side,
and Cassie saw that it was slick with blood. "Help..." she moaned softly, and
then toppled onto her side in the spacious back seat, unconscious.

Cassandra jammed the ignition key in and gunned the motor to life. "Hold on,
child," she whispered as she floored the Nova out of the parking lot.

* * * * *

Hearing a noise--it sounded like a strangled gasping--Apollyon wasted no time
grabbing his handgun and training its laser sighting on the door, just about
the height where the strange little man's head would be. Beside him, Hecate
slipped from the bed and, taking up a baseball bat, positioned herself on the
side of the doorway just as a second sound--This was more like a scream cut
off before it could fully escape one's mouth--reached their ears.

A moment later the door opened and Mr. Nazif stood in the doorway, blood
dripping from his well-manicured hands.

Hecate swung the bat at his throat and Apollyon aimed for the spot directly
between his eyes and fired.

But, somehow, Nazif had managed to grab the bat and halt it in mid-swing,
jerking the surprised woman off her feet and in front of him. The bullets
pierced her flesh, splattering the little man's suit with crimson stains, and
she fell against him, her dead eyes staring at their reflection in his dark
glasses.

"NOOOO!!!!!!!!" screamed Apollyon as her lifeless form slowly slid down
Nazif's body. Before he could fire at the now exposed figure, the little man
was beside him.

He contemptuously knocked the gun away, sending it skittering into a corner,
and then snarled in his face, "We had a deal, Jerry. I'm disappointed. You're
no smarter than your East Coast counterpart was."

"Was?" questioned Apollyon, nearly choking on the other's fetid breath.

Nazif nodded. "Now, tell me where the girl is, or your own death will be much
more lasting and painful than that of your associates." He practically spat
the last word.

"I don't know..."

"Wrong answer, Jerry," said Nazif, removing his glasses and fixing his scarlet
eyes on the terrified man.

"Wait! I know where she'll be tomorrow at midnight!" he yelped.

"Oh? And how do you know that, Mr. Billings?" Nazif asked, replacing his
glasses.

"I've got her friend and she knows that if she doesn't bring the Seal to the
old Hollywood Bowl tomorrow night we'll kill her," he said, nodding like a
drunken boxer.

"If only you'd called and told me that earlier, all this...unpleasantness
could have been avoided," he said, his voice becoming soft and soothing. "I
suppose the girl you have knows nothing of the Seal?" Apollyon nodded. "Good.
The fewer people who know...the better. Understand?" The larger man nodded
again. "I hope you won't disappoint me again, Jerry. Death is so overrated."

He turned and then slowly walked from the room, carefully stepping over the
body of the woman called Hecate.

* * * * *

As the Chevy raced through the night, heading for the hospital, Vixen's hand
suddenly grabbed the front seat and she painfully pulled herself up and looked
out just as the car turned into the parking lot. "No doctors," she said as
forcefully as she could, shaking her head and gritting her teeth as the Nova
skidded to a halt in front of the emergency entrance. "He'll find me..."

"But, my child, you need a doctor to look at that wound. You've lost a lot of
blood," Cassie added.

"They'll kill her!" Vixen said suddenly, her eyes snapping open and fixing
themselves on Dr. Trotter with an intensity that startled the older woman.

Cassandra looked at the beckoning entrance and then at the girl, who had
collapsed back onto the seat, shrugged her shoulders, and headed for her home,
hoping she was doing the right thing.

"Saba is going to love you," she remarked with a wry grin, glancing back at
the wounded girl.

* * * * *

Even though she was expecting her daughter's arrival the next morning, when
Saba let herself in and entered the kitchen, where the doctor was busy cooking
breakfast for her three charges, she nearly jumped out of her skin when she
said, "That's enough food for the entire LA Dodgers, Mom."

"Saba, dear, you frightened the life out of me," Cassandra smiled, placing a
hand on her heaving chest and turning to face her. "And I thought we agreed
that the key was for emergencies..."

"You're trying to change the subject, Mom. I see three plates, and you know I
wasn't coming over for breakfast. Now what have you done?"

At that moment Lupe walked into the room, wearing a cut off shirt and light
blue panties, and smiled at Dr. Trotter. "Ah, it is finished? Lupe is
starving!" she said enthusiastically. "Good morning, Senorita Saba."

"When are you leaving again?" the police officer snapped.

"Saba! Here you are, Lupe. How is Simone this morning?" Cassie asked.

"She is getting stronger, Dr. Stomper," grinned the other, shoveling eggs and
bacon into her mouth. "And, with Visine like this, it is no wonder to Lupe."

"And what about your other guest?" asked Saba nonchalantly.

Cassandra tried desperately to catch the Spaniard's attention without arousing
her daughter's suspicions any further, but Saba's eyes were watching her like
a hawk.

"The little senorita? She is fine. Your mother, she is very good with wounds
of that type. Apparently, Senorita Saba," she added, smiling at the young
woman, "she had a lot of practice when you were a muchacha."

Saba snorted and Cassie sighed and Lupe looked from one to the other, a
puzzled expression on her beautiful face.

"Who is she, mother?" Saba demanded.

"Just someone in trouble, dear," replied Cassie, returning to her cooking. She
placed two eggs and some bacon on a plate and then put the plate on a tray
that already contained some toast, coffee, and orange juice. "Here's Simone's
breakfast. Why don't you take it up to her?"

"Fine, but I'm not leaving until I at least see your new stray," she stated,
taking the tray and heading from the room.

"Did Lupe do something wrong, Dr. Udder?" Lupe asked innocently once Saba had
left the room.

"Not really, dear. At least, I hope not," she added under her breath as she
placed the rest of the eggs and bacon on a plate and then on another tray.

"Lupe is finished. I will take the little senorita her breakfast, doctor. You
go and talk to your hija," she said, rising from the table and taking the tray
from her. Cassandra nodded and headed upstairs to Simone's room.

* * * * *

"I hear you're feeling better," Saba commented as she set the tray on the
actress' lap.

"Yeah, sorry to disappoint you," Simone replied, "but it looks like I'll
live." Simone Stallion was an impossibly gorgeous woman with short dark hair
and bright blue eyes set in an exquisitely chiseled face that made one think
of Helen of Troyish fame and other beauties from history. Her body was equally
perfect, with melon-like breasts and legs that screamed to be caressed. But,
in addition to being a paragon of femininity, she was also blessed with a
quick wit and an intelligence which people didn't expect from one so
beautiful.

"I didn't come here to fight, Sim," Saba said wearily, sitting on the edge of
the bed. "I'm worried about Mother. First, she takes in this idiot drug
addict, and now I find she's got another stray to take care of. One of these
days, one of them is going to put a knife in her ribs or a bullet in her
brain, thinking she's got more money than she does..."

"Listen to me, Saba," Simone said quietly, fixing her azure eyes on the
younger woman. "I don't know about this new guest, but I can assure you that
Lupe is all right. She's not as dumb as you think and she's not on any drugs."

"Of course you'd say that, but I know the signs, Sim: uncontrollable sweating,
a haunted, hunted look in her eyes. She's hooked on something nasty," the
police officer nodded, her green eyes flashing with intensity as she balled
her hands into fists. "And if she hurts Mom..."

"She won't," Simone promised.

Saba looked over at her and shrugged. "Any word from Danny or his lawyers, or
are you two really quits this time?" she asked, quickly changing the subject
and enjoying the pained look that clouded the actress' eyes at the mention of
her ex-husband.

"We're through. We've been through for years, and you know it. The only reason
we ever got back together was for the public. But that's over. It's time I
started doing things for myself," Simone replied.

"Oh, yes, I know how you've suffered in silence all these years," Saba laughed
cruelly. "Your altruism is practically legendary."

"Silly me, I thought you didn't come here to fight," Simone pointed out as she
began to slice up her eggs and bacon.

"I'm sorry. That was uncalled for. Just keep an eye on Mom for me and call if
anything happens, okay?" Saba said, but the insincerity of her apology was
glaring.

"She's very precious to me, too, Saba. I won't let anything happen to her. And
I'm telling you again that you're wrong about Lupe."

Saba just shrugged and left the room.

* * * * *

Lupe walked into the spare bedroom and almost turned and went out again when
she saw that the young lady was apparently still sleeping. But then she
noticed the stiffness of the form beneath the blankets and sensed that she was
merely pretending to be asleep. She walked over and placed the tray on the
nightstand next to the bed and then sat cross-legged on the floor and waited
for the woman to make her move.

With a deep sigh Vixen rolled over and sat up. She looked down at Lupe and
asked, "How did you know I was shamming?"

"No one could sleep with such a delightful diploma filling the room," Lupe
smiled. "Now, why don't you tell Lupe all about your troubles, muchacha, and I
will do what I can to help you."

Vixen nodded and, in between mouthfuls, related her meeting with the two gang
members and the mysterious man at the theatre the day before.

"Do you have this thing they want?" Lupe asked when she had finished. Vixen
nodded and retrieved the mysterious cylinder from her backpack. "Hmmm, the
first thing we must do is find out what this thing is," the older woman said
thoughtfully, shaking her head when Vixen tried to hand it to her; she felt
something...dangerous emanating from the artifact. "That will give us some
idea why your friends in the theatre want it. Do you know how to run a
computer, senorita?" The young lady nodded, half-smiling. "Good, because Lupe
has never mastered that infernal machine! Are you strong enough to walk, or
shall I carry you?" she asked innocently.

"No need, I've got my own right here," Vixen said, pulling a laptop from her
pack. She handed a cord to Lupe. "Plug this in and we'll be all set." The
other did as instructed and then watched with keen interest as the younger
woman's fingers danced lightly across the keys and image after image flickered
by on the small screen. "Now, what did Paul call this thing...?" she mused.
The end of her tongue protruded slightly as she concentrated.
"Emish...something or other, I think. Something Middle Eastern for sure. Damn!
What was it?" She called up a page on mythology and began to scan the names.
"Enki, no. Enlil, no. Enuma Elish, I don't think that was it. Here it is:
Erishkigal! He called this thing the Seal of Erishkigal."

She and Lupe read with growing concern about the Sumerian demon of the
Underworld named Erishkigal and the Spaniard suddenly realized why she had
been so reluctant to touch the cylinder.

ERISHKIGAL, She Who Is Full Of Rage.

_______________________________________________________________

The Sumerian and Akkadian Goddess of the Underworld, sister of the sky Goddess
Ishtar. Together with her consort Nergal she rules the Underworld, also called
'the big land', from which no one returns. One day Nergal was sent to her from
Heaven with an offering of food. They fell in love with each other, but, when
he had to leave, she was in tears and threatened Anu, the leader of the
sky-Gods, that she would revive all the dead, over whom she ruled, and send
them back to Earth, 'so that they will outnumber the living', unless Nergal
was sent back to her, forever, as her husband. Her minister Namtar had to go
to Heaven as her messenger, for Erishkigal felt that she was already pregnant.
At last Nergal came storming down the stairs, broke down the seven gates and
burst into the Goddess' palace straight into her passionate embrace, 'to wipe
her tears.'

Erishkigal is dark and violent, befitting her role as Goddess of the
Underworld. As ruler over the shades, Erishkigal receives the mortuary
offerings made to the dead. In the Sumerian cosmogony she was carried off to
the Underworld after the separation of Heaven and Earth. She is often praised
in hymns. Erishkigal was probably once a sky-Goddess.

"Nice to know, I guess, but it doesn't say anything about this," Vixen
muttered, absently rolling the cylinder in one hand as her other manipulated
the keyboard. "Hold on...what's this?"

ERISHKIGAL, SEAL OF.

______________________________________________________________

A clay seal used by the Priests and Priestesses of the Underworld Goddess
bearing the marks of Erishkigal and used to denote edicts said to come
directly from the mouth of the Goddess herself. According to legend there was
once a golden seal which was used by the Goddess' demonic minister Namtar in
his journey to Heaven to plead for Nergal's return. It was said that the seal
allowed him to draw on Erishkigal's own power so that he would be safe from
harm while away from the Underworld.

Vixen thoughtfully weighed the cylinder in her hand and gazed up at Lupe with
questioning blue eyes. "You don't suppose..." her voice trailed off.

"There is only one way to be sure, Sorra," Lupe replied.

The younger woman nodded and then grasped the cylinder firmly in both hands
and tried to snap it in two. But all she succeeded in doing was shattering the
thin coating of clay and revealing the shining golden Seal beneath it.

* * * * *

On her way down the stairs Saba almost literally ran into her mother coming up
them. "I hope you didn't upset Simone, dear. She's been through quite enough
the past few days without your adding to her stress," Cassie gently rebuked.

"What about me, Mom?" she shot back angrily. "When are you going to show some
concern for my well-being? Why do I always come second with you?"

Before her mother could reply, Saba pushed past her and stormed down the
stairs and out of the house. Dr. Trotter reached the door just in time to
choke on the cloud of dust raised by her daughter's car as it screamed out of
her driveway.

"Dr. Trotter," Lupe called from their new guest's room, "I think you should
come here and look at this."

Thinking that it must be serious if the Spaniard actually got her name right,
she rushed in and found them both on the bed, with the girl called Vixen
cradling a computer on her lap and holding a golden rod in one hand while Lupe
looked at it fearfully.

"What's that?" Cassie asked, noting the fearful way the older woman was sure
not to take her eyes from the strange object.

Vixen quickly explained what they'd discovered and Cassandra shook her head in
confusion. "They'll kill her if I don't hand it over tonight," she said
angrily. "But I'm afraid that little man wants it, too, and it didn't seem to
me that he was exactly working with the other two."

"But if this is really the Seal used by Nascar..." Lupe began.

"If it means your friend's life, I'm afraid we've no choice but to give it to
them, dear," she said, waving away the Spaniard's objections. "We'll just have
to deal with that other fellow once she's safe."

"If Lupe could only be sure she would not turn into a wolf, she would come
with you and deal with these culinists!" the dark-eyed beauty growled.

"There might just be a way..." Cassie said slowly, getting up and taking the
girl's tray back into the kitchen. She returned a moment later with a small
vial filled with a whitish powder.

"What is that?" Lupe asked suspiciously, sniffing cautiously as a familiar
scent burned her sensitive nostrils.

"Aconite," she replied, removing the cork. "You might be more familiar with
its Old World name: Wolf's-bane."

Lupe howled and backed as far away from the vial as she could, practically
knocking Vixen clean out of the bed in the process. Dr. Trotter quickly
replaced the vial's stopper.

"How is that accursed weed going to help me?"

"I did some investigating on the internet of my own last night--There really
wasn't much for me to actually do at the club--and I found a passage from
Robert Burton's Anatomy of Melancholy in which he related the story of a young
man in Aquitaire, France, who was imprisoned for the deaths of over fifty
youngsters and remained in the care of doctors for nearly eight years before
wasting away and dying. During that time a number of different treatments were
tried, including one which included wolf's-bane," Cassie said, holding up the
vial meaningfully.

"You just said that man died!" Lupe pointed out.

"Not from this. His autopsy revealed that he died of malnutrition--'He refused
to eat anything but raw meat, and eventually refused even that, so great was
his longing to be free,' wrote the attending doctor," she related. "But, and
here's the significant part, he never changed into a wolf while undergoing the
treatments involving wolf's-bane."

"Did he change into a wolf at all while in prison?" Vixen inquired.

"Well, no, not according to Burton," she admitted.

"AHA!" crowed Lupe.

"But that could easily be because Burton himself considered lycanthropy to be
a strictly mental phenomenon, a form of madness brought on by excessive
depression; he wouldn't be likely to confirm that it was a physical
affliction," she pointed out. Lupe didn't look convinced. "If there was
another way...if only Simone were well and I could trust Saba with your
secret..."

The Spaniard scowled and then her shoulders sunk in defeat. "Oh, all right, go
and mix your witch's stew and Lupe will drink it," she said miserably. "But
just this once, Dr. Nodder!"

Vixen grinned and hugged her tightly. "Thank you, Lupe! And thank you, Dr.
Nodder," she added with a mischievous wink.

"Not another one! She won't do it, but I absolutely insist that you call me
Cassandra, dear!" she replied, laughing and ruffling the girl's hair.

Lupe stayed outside for the rest of the day, sunning herself on the back lawn
while Cassandra prepared the potion according to the French doctor's
directions. Cassie tried not to think about the possibility that Burton had
perhaps mistranslated some of the amounts or directions and mixed it exactly
as the British clergyman and scholar had written it down nearly four centuries
earlier. Even she had to admit that it was a foul-smelling concoction and she
felt sorry for Lupe already at having to drink it.

They ate an early dinner, since Lupe was certain the potion would ruin her
appetite, and then Cassandra went and got a glass filled with a noxious,
bluish liquid and handed it to her. Lupe took the glass with one hand and held
her nose with the other, grimacing as a thick smoke oozed from over the rim
and snaked down her forearm.

Then, with one swift motion, she downed the entire contents and hurled the
glass from her, gagging on the vile draft.

"Did it work?" Vixen asked eagerly.

"We'll know in a few minutes, dear," Cassie replied, glancing out the window
at the setting sun and fingering the silver handcuffs nervously.

They all waited for the sun to sink below the horizon, watching carefully for
any sign of the coming change, But apart from nervous sweating, nothing
happened.

Except that Lupe felt like shit.

"My estomago!" she whimpered, doubling over in agony.

"Well, at least she's not a wolf," Vixen said brightly.

* * * * *

One of the largest natural amphitheaters in the world, with a seating capacity
of just under 18,000, the Hollywood Bowl had been the summer home of the Los
Angeles Philharmonic since its official opening in 1922. In an ironic twist of
fate which one would expect in a cheap thriller, but never in reality, it was
during a sell-out performance by that same orchestra in 2005 that the Bowl's
official existence ended when terrorists set off a powerful bomb which left
thousands dead and the Bowl itself mortally wounded.

The beautiful arched proscenium was shattered, large pieces of it responsible
for as many deaths as the explosion itself, and the balloon-shaped seating
area, designed by Myron Hunt in 1926, was almost completely destroyed when a
landslide caused the entire hillside to collapse down onto the stage.
President Hemdale proclaimed it a national tragedy of epic proportions and it
was this particular attack more than any other that forced him to accede to
congress' demands to grant the Aegis Group carte blanche to deal with domestic
terrorism.

In 2010 construction began on the New Hollywood Bowl and it had its grand
opening on July 11, 2012, exactly 90 years after the original. The Los Angeles
Philharmonic naturally performed to a sell-out crowd.

As for the original, it was cleaned up as much as possible in a vain attempt
to restore it and then abandoned when a public outcry condemned the action,
likening it to making what they regarded as a mass grave into a public
attraction. It was slated for destruction, so that the site of the tragedy
could be made into a memorial. But that wouldn't happen for another year at
least.

In the meantime, the Mals frequently used it to conduct their midnight rituals
and for other gatherings.

* * * * *

Catherine Driver jumped at what sounded like a brief struggle and then pressed
her back to the wall when the door to the dressing room which served as her
cell opened and a tall woman she'd never seen before walked in, dragging the
body of the man who'd been guarding her. "Senorita Pandora?" the woman
questioned.

Catherine nodded, noting the way every movement seemed like torture to the
newcomer.

"I am Lupe Bacalao, a friend of Vixen's," she said, trying to smile. "I've
come to rescue you."

"Where is Gen?" the young woman asked anxiously.

"Buying you time to get away," Lupe said grimly, removing the clothing from
the unconscious guard. "Take off your clothes and get into these."

Confused, Catherine nevertheless did as she was told and was astonished when
the larger woman actually tried to put on her own discarded attire.

"Condenacion!" the taller woman cursed as the pants split when she attempted
to squeeze into them. "Maybe they won't notice...How many of them have seen
you?"

"Only the two who took me from the theatre," she replied as Lupe slipped back
into her own jeans.

"Good! With luck, they won't be close enough to spoil things. Now, it is time
for you to make good your escape, senorita," she said, opening the door a
crack and peering out to see if the coast was clear. "Just follow this
corridor until you reach a break in the wall. A friend, Dr. Bobber, will be
waiting for you there. She is a very nice black lady in her meddle ages. Go
with her and Vixen and I will join you as soon as we can."

Catherine nodded and then slipped out the door.

Once she was safely out of sight, Lupe closed the door and then looked down at
the man in his underwear and scowled. With a resigned shrug, she bent down and
put the torn pants on him, along with Pandora's shirt. Then, she opened the
door again and drug him outside, where she propped him against the wall, being
careful to make sure the tear was hidden from view, and then slipped back into
the makeshift cell to wait for midnight.

* * * * *

Vixen nervously approached the wire fence surrounding the condemned property
and, finding an opening, crawled through it and then made her way along an
overgrown path until she topped a small rise and was able to look down on the
scene of her nation's most celebrated tragedy. It was much as she remembered
from the endless hours of television coverage, except for the lack of the
bodies of the dead and dying and the omnipresent news crews, of course. The
main stage was missing the entire front portion and the magnificent
shell-shaped bowl itself was cracked and more than half gone, leaving the bent
steel beams which had provided its framework sticking up into the night like
the fingers of a monstrous, groping hand emerging from the depths of Hell.

Now she knew why the Mals liked to hold their meetings here.

"You're on time. Good. Now, if you've been a smart little girl and brought us
the Seal, this will all go quite smoothly and you'll be home and in bed before
long," said a man as he walked out onto the remnants of the stage. "You do
have it, don't you?"

"I have it," she called back, startled that the acoustics were still good
enough to make her voice echo in the natural valley.

Two figures suddenly appeared from the shadows and grabbed her by the arms.
"Hey!" she protested.

"They're just going to make sure you don't fall and hurt yourself on the way
down," the man assured her. "The going can be quite treacherous to those not
familiar with it."

As she made her way to the stage, she realized with a sinking feeling that the
two Mals helping her were the same two who had grabbed Pandora in the
multiplex. She also saw dozens of pairs of eyes glittering in the shadows and
then the men and women stood up and made themselves comfortable on the stones
and dirt and debris.

Once she was on stage next to the man, who had an undeniable sadness about
him, he smiled and said, "May I see it?"

"Not until I see that Pandora is safe," she replied, hoping against hope that
he wouldn't send the two up on stage with them after her.

"You don't trust me," he said mockingly. "You're smarter than Baelzebub
thought you were. Go and get her."

The man and the woman nodded and sprinted for the back of the stage.

* * * * *

Lupe tensed as she heard voices outside the door.

"Tyr's sleeping on the job again," a woman said scornfully. "Wake up, man, the
party's just--Holy fuck! He's not asleep, he's been knocked out."

The door burst inwards and the pair of Mals rushed in, knives out. "Who the
fuck are you?" the man demanded when he saw Lupe.

"Your prisoner...Pandora," she said hesitantly, watching their eyes closely.

"Fuck if you are!" spat the woman, tossing her switchblade from one hand to
the other anxiously. "We brought that bitch here and you ain't her."

"Tell us where she is or you're dead," the man said with a wicked smirk.

"Well, at this minute I would guess she is miles away, waiting for myself and
Senorita Vixen to join her," Lupe answered.

"She's going to have quite a wait," grinned the woman.

"Before you do anything rash, amigos, perhaps you should consider what your
leader will do if you return empty-handed," she said carefully. "True, I am
not Senorita Pandora, but I am a friend of Senorita Vixen. Is not one friend
much the same as another? And, besides, has your leader seen Senorita Pandora?
Will he know I am not her?"

The two Mals paused and the woman even stopped tossing the knife back and
forth. "She does have a point, Circe," the man finally said.

"I still say we ice the bitch and take our chances with Apollyon, Mot," the
woman snarled.

"Just this once, use your head, all right?" he said sternly. She nodded
sullenly and reluctantly put away her knife. "Don't give us any trouble,
bitch."

"Or you'll what, senor? Tell your leader how the girl escaped?" Lupe mocked.
"I am the one who wants to go up there, cerdo. Remember that, and don't you
try anything, or I will blow my own clover and all of us will be in the deep
dog shit."

The two Mals glared at the Spaniard but nodded and then lead her up and onto
the stage.

"Pandora!" exclaimed Vixen, much to the relief of the Mals. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, amiga," Lupe replied. "They have not mistreated me." But it was
clear from the way she walked bent over, and from the unhealthy pallor of her
face, that she was far from in perfect health.

"This is your friend?!" exclaimed Apollyon incredulously.

"She is...and here is the thing you requested," she said, removing an object
from her backpack and unwrapping it to reveal a clay cylinder covered with
strange protrusions and depressions.

"That is no more the Seal of Erishkigal than she is your friend Pandora," said
Mr. Nazif, emerging from the shadows at the rear of the stage. "I knew you
would find some way to screw this up, Jerry."

"You can't blame me for this, Nazif!" Apollyon snarled.

"I can and I do, but I'll settle with you another time. Right now, I want to
know where the Seal is," he said with deadly emphasis as he walked up to
Vixen. He took the object from her hands and crushed it into powder. "The real
Seal."

"She didn't bring it!" Lupe said quickly.

"Yes, she did," said the little man, inhaling deeply. "I can smell it."

Vixen protested, but the dark-skinned man shook his head and she reluctantly
reached into her pack. As her fingers brushed against the familiar form of the
Seal, she was a bit surprised to feel a sort of warmth emanating from the rod.
Her hand closed around it and she felt the protrusions and depressions
slipping into their counterparts which had been worn into her skin from the
repeated handling. She pulled her hand from her bag and opened it.

Apollyon gasped when he saw the glint of gold and the dark man next to him
smiled and nodded.

Then, Vixen screamed and the Seal literally melted before their eyes,
seemingly dissolving into the terrified young woman's very palm.

Just before she jerked her now empty hand back, the little man plainly saw the
ancient markings imprinted on her flesh.

Nazif started back, plainly alarmed, and Lupe took advantage of his confusion
to throw herself at him. She tackled him around the waist and drove him to his
back, landing heavily on top of him and quickly peppering his face with lefts
and rights.

Meanwhile, Vixen, still in shock but no longer in pain--In fact, she felt
strangely revitalized--spun around and nailed Apollyon squarely between the
legs and he fell to his knees gasping for breath.

"I owe you two," she said, turning to face the Mals. "Time to pay up."

"Come and die, little bitch," hissed Circe.

"We were gonna sacrifice you tonight anyway," added Mot.

"Bring it on, scum!" Vixen challenged, adopting a defensive pose.

Circe charged at her, swinging the knife up in an arc that would have landed
it in her belly, had she not knocked the blade aside with one hand and tagged
the off-balance Mal in the jaw with her other. Circe stumbled past her, barely
catching herself at the edge of the stage.

The Mals in the darkness applauded.

While Vixen's attention was on his partner, Mot circled around and lunged at
her unprotected back, slashing downward with his knife. But Vixen heard his
approach just in time to lash back with her foot and catch him squarely in the
gut. She then spun around and kicked him in the face while chopping at his
forearm, causing him to drop his switchblade.

She was about to hit him in the face when she heard Circe charging her again.
So, she stepped out of the way and the Mal crashed into her partner, sending
both of them sprawling.

Meanwhile, Nazif suddenly threw Lupe from him and stood up, removing his
broken glasses and dropping them on the stage. He ground them under his heel
and fixed baleful red eyes on the Spaniard as she climbed to her feet,
obviously in considerable pain that had nothing to do with him.

"Why do you interfere, were-beast? This is none of your concern. I have no
orders to kill you, unless you have touched the Seal...have you?" he asked
quietly. Then, he sniffed the air around him and his own clothing and shook
his head. "No, you haven't. Very wise. Your little friend, however, has, so
she must die. Soon, before she has time to master the power that now courses
through her veins. And you cannot stop me. Especially in your present
condition. So, step aside and save our battle for another day."

"You think Lupe is to be ordered about like a dog, senor, like a bitch?" she
snarled, anger lighting her dark eyes as pain racked her body. "You will not
harm the little senorita, diablo. Your threats do not frighten Lupe. I have
faced worse than you and survived."

"Threats? Foolish creature, I made no threats," he replied, his eyes beginning
to blaze as if they were on fire. "I only stated facts. But I can now see that
you are too stupid to take the chance to live a while longer that I have
offered, and so, you, too, will die."

Lupe merely smiled wolfishly and danced towards him, hands held poised to
strike.

On the other side of the stage, by the time Mot and Circe had regained their
feet they had also regained their knives and now they edged around Vixen,
making feints with their weapons designed to cause her to drop her guard long
enough for the other to lunge in and land a clean hit. But Vixen had played
this game before and she quickly dropped to all fours and then swept her right
leg around in an arc that caught the pair in the ankles and knocked them off
their feet.

This time, instead of waiting for them to get up, she jumped on top of Mot and
punched him hard in the jaw, knocking him out cold.

The Mals in the darkness hissed their disapproval.

But, by doing that, she had given Circe time to gain her feet and the woman
was clearly out for blood this time by the look in her eyes. She lunged at the
younger woman, stabbing straight out with the knife and screaming as she came.
Vixen barely managed to dodge the blade.

Apollyon, who had just regained his feet and had been sneaking up on Vixen
from behind, however, wasn't so lucky.

He looked down at the knife sticking out of his belly and then up at Circe,
whose eyes were wide with horror. "You dumb bitch," he said quietly and then
fell to the stage.

The Mals in the darkness roared in fury and began to storm the stage.

Suddenly, a bright light flooded the hillside and a voice called out from the
heavens, "This is the LAPD. You're all under arrest. Drop your weapons and lie
down on the ground or we will open fire."

The Mals, no longer in darkness, ignored the command from the police
helicopter and continued to move forward to avenge their fallen leader.

Several loud gunshots sounded and bullets struck the ground at their feet,
sending bits of rock and tiny puffs of dirt into their angry faces, and they
paused.

"This is your last warning," the voice from the sky stated. "Drop your weapons
and lie down now."

Then, more lights swept over them as dozens of police officers came over the
top of the hill behind them, guns drawn.

The Mals muttered their frustration as they laid down and waited for the cold
steel to be snapped around their wrists.

Vixen tapped Circe, whose entire focus was on the disastrous scene, on the
shoulder and then belted her solidly across the mouth when she turned around.
"He was right, you are a dumb bitch," she said. The blow sent her flying off
the stage and she landed at the foot of a tall, dark-skinned policewoman who
looked up at her and nodded.

Meanwhile, Lupe reared back from a solid shot to her face by the little man,
trying to puzzle out exactly how he'd managed to even reach her face, and then
was doubled over when his iron fist sank deep into her tummy.

She fell to her hands and knees, disgorging a sick looking mixture of food and
some foul-smelling bluish liquid, and Nazif wrinkled his nose in disgust when
some of the vomit splattered on his shoes.

When Lupe looked up at him, he saw that her face was changing. The nose was
extending out to meet her lower jaw, forming a distinctly canine snout, and
her slightly pointed ears grew large and sprouted tufts of fur. In fact, he
realized, her entire body was becoming covered with dark hair, including the
tail which had sprouted from her backside.

But she wasn't a wolf. Not yet, for she still retained definite traces of
humanity, most noticeable of which were her large, now furry, breasts.

Before he knew what was happening, she sprang at him and struck him a
thundering blow on the jaw the likes of which he hadn't felt for millennia. He
was knocked backwards, but not off his feet, and she quickly followed her
first punch up with a second which landed full on his nose and would have
broken it, were such a thing possible. As it was, it again sent him stumbling
backwards and this time Lupe kicked up and caught him under the chin with the
toe of her boot.

That shot did knock him to his back.

But he was up in an instant; only, he wasn't quite human anymore either.

He now stood at over seven feet tall and his dark flesh had been replaced by
pitch-black scales. His impeccably manicured nails were now terrible,
razor-sharp claws and his round face had become that of a lizard. A long tail
thrashed angrily as he turned toward the werewolf.

"What are you? Some kind of dinosaur?" yelped Lupe, gazing up at his new form
with both wonder and dread.

"I'm an Efreet, also known as a Fire Salamander; basically, a lesser demon
common to the Arabian peninsula for untold eons," he replied, his voice
sounding exactly as it had when he looked more human. "I am also your
executioner."

"TMI, senor," she grinned, jumping up and striking him in the chest with both
feet. The blow sent him reeling backwards, the tapering tail lashing as he
frantically fought to maintain his balance, and Lupe pressed her advantage by
chop-blocking him just below the knees.

He fell to his back and Lupe was prepared to pounce on him when his mouth
opened and a stream of flame erupted from it. She hastily dove out of the way
as the fire scorched the stage at her feet. Then, as Nazif stood up and
prepared to send another blast her way, she grabbed a large piece of concrete
and hurled it at him.

The projectile flew into his open mouth and lodged in his throat, causing his
red eyes to bulge with surprise as his hands clawed at his neck. Then, he
looked down and saw that his belly was beginning to expand like an over-filled
balloon.

Grinning wolfishly, Lupe ran at him, head lowered, and struck him in the pit
of his swelling gut, knocking him totally off balance and sending him
stumbling toward the back of the stage.

Completely out of control now, he fell backwards and crashed into the remnants
of the shell, causing several large pieces to break off above him and bury him
in tons of cement debris. A dull explosion could be heard beneath the pile and
a few wisps of smoke curled up into the night air.

Lupe started to smile, but then the familiar feeling overtook her and she
dropped to all fours as the transformation into a full-blown wolf completed
itself...

=*=

The wolf looked around her in confusion...and then joy as she realized that
she was no longer in the strange cave and that the maddening device was not
attached to her forepaws. Then, she lifted her nose and sniffed the air and a
low growl started deep in her chest. Besides the stench of humanity, there was
a different, fouler odor choking her senses. The scent of an enemy far older
and more terrible than even the cats hung heavy in the air. It was the smell
of death. But not the natural, sweet and pungent scent that she and every
other creature, except for the humans, was familiar with and had long ago
accepted as part of the natural order. No, this was the unnatural stench of
the Cursed Ones.

She struggled with her longing to run away from the humans before they
captured her and put her back in the stifling confines of the odd cavern and
with her desire to destroy the pack's most ancient and deadly foe.

Then, a sharp report cut through the night air and she felt a burning sting in
her left flank. She turned and saw two humans, one tall and one short, and the
tall one had something in her hand which spit fire and hurt her ears. She
jumped as something struck the ground next to her and then she was gone,
racing across the stage and past the numerous startled humans and into the
night...at last.

As she loped through the tall grass, she raised her head and howled in what
might have been a challenge, or maybe an invitation, but was more than likely
simply the lupine equivalent of a shout of joy.

=*=

"Why did you grab my arm and spoil my shot?" Saba demanded, scowling at the
younger woman. "I think I hit it the first time, but only in the flank."

"Thank the Goddess for that," Vixen said softly. "And that the LAPD isn't in
the habit of using silver bullets."

"What are you talking about?"

"Nothing," replied the younger woman, sending a silent prayer after the wolf.
Then, for the first time she noticed the other's ID badge and nodded. "It
figures it'd be you."

Saba just shrugged her shoulders and wondered what her mother had been
thinking when she took this one in.

* * * * *

Long after the Mals and the police had left, the fresh pile of rubble at the
back of the stage stirred ever so slightly, causing several small rocks to
tumble down and roll noisily across the wooden floor. Then, more of the debris
was displaced when a dark head emerged from the pile. This was closely
followed by a small form wearing a light colored suit, a red tie, dark
glasses, and a red fez. The little man carefully dusted off his coat and pants
and then, adjusting his fez, he walked into the night.

Case Closed

(Until next time)

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