Irene checked the beast, sedated him to damp his pain. "You realize you could have killed this animal."

"It was going to die in the arena," Andi said, cutting away the bandage. "I thought I could keep him sick long enough for the barbarian prince to come and go. Then maybe the Empress would intervene."

Irene nodded begrudgingly. "All right. It makes sense, in a twisted sort of way. But if you ever do anything like this again, I'll geld you myself."

Andi colored, but his hands continued to move, baring the wound, purging the poisoned flesh. "My father, my teachers-they all said, Irene is the best there is-perhaps the best that's ever been. I had to work with you, to be able to see, to study, creatures like Goldie. I knew I was good enough. But everyone said that only women and eunuchs get positions at the palace." He glanced at her. "You know that's true."

"True enough," Irene admitted. She stroked the beast, its neck warm beneath her hand. The scales had a pattern of striations running out from a central vein, giving them a silky feel. In the oblique lantern light, they looked like feathers.

The puppy-thoughts in Irene's head suddenly caught their tails. Are his scales specialized feathers, or her feathers specialized scales?

The Black Beast had not reacted to Andi, but to Goldie's scent on Andi's flesh. His vocalizations had played upon her memory because they were echoes of Goldie's. In size, in the shape of body, beak and talons, the Black Beast was Goldie's mate, yet his lack of wings had deceived her-until now.

"I didn't even want to pretend to be a eunuch," Andi said. "So I pretended to be a woman." He smeared Beastie's wound with Varangian goo. "It wasn't that hard. Except I had to shave a lot."

"Don't worry," Irene whispered. She stroked the beast, shaking. "When this animal is healthy again, you'll be so indispensable that no one will care whether you're a whole man or a bearded lady." She laughed. "There's adequate precedence for both."

There was a soft knock. Anna eased the door open. "Mistress Irene, the wagon is ready."

Irene stood. "I want this animal taken directly to the griffin's aerie. We'll bed it in the antechamber."

"The aerie?" Andi asked, startled.

Irene felt the grin stretching her face. "Don't you see it, Andi? You aren't the only gentleman who's been traveling incognito. This Black Beast is a male griffin-and griffins are on the list."

"We think the sexes are highly specialized," Irene explained to the Princess Helena. "The female hunts, but it is the male, with his scales and superior strength, who guards the nesting site. Lions have a similar arrangement."

"Certain fish, also," Andi put in. "And the sea horse, Your Highness. The male guards the eggs and young."

"Ah," Helena said, graciously inclining her head. "Androcles, is it not? Your Mistress tells me We have you to thank for the Dark Emperor's survival, and the Dark Emperor for the return of Goldie's health." She smiled. "I am very grateful."

Andi bowed.

The Princess turned her eyes back to the aerie, where the two griffins lounged side by side in the warm sand, necks twined as human lovers twine arms. Andi, dismissed, went back to work.

"A whole man for an apprentice," the Princess mused, loud enough for Andi to overhear. "Very daring, Irene."

Irene startled. "How did you know…?"

The Princess smirked. "How did I know he wasn't a eunuch? How does a mare know a stallion from a gelding? Honestly, Irene, if you have to ask that, you've been celibate too long." Helena cast an appraising eye on Andi, not bothering to be subtle about it. Irene felt a flush creeping up her neck.

"He has very good bones," Helena observed, "but he's awfully thin, and he works hard. I suppose he must be exhausted by the end of the day." She lifted a sympathetic brow. "Really, my dear, don't you want me to send you one of my Varangians?"

The Princess Helena completely misinterpreted Andi's laughter, but that, Irene thought, was probably just as well.

Chain of Command by Leslie What & Nina Kiriki Hoffman

"Mom," Kayla said in that tone teenagers use when they're practicing for the time they will put you in the nursing home. "You're not going to wear THAT, are you?"

I forced myself to smile, making sure I showed teeth. I'd had my canines lengthened and my incisors filed to subtle points. Remember, I told myself. I'm the mom. I'm Alpha. Wolf Woman. A CEO of Earth Muthas, a militant woman-owned multinational. Only my teenage daughter was powerful enough to make me forget this.

I was wearing mail and a leather thong and copper breastplate because I had a focus group to lead in half an hour and there wasn't time between now and then to change from civvies. I held the keys in my mouth for a second while I tightened my belt. All I had to do was drop off Kayla at her friend Tiffany's; from there they would walk to their cheerleader meeting at the high school. I could hide in the Jeep; no one need see me.

Kayla was five foot seven and growing fast enough that I expected her to surpass me during the coming year, when she would be a junior. Her hair was bronze from a bottle, though on her, it looked feminine. She preferred a fruity-smelling department store perfume called Flower Power to my musky Marker, the flagship product for my company. Her scent made my eyes water, but I decided against saying anything. "Choose your issues," our family counselor had warned.

I had chosen.

So had Kayla.

The issue was not about scent.

Kayla did not want to come with me to this weekend's Women Warriors retreat, starting tomorrow, where one hundred women would gather to trap trespassing trolls, celebrate our strength, hunt our own dinners and leave nature's scavengers to do dishes when they picked the carcasses clean. Instead, my daughter wanted to stay in town with Tiffany and shop for makeup and high heels. Kayla was a pacifist. I was a warrior, an awkward situation for us both.

"You look good," I said, thinking that if her pleated skirt had been cut from leather instead of polyester and if her tank top had been chain mail instead of spandex, she could have passed. Her arms and long legs were muscled and tan, not from fighting, but from cheering the football team. It stunned me that someone who existed on tofu and fruit could grow the body of an Amazon.

She made a face. "I can't believe you're going to wear that. This is SO embarrassing."

"Are you all packed?" I asked. The counselor had recommended changing subjects to diffuse tense situations.

"Let's talk about packing later," she said, meaning she hadn't started. "We gotta go."

I had prearranged for Bear Woman to get the focus group sharpening knives if I ran late, so I wasn't in any hurry. "Pack," I said, settling into a power pose on the floor. I crouched on my haunches as if ready to spring, fingers poised an inch above my boar-tusk knife handle. I had killed the boar myself while on safari in Peru.

"Mom!" Kayla screamed.

I forced myself not to smile. "Go upstairs and pack," I said. Alpha power surged through me in a premenopausal electrical storm. I unsheathed my knife and lazily carved my initials into the pecan floor.

Kayla stood by, defeated. "Oh, all right!" she said at last. She turned and ran to her room.

Only then did I notice I wasn't breathing. I gasped, both with surprise and the need for air. I had won the battle. The war wasn't scheduled to start until tomorrow.

Kayla's suitcase was big enough to hold a gray whale, which, incidentally, she tried periodically to save. She had packed a month's worth of clothing, makeup, and reading material-nearly all relating to Ricky Martin, her latest pop star heartthrob. She was bringing her own cooler filled with Rainier cherries, mangos, and a chewy vegan concoction called tempeh that Kayla liked to chop and season with sunflower seeds and roll up in whole wheat tortillas.