A Matter of Justice
By Itinerant

Author's Note: This story is a sequel to "Turning the Tables" and is set the same 'universe' as Amazon.

Acknowledgements: My special thanks to Julie O, who graciously permitted me to use the Identity Spell from her story "Personal Foul".

**********
Wednesday, October 31, 2001
New Orleans, Louisiana
5:10PM CST

Cathy stretched and sighed. Halloween was her least favorite holiday; the ignorant seemed to ooze out of every nook and cranny of the city to play at being a witch or warlock. Now and then one would come across a *real* spell, and trained magic wielders would have to step in and fix things before they came to the attention of the general public. She figured that this year, with a full moon on the same night, they'd have more want-to-be magicians than ever.

Cathleen DeOgle, Cathy to her friends, was the latest in a long line of magic users stretching back before Salem to the family's roots in ancient Britain. She was small, perhaps 5 foot 2 inches tall and one hundred pounds after a heavy rain, and her light brown hair was unremarkable, but on nights like this she seemed to glow. Magic detection was her special talent, and Cathy was in her element tonight.

Linda Williams, Cathy's long-time friend and house mate, poked her head in the parlor of the old shotgun-style house. She was taller than her friend by a couple of inches, blonde, and more Rubenesque; they shared a love for New Orleans -- its culture, food, and history.

"Cathy? Are you on watch tonight?"

Her friend shrugged. "This is the first full moon on Halloween since '74. Some of the stories I've heard from *that* night still frighten me. Thanks to the Internet, we have people ready countrywide to pick up on rogue magic tonight."

"Can I do anything to help?"

Cathy shook her head. "Thanks, Linda, but all I'll need is a steady supply of tea from the pot I set up. It's my special herb blend to help me stay alert. Other than that, all I need is quiet."

Snorting, Linda turned away. "I can take a hint! I'll be in the study if you need me."

*****

Organizing everyone for Halloween, or Samhain -- one of her 'professional acquaintances' called it a Witch's Neighborhood Watch -- had evolved in North America. Since about 1900, well after the rail system and before the government, magic users in each time zone had set up regional groups to monitor magical activities during special times of the year. Usually concentrated at pagan holidays, masses of ignorant dilettantes played at being Druids, or whatever was the religious flavor of the day for them. They unearthed books that described ceremonies that bore only a passing resemblance to the ancient rites, which was all to the good.

Each region had developed an organization that arranged for sensitives -- those who could monitor areas for magic use -- to keep watch for anyone casting hazardous spells. Cathleen's location in New Orleans, and her rare sensitivity, ensured she was called on for critical days of the year such as a rare conjunction of a full moon on Halloween. She had called her regional coordinator to verify her availability, and log her presence on watch.

Cathy's senses were at full stretch. She felt as if her mental fingers were pressed ever so softly on the web of magical power that wrapped the world, and every quiver caused by a spell was clear. She had readied herself for the foolish spells cast by the untrained, and the subtle, dark weavings of those who chose to misuse their magic. She wasn't prepared for a massive wave of energy that blasted through her mind; it was as if her sensitive ears, tuned for the scrabbling of a mouse, were suddenly assaulted by the sound of a jet engine at full throttle. Her mind reeled, and she heard herself scream as she blacked out.

"Cathy!? Are you okay?" Linda grabbed the door casing to stop her headlong rush down the hall, and slid into the parlor. Her friend had screamed and was slumped over in the chair.

"CATHY!"

Linda's heart lurched, and she bent over her unconscious friend. A strong, steady pulse reassured her that Cathy was alive, but it was only when the magic user moaned that the blonde began to calm herself.

"Ohhhh, Goddess, what hit me? I feel like I was kicked in the head."

"I don't know. I heard you scream and found you blacked out when I came to check on you."

"Someone set off a huge spell next door, I think. I haven't felt anything like that before. I don't have a direction, but maybe we'll have someone from out of town able to triangulate. It was too much for me."

Cathleen jumped when her phone chittered. For the next hour she spoke with her contacts in Atlanta, Saint Louis, and Memphis as panic spread through the region. Someone had cast a spell that caused headaches from Miami to Denver, and no one knew who might have cast such a powerful spell -- or what it might have done.

"Cath? Why is everyone so bent out of shape?"

"Linda, normally a spell will use just enough magic for whatever it's intended to do. Even a spell that would affect a person's whole past, cast in the parlor with me, wouldn't have affected me so much. *This* spell packed enough power to warp a whole town's existence, and more. I don't understand how anyone could pull in that much energy, or handle it if they did." She started to shake her head, but she stopped with a wince of pain.

"So what's next?"

"I'm not sure. I think we'll see if one of the other observers was able to get a line on whatever it was. I'd almost bet on it being someplace close, like Slidell."

*****
Thursday, November 1, 2001
Hattiesburg, Mississippi
Carstair's Mansion
6:30AM CST

"So you couldn't sleep either?" Yanyan slipped into the kitchen to join Alex, who sat at the table with a coffee cup in her hands.

Alex looked up, smiling crookedly. Her eyes were ringed with red from too little sleep, and too many tears. "Too many nightmares. I decided, after waking the third time screaming, that I'd rather stay up." She waved toward a coffeepot. "Coffee's ready, if you want some."

"Thanks, I appreciate it," Yanyan responded. She poured herself a cup, perched on a chair, and sipped carefully. "Did you happen to check on Carstairs and company?"

"Yes, I did. They were a lot more docile this morning, but one or two still had enough oomph to try to pull me into their playtime." She shuddered. "I ... I don't know how to handle it all. Someone's gotta make sure they get fed and that the place gets cleaned up, but...."

"Flashbacks?"

Alex nodded and wiped away a tear that had escaped. "I almost wish I didn't remember the last few months. I walked in with their breakfast, and," she shuddered, "one of the times I'd wakened in their situation came to mind. God help me, Yanyan, I felt an urge to do it again."

Her companion nodded. "Last night, I had dreams like that. I think it frightened me more that a part of me *wanted* to join in." She smiled thinly. "We may need to find an open minded shrink; I don't know that we can count on just talking it out among ourselves.

"I was also wondering if Simon might have more of his scrolls or books around," Yanyan continued. "Anything we can gather for Rachel might help get us back to normal, and I have to believe that we didn't cover the whole house last night."

"I agree," Alex said, nodding. "Once the rest wake up, we can start a more careful search of the house. In the meantime, can you help me get enough clothes together to look less like," she grimaced, "a disheveled whore? I figure I can get everyone's new measurements and make a run to the WalMart down at Highway 49 and 11 to get some more reasonable clothes. I found Mas ... Simon's debit card last night, and I know his PIN; I figure we can get the necessities for ourselves, and maybe help Rachel if she needs it."

Katrina staggered in, followed shortly by Charmaine, and the group tried to organize themselves for the new day as they sipped on their coffee.

*****
Tim's Apartment
7:00AM CST

Tim moaned in quiet protest and reached to silence his alarm. ~What a wild dream,~ he thought. ~Kidnappers. Weird tables. Magic.~ His emotions echoed with familiar disappointment as he remembered the joyous gift of the dream -- sliding off the table to find himself *whole*. He bit his lower lip in disappointment as he recalled seeing his reflection in the mirror; a perfect representation of the woman he knew himself to be inside.

~If only it was more than a dream.~

Something didn't feel quite normal as he wiggled to the edge of the bed, but he didn't stop until he lifted the sheet away to sit up.

Breasts.

His hands quivered as he tentatively reached for his most visible difference. He could feel a tightness from where his nipples were as they reacted to cooler temperatures, then he felt his hands on the firm softness of his own, *real* breasts.

~They're real! But, if they're real then ...~ He scrambled to his feet and rushed to the full-length mirror on his closet door.

It was real. It had to be. All of it. He had his dream shape in what he knew was waking reality. His mirror reflected exactly what his dream -- or what he'd thought had been a dream -- had shown.

Rachel, his image of his inner self, by whatever miracle or magic, was real. The solving of that life-long problem raised a whole new set of issues, though.

~That means that I really was kidnapped on Monday evening, and missed work for three days. I wonder....~

He, no *she*, walked to her answering machine and checked. ~Yup! A half-dozen calls logged.~ The calls were short, but she could hear increasing concern in her co-worker Marlene's voice as she tried to contact her absent friend.

~I need to let them know I'm alive, but there's no way they'll believe I'm me with my new voice. At least it's not tax season; losing one person is no big deal this time of year.~

She finally decided that, since it was late enough in the year for flu season, she'd call in and try to hide her changed voice by whispering. She just hoped it would work well enough to buy time to work out the details of changing her identity from Tim to Rachel. If Alex was more than a figment of her imagination, and based on what she saw in the mirror it was likely, there might be resources to get her legal issues, and those of her new friends, resolved.

~We'll all need to do some shopping, and I'll bet none of them have any more identification than I do right now.~

And then there was the issue of what to do with her former captors.

Rachel reached for her phone and steeled herself for her debut as an actress.

*****
Dews, Anderson, and Kirby, CPAs

Marlene hung up the phone, frowning. She wasn't sure, but something was off about Tim's call. It just hadn't sounded like him, even allowing for laryngitis. Something about his tone was wrong, even if his words and phrasing was right.

She shrugged. He'd said he hoped to be back by Monday, and she was willing to wait for a little while. She knew where he lived, after all.

******
New Orleans, Louisiana
9:30AM CST

Linda would have smiled at her roomie's slumped figure, if she hadn't been painfully aware of just why Cathy was imitating a zombie. Neither woman had gotten more than a couple of hours of rest during the night, and this morning there was far too much to do for them to sleep in. She slid a hand up Cathy's shoulder blade and patted it gently.

"You look like you didn't get much sleep either."

Cathy twisted to follow as Linda grabbed their coffeepot and a mug. She filled her mug and topped off Cathy's half-empty cup before sitting down at the table.

Cathy closed her eyes in bliss as she sipped at the fresh brew; she'd been running on caffeine since she'd resigned herself to an unexpectedly busy morning with far too little sleep. "Thanks, Lin, and you're right. I didn't get a lot of rest. I'd hoped for a nice, boring night, and instead we had people all over calling to try to get a line on what happened.

"We even had to call in some specialized help. Magic doesn't seem to follow the surface of the Earth; it goes pretty much in a straight line, so we had to yell for some mathematicians -- or maybe mathemagicians -- to take the directional data and give us a rough idea of where the spell took place."

"So where was it? Did someone turn Slidell's population into frogs?"

"That's the scary part, Linda. The spell was cast somewhere near Hattiesburg, Mississippi, as best we can tell. That's four or five times further away than I'd expected. I'm waiting for a callback from a contact in the DA's office; he has the name of someone in working in the Hattiesburg Police Department who's in the know about magic."

Linda looked puzzled. "How are you going to find out exactly where the perps live?"

"Ve haf our veys!" the brown-haired woman said, which provoked a head shake from her blonde friend.

*****
Caitlin's Costumes
10:00AM CST

~First of the month,~ Caitlin thought, as she sorted through the receipts. She'd ordinarily have plenty of time to work through her shop's state and federal tax reporting, but Halloween was unique. The costumes would be trickling in over the next few days, and with the sorting, cleaning, and inevitable repairs, she'd have a lot less spare time.

~Oh, well. This time of year just about makes the shop profitable. It's silly to complain.~

A clattering ring from the bell over the entry door pulled Caitlin's attention away from finances to her first customer of the day. A young woman, possibly a Southern Miss coed, her long black hair pulled back in a casual ponytail, walked in with a slightly awkward gait and a fretful look on her face. She wore sweats, but they seemed to be ill-fitting. A satchel hung over her shoulder, and a bag filled her hands.

~The sweats were probably borrowed from her boyfriend, but there's something weirdly familiar about her.~

"May I help you?"

A slight smile rose briefly on her customer's face, displacing for a moment her earlier worry.

"I think so. I'm returning a costume." She handed Caitlin the bag. "The receipt is on top."

Cait parked the bag on her counter and pulled out the paper. She read it, frowned, then checked the bag's contents before looking up at her visibly nervous customer.

"This was rented by Tim Henley. Are you a new girlfriend of his? Is he okay? I expected him to bring this in himself, and I've heard that he's been away from work all week."

"I'm fine, Cait. I just had an interesting Halloween," Rachel shrugged, knowing her friend wouldn't believe her.

"Tim?!" Caitlin gasped. "You ... you can't be him!" Her shock was magnified by a realization that the woman before her was the very image of the witch Tim had intended his costume to present.

Rachel took a deep breath and launched into her tale of her kidnapping and transformation. She looked into Cait's eyes and was hurt to see only disbelief.

"That's a nice fairy tale, whoever you are, but don't expect me to believe it's real. Tell Tim I appreciate his returning his costume, and I expect him to make good on his picture promise."

Rachel's hand dipped into a pocket and drew out a photograph. "I didn't forget. Here it is, and if you have any problems with the costume's condition, you can call as usual. I didn't have a problem this year like I did with that Pooh costume a couple of years ago. All the dress's seams held fine." She turned away to leave, biting her lower lip to control her tears of disappointment.

"Wait!"

Rachel halted and turned halfway around, looking a question at the shopkeeper.

"How do you know about that?"

"I think," the raven-haired woman responded, "I already explained that. I was in the Pooh costume when the seam split and exposed my boxer-clad glory to the world. I really was furious when that happened, you know. I don't think I spoke to you until January after that."

"It was an *accident*! Besides, if you'd have given me half a chance to make sure the costume was fit properly, it never would have happened -- and I told you that at the time!"

"Oh? I thought you'd never seen me before," Rachel responded with a slight smirk. A small spark of hope kindled in her heart.

Caitlin managed a brief glare, but it was quickly replaced by utter confusion. "I just ... I've never heard of anything like this, Tim."

"Rachel. I'm calling myself Rachel, now. It fits better than Tim, somehow. I never heard of anything like it either, but," she raised her hands and displayed the flickering sparks, "something happened that's changed me. Some of it left me beside myself with joy; other parts, like my sparking fingers, make me worried about getting close to flammables. I really don't know what it all means, or how it came to be, but now I have to figure out how to get my paperwork settled, and learn all the girl-stuff. I know a little about what I need to do, I read what I could, but I have no clue about the details of living as a woman. Not to mention all the folks I mentioned who were kidnapped; I still look to be their best chance to get back to their lives and families, if I can figure out how to work it."

Cait walked around the counter. "How about you, Rachel? Are you planning on...."

Her ponytail flipped with her vigorous headshake. "Not on a bet! I'm finally whole, and there's no way I want to change back. I just hope I can get everything under some sort of control, starting with clothes." She sighed then glared as Cait giggled.

"Wrong attitude, Rachel! The first lesson is that retail therapy is good for anything that ails you, and clothes shopping is tops on that list -- and I'd suggest you start there as soon as possible." Cait's amused commentary faded out. "Maybe you should start digging up some help on that ID stuff. I know they have an ALLIES program, so you might start there." (Author's Note: http://www.usm.edu/counseling/selfhelpresources/alliesprogra...)

"Allies?"

Caitlin explained what little she knew. "They're faculty and staff that sign up to help and support GLBT students. I know someone who works with them. I'll get in touch, and call you when I know how and when to get hold of them. They'd be likely to know how to approach some of your problems."

"I really appreciate it, Cait, and I can't ever repay you for...."

"Shush! Just tell me honestly: Are you really happy about this?" She waved at her changed friend.

"I really am. It's a dream come true. I lived as best I could as Tim, but it was never me the way this is."

Cait smiled and nodded. "Then live well, and that's payment enough, Rachel." She hugged her friend. "Welcome to the sisterhood."

Leaning into the hug, Rachel murmured her thanks. "I appreciate it, Cait, but I promised I'd head back and see how things are going at the mansion. I'd best scoot."

"That's fine; just give a holler if you need help. Just remember, I'll do whatever I can."

******
Carstair's Mansion
11:30AM CST

Dora Wood peered at the video screen, twining her fingers nervously. She'd been assigned by Alex to keep watch in the mansion's security room, and after almost four quiet hours, she was faced with a stranger, dressed in ill-fitting sweats and carrying a satchel, at the door. She scrabbled for the handset and punched a button for the intercom.

"Alex? Somebody?! There's a stranger at the door!" Her voice grew shrill as her panic grew.

"Keep calm, Dora. Katrina and Char will be there in a sec, and there's no way anyone can get through the door before we'll have help there," Alex's calm alto responded.

Katrina and Charmaine slid into the room behind Dora, who was trying to keep from curling into a quivering ball in a corner. Like the others, she'd been kidnapped and transformed, but any confidence she'd had as a man hadn't survived the changes to her body. Charmaine rubbed Dora's back gently in an attempt to calm her fears, while Katrina studied the screen.

"It's okay, Dora," Katrina remarked. "That's Rachel. She's the one who broke the master's hold on us all." She pressed a button to activate a speaker.

"Welcome back, Rachel. I'm buzzing you in, and we'll meet you in the kitchen."

*****

"Dora asked to stay on watch," Katrina said, as she joined everyone at the table. "She's still having a hard time."

Several women nodded in sympathy. Dora was hardly alone in her fear, though she expressed it more freely. None of them had escaped without emotional scars.

Sofia placed a cup of tea next to Rachel, who squirmed a bit as she caught almost worshipful glances from several former slaves. She had been as much a victim as they were; it was pure good fortune that she'd caused the slaver's spell to backfire.

"Thank you, Sofia." Rachel blushed as the other woman began to curtsy before stopping herself. ~These women are still so wounded. Alex and a couple of others are coping, but are they just better at hiding it?~

"How's everyone doing this morning?" Rachel covered her own discomfort with the question. She noticed they had clothed themselves in comfortable, modest outfits -- mostly jeans and long sleeved blouses.

"Recovering from the nightmares, mostly," responded Rose. "I've had better nights; I think we all have." Nods affirmed her statement. "I really want to take it out on those bastards who did this to us," she continued, her voice carrying a full measure of her underlying fury at the men who'd wrecked her life.

"Rose," Rachel gave her a look of mixed sympathy and warning, "we agreed that they're not in any shape to be punished. Just the shapes they wear are punishment, as you'll all admit, and I won't agree to punish a bunch of nearly mindless sex slaves."

"What if we can find a way to restore them, and us? What would you do, then?"

Twisting a stray lock of hair, she considered the question. ~What would I do? If I just restore everyone, then there's no way Simon and his thugs will face justice. I can't just kill them, though.~ She decided there was only one thing to do, really.

"I can't think of a worse punishment than for them to be condemned to a life as they are. I want to do what we can to be just, though. We're better than they are, or should be, and they should be given a chance to defend themselves."

Derisive barks of laughter sounded from some of the women.

"Right! Give them a *trial?* What sort of trial did they give any of us?"

Rachel stood. Each woman in the room, aside from herself, had suffered humiliations and abuse. None had wanted to renounce their old lives, and a horror-riddled night of awakened memories had left them tired and vengeful.

"Last night, after you were freed, you all agreed to care for your former masters because it was right. It may not be strictly legal, but if we're going to tap their accounts because they wrecked our lives, we should at least try to be more civilized than they were."

"Civilized!" snarled Krista, "You weren't there! How ..."

"Hold it!" snapped Rachel. She raised her hands in a 'stop' gesture. "Would you, any of y'all, do anything to those mindless husks up there?" Her eyes were dark with her rising temper; she glared around the room, and few would meet her eyes. Each woman shook her head.

"Right. We can't, and I won't, hold those pathetic creatures responsible for whatever crimes were committed by the men they once were. I also don't think even those men should be condemned to that horror forever; last night, when we checked on them, I knew that at least Simon knew what was happening, and he was helpless to change any action of his body.

"I haven't had a chance to look through all the material you gave me, but if I can change you all back, I can try to give them back enough of their minds to try to explain themselves."

Alex looked skeptical at first, then she sat up straight as a thought struck her. "There are twelve of us, thirteen if you count Rachel." She turned to the raven-haired woman. "You're thinking of the twelve who were enslaved first as a jury, and you as the judge ?"

Rachel nodded. "I don't have a legal background, but I think I can still be fair. They did me a favor with my change, even if they kidnapped me."

Charmaine gave her a long look, and added a thin smile. "Judge Rachel Bean, the hanging judge?"

Rachel looked down at herself before replying. "Well, I suppose you could say they're hanging...." ~What a difference in outlook and humor from a week ago,~ she thought, quietly chuckling.

"Anyway, I have all the stuff you gave me last night. I figured I could work on it here as well as anywhere, and that Table should make it easier to test some spells without running out of magic, or battery juice, or whatever."

Carrie Simmons asked, "Can we get Rachel's measurements? We went out shopping for clothing this morning, but she'll need something reasonable, too. She can study while we shop."

Rachel nodded and said, "I'd appreciate it, guys. These sweats aren't going to work in the long term, and I don't have more than one more set. A friend has offered to help, but I want to get y'all set as soon as I can. I noticed you'd found something reasonable to wear, and that kind of outfit is fine for me."

Alex smiled. "Rachel, you're the only one who can do anything to get us back to normal. You work at your, *ahem*, spelling..."

"Booo! That was *awful!*" several of her audience chorused. Giggles sounded from most of the women.

"... and we'll take care of getting you properly dressed. We do know how to dress like ladies, not just slutty eye-candy," Alex finished, unrepentant about her word play.

*****
Friday, November 2, 2001
Hattiesburg, Mississippi
8:30AM CST

"... so we'll be meeting with a Lieutenant Vinson. His mother is a magic wielder, so it's safe to speak freely to him about why we're here."

Cathy turned onto Ida Avenue and parked near the police building. They had left home about seven o'clock, and had managed to escape the worst of New Orleans' rush hour madness. Still, it had taken a full hour and a half for the trim. She and Linda shortly found themselves ushered into Lieutenant Vinson's office.

"Good morning, Ms. DeOgle, Ms. Williams." He waved for them to sit in the chairs before his desk; as they settled in, he closed his door and took his own seat. "What can I do for you ladies?"

"Toby Graham asked for you," Cathy began, "because, thanks to your mother's special skills, you can help us on a matter of some urgency."

David sat up, peering intently at his visitors. "I'm sure I don't know...."

Cathy waved away his dismissal. "Lieutenant, I'm a magic wielder, too, as is your mother. My talents are passive, the detection of its use, but real nonetheless. We're here because someone set off the magical equivalent of a nuclear weapon on Halloween night, somewhere in Hattiesburg."

David blanched. "That's ... unlikely, I think. I keep my eyes and ears open for anything too out of the ordinary. We had some locals get hysterical, but," he shook his head in bafflement, "no one's showed up *missing*. I haven't noticed anything changed around town either and I looked. I always do after Halloween."

"I know, and that's part of why I'm here. Whatever happened, it seemed to expend a huge amount of magical energy, and yet the ley lines don't show any real depletion. I can follow the residue to where the spell was cast, but I may need some official help depending on where the site is. That's why we're here."

"You already have an idea of how to start?"

Cathy grinned, "Have you ever met a woman who didn't? I've cast a spell that heightens my sensitivity, and we'll play a game of 'hot and cold.'"

David sighed. "You're the expert. I assume you want to start immediately?"

"The sooner we start, the sooner we can find out whether there's a danger to your city, David."

*****
Carstairs Mansion
9:00 AM CST

"I think, just maybe, I have something to try."

Rachel stretched her cramped back, reveling in each new sensation from her lithe, female form.

"Whoever put these spells together seems to have used several separate spells. We lucked out that Simon's scrolls included all the bits and pieces. I think I can cast just the body change part; I can't guarantee it'll work, though. Whoever goes first is taking a big risk."

Everyone was silent. However much they disliked their current shape, they were at least alive. A small, quavering voice finally spoke.

"I'll go first," Dora said. "I can't go on like this, afraid of my own shadow. Even if it goes wrong, I'm not much of a loss to our group."

"Dora! You shouldn't say that...."

Dora cut back in, "Don't! Just don't. I know you all want to be encouraging, but I know my biggest contribution is whimpering for help when someone comes to the door. Please let me do this before I lose what little nerve I have." She quivered, and her tears welled and overflowed.

Alex stepped to her and grasped her hands. "Don't be silly, Dora. You're a very courageous woman."

"But I'm scared out of my mind!"

"And you still stepped up to do this. That's real bravery."

Rachel looked around. "Come on, Dora. If you're brave enough to try, I'll do my best to do this."

*****

"Here?"

David looked bewildered as Cathy led them to the door of Carstairs' grand, antebellum mansion. The family was old money, and had been well known and regarded until a run of ill-fortune had whittled away branches from the family tree. Now only a pole remained, and Simon, a bachelor and dilettante, would be the end of the bloodline.

Whatever anyone thought of the man's idle pursuits, he had proved a shrewd businessman. His dealings had built a massive fortune, as well as a reputation for harsh treatment of his female household staff.

~Magic? It seems out of character, but who knows?~ David decided.

He led the way to the large double doors, and pressed the doorbell.

*****

Dora had just begun to strip off her clothing when the doorbell sounded. She had been so intent on her immediate task that she shrieked in startled fear.

Alex, steadiest of all the recovering slaves and a known occupant of the mansion, scurried to the front door. The women moved into the living room, taking places in the multitude of chairs and sofas; Dora had closeted herself back in the security room by the time Alex returned.

"Everyone," she began, "this is Lieutenant Vinson, of the Hattiesburg Police Department, and Cathleen DeOgle, and Linda Williams, who are from New Orleans. They were asking about Mr. Carstairs."

Rachel watched as Ms. DeOgle quickly scanned the room, finally settling her gaze on the raven-haired woman.

~She knows, or at least strongly suspects something,~ Rachel thought as her heartbeat quickened.

Cathy, for her part, found her heightened magical senses almost overwhelmed with the focused power present. ~She's like a beacon, or an arc-light at full power, but even she couldn't have caused what had happened -- not without help.

"Ladies," Cathy began, "I came here because of something that occurred on Halloween night. I am a special ... consultant, I suppose you'd say. Someone in this mansion did something that was noticed for a thousand miles in all directions."

None of the visitors failed to mark how each woman's face went pale.

~Gently, now,~ Cathy decided. "Someone used magic, here. No one knows what was done, but it was powerful enough to catch the attention of people, like me, from Miami to Denver." She focused her gaze on Rachel. "You, young lady, seem to be a focus of that same power. Why don't you tell us what happened?"

*****

"So this is it?"

Both ex-slaves and newcomers stood in a group around the Table. They had taken hours to relate each captive's tale -- even Dora had managed to show herself -- of capture, transformation, sexual slavery, and, finally, unlooked for release.

Rachel nodded. "Yes. Simon said it was a magical focus and amplifier. I was just getting ready to attempt to change Dora back when you showed up." She slid a finger along an edge, smiling as an almost happy vibration seemed to radiate from it.

Cathy shook her head. "I admire your determination, ladies, but I looked over your scrolls. If you had tried, Dora, in her new form, would have been as helplessly bound to Rachel as she was to her old master."

Rachel almost wept in her frustration; she'd been so close to hurting Dora's wounded soul even more.

"What do we do, then? I can't -- I *won't* -- go back on my promise to help everyone here, and something still needs to be done with Simon and his cronies."

David frowned at her statement. "What did you intend to do with Simon?"

Alex shot him a hard glare. "We weren't planning on doing anything worse to them than what they've done to themselves. If Rachel can figure out how, we were *planning* on giving them back their minds long enough for us," she waved at the cluster of women, "to hold a trial of some sort. Rachel would act as judge; we'd be the jury."

David's police training rose against such a breach of the men's legal rights, but Linda stilled his protest.

"What else can they do, David? You can't bring charges against Simon for what was done; you'd be laughed out of the D.A.'s office. That's assuming you can find a way to change the men back in the first place; Cathy already told you that they're tied to this table and Rachel. She'll have to be part of whatever is done to or with them.

"In the mean time," Linda continued, "can we help Rachel and the others? Maybe call someone who can figure out how to change them all back?"

"Not all of us," said Rachel. "I'm quite pleased with who I am. I could use some help with fixing up my identity paperwork, but I'm happy with who I am, now." She winced slightly. "I'm due back at work on Monday and don't look forward to trying to explain it all."

Cathy nodded. Now and then someone's life was touched by magic, and they were happier after their change than they were before -- including sex changes in either direction.

"There is a spell that can take care of all that, Rachel. It would be as if you'd always been as you are, and only those people you choose will remember Tim. Is there anyone else who feels that way?" She wasn't surprised that everyone else shook their head 'no' vigorously. "I'll make some calls, then, and we'll get things started. I'll also send a copy of this scroll to someone who should be able to give us a safe way to reverse its effects."

"I suppose, too," David spoke again, "that I should check the missing person reports. If any of you has family, I can try to let them know you may have been found."

*****
Austin, TX

A light baritone voice spoke up as the meeting drew to a close. The speaker was of average height and weight -- his appearance was utterly unremarkable -- but his voice carried a tone of command that brooked no argument or delay.

"Have we heard from Carstairs yet? He owes me a timetable for his specialized training of our special hostesses."

Six men turned their heads toward a seventh.

"Mr. Perry, we had requested a response by close of business on the sixteenth of this month. I can call to see if he can pull in the date, but I've heard rumors that he doesn't appreciate being pestered."

"So? I have ways of dealing...."

"Sir, the last man who bothered Carstairs vanished without a trace. All he left behind was a witless bimbo he must have picked up just before he was grabbed."

David Perry wasn't accustomed to deferring to anyone; his reputation had been built on demonstrations of strength and guile. He was, on the other hand, aware of that same incident -- and had no desire or need to provoke a demonstration of how it was done. He would bide his time, for now.

*****
Saturday, November 3, 2001
Carstairs Mansion

David had searched for missing persons corresponding to each enslaved woman, and had found his department's notifications for each. He'd contacted each officer in charge to verify the on-line information, and received case summaries in return for a promise to share any information he'd acquired.

"Okay," he began, "I've tracked down the Missing Person report for each of you, and I contacted each department to let them know we think we may have a lead on you. The police in your home towns will contact your families. If Cathy and company can hold up their end, we'll have you home as quickly as possible."

His face turned sad as he flipped his notebook page. "I don't have good news for everyone, though. Doctor Christiansen," He looked over at Charmaine, who bit her lip, but stood straight and tall. "your parents had been contacted several times for information about who you associated with, and where you might have gone. They have ..." He paused, trying to phrase his bad news. "They weren't cooperative, and basically told the police it wasn't their problem."

She closed her eyes against welling tears, but her wet cheeks displayed her utter failure. She almost whispered, "I'd hoped that they might change after I disappeared; that for once they'd care enough to look for me...."

She was surrounded by Rose, and Dora, who embraced Charmaine as she sat down, sobbing in grief at the final death of her hopes of reconciliation.

David cleared his throat. "Yanyan?" She looked apprehensively at him, and nodded. "Your wife has been very cooperative, but I'm afraid it was to further her effort to push through a divorce settlement. Her lawyer managed to push through a court order declaring you non-responsive to the suit."

"Damn it!" The diminutive Asian woman clenched her fists in frustration and anger. "She couldn't even wait a year, even with as much as we'd argued I hadn't thought she'd do this." She sighed, leaned up against a wall, and rubbed her face. "Now what do I do?"

"Mr. ahhhh... Ms. Dickson?"

Katrina swiveled her head toward him with fearful eyes.

"I'm sorry. Your wife ... took her own life about three months ago." Josie and Kelsey just caught the blonde as she fainted. Her wife had been high-strung, and was seeing a psychiatrist; her husband's disappearance had been far to much for her fragile psyche to endure.

"Ms. Arsenault?" Alex nodded, fearful now. David moved over and sat with her on a couch. "Your family was in an accident on the Interstate. I'm very sorry, ma'am, but there weren't any survivors."

"My wife ... *and* my children? Oh God ... Where were they?" Tears welled in her eyes as his news began to sink in.

"They were moving in with her parents, and were just outside the city limits. Apparently their finances wouldn't allow them to hold on to the house."

Alex, the man, would have wept quietly for his loss; Alexandra, the woman, sobbed her grief aloud, and was surrounded by the arms of her sisters in suffering.

Rachel swallowed hard as her anger boiled up again. ~This was all Simon's fault! His kidnappings cost four innocent lives.~

*****

Cathy, too, had been busy. She'd contacted experts in magic, who'd agreed to review Carstairs' scroll and try to develop some way to reverse its effects. She shook her head at the carnage wreaked on so many lives by untrained, unethical use of magic.

Cathy and Linda had conducted tests as they waited for David's results and found that only Rachel could use the Table as a focus and amplifier. It seemed that Simon, when he tried to bond her to himself, had attuned her to his Table. The result was a young, untrained magic wielder of frightening potential.

~Rachel has a good heart, I think, but, between her own ability and that table of hers, she could cause far more havoc than Carstairs ever thought about. Someone is going to find themselves handling a very, very challenging teaching assignment.~ She winced. ~And it'll probably be me.~

"Rachel, I had my contacts send me a copy of the spell to revise your past I'd mentioned, and a list of materials, too. I picked them up on my way here. I have three different spell choices: One version will change everything, and even you won't remember your life as a man. Another version makes everyone else forget, but you'll remember. You can also, if you wish, select people to remember you as you were. That version of the spell isn't difficult. In any case, it will take about six hours for the candle to do its work."

She continued, "Is there anyone you want to remember you as Tim? No one, except for magic users, will recall him unless we take special steps to let them."

Raven-black hair swung in negation. "No, not really. My folks, and my friends, don't live so close that I'd have time to explain it all. It's easier just to let them remember a happy daughter, rather than a quietly miserable son. I don't know that anyone here would want to, either, unless Alex and ..."

Four heads nodded in near unison. "We think we'd like to remember you as you were, if that's okay?" Cathy smiled, as Rachel nodded.

"Good enough. Let's get this underway, then." She was interrupted by a tear-choked voice.

"Cathy, you said this spell changes your whole past?" Alex asked.

"Yes, that's right. Why?"

"If I was never a man, I'd never have married, and then...,"

Cathy nodded, "... and then your wife might yet be alive. There's no guarantee that her life will be better, though. It won't do anything for your children, either."

Alex wiped her eyes. "It's a chance, and that's more than they have right now. Maybe she'll meet someone else who'll be able to give her other children -- she was a wonderful wife and mother. I have no one to go back to, so," she shrugged, "I'll to what I can. Even if they never meet me, I can do this for those I love ... loved."

Each of the other who'd lost loved ones, or been rejected by them, had agreed that the possibility of improvement was worth it.

Yanyan tried to smile. "It's not like we're losing more than we've already lost this way."

*****

Cathy has stowed her materials in the kitchen, so the group gathered there.

"I need to pluck a sample of everyone's hair for the candle. I just need a few strands for each, so hang on to the extras until I'm done," she explained. "Who's first?"

Catherine carefully plucked a small hair sample from Rachel, Alexandra, Yanyan, and Katrina. Charmaine, with her short, black, curly hair, took some extra effort to secure enough of a sample.

"What's next?" asked Katrina.

"While I melt the wax for each of you, I need you to breathe into it as it begins to boil. Once it's at a full boil, and only then, you drop in the different hairs as you recite these words I've written down for you," Cathy said, as she handed out a copy of the script to each.

Four pans rested on separate burners, each slowly warming its contents of wax mixed with other ingredients. Cathy turned up one burner to speed it to a boil.

"This pan is for Rachel. She needs to be settled by Monday morning, so hers is first. We'll work on the rest afterward. I only have one mold with me, so we have to do this one candle at a time."

Linda measured and cut a length of wick, drawing it through the bottom, and sealing the opening with mold sealer. She flipped the mold over and made sure her wick was straight as she tied it to a small stick.

"I need to make sure the wick is straight," she explained to her audience, "so it burns steadily from top to bottom. For some candles, it just means a nice even light. For these, it ensures the spell works properly." She called over to Cathy to the mold's readiness.

Cathy watched carefully, finally nodding as she saw lazy bubbles of wax vapor begin to rise and pop.

"Rachel, I need you to carefully lean over the pot and breathe slowly into the wax. This merges your essence into it."

Rachel leaned in, and inhaled. A pleasant cinnamon odor, layered with other spices, filled her nostrils as she softly breathed into the bubbling pot. She wasn't sure, but it seemed to be a dark purple.

Both women watched as bubbles appeared faster, and larger. Finally, once she was certain it was ready, Cathy called Rachel forward.

"Okay, it's starting to boil. Drop in the different hairs, and recite the words on the paper," Cathy instructed.

Rachel, accepted a small sample of hair, took a deep breath, and said, "Change me, to match my outer body, but allow these to remember," as she dropped them into the boiling wax. She expected them to just sink into the wax; instead the hairs almost popped and sizzled as they hit the hot wax. She was startled and looked at Cathy, but the other woman's calm smile was reassuring.

"That's normal, Rachel, you're doing fine. Please continue."

Four more hair samples sputtered their way into the bubbling liquid; Cathy asked Linda to bring the mold over, then she picked up the pot and, chanting some words that were unintelligible to anyone else in the room, poured the wax carefully into the mold.

"Well, all we need to do is let that set and it's ready," stated Cathy. "We'll clean up while we wait and get ready for the next candle."

*****
7:20PM

Cathy wiped her brow; her afternoon had been busy, and despite the heavy-duty exhaust fans the mansion's kitchen had gotten uncomfortably warm from all the candle making. Of course, the eighty degree temps outside had aggravated the situation. Her work was done, though. Five candles, each labeled, and with a unique color despite being made from identical materials, stood ready for use. She handed one to each woman, Rachel, Alex, Yanyan, Charmaine, and Katrina, who had chosen to change their past.

"Put them on some sort of metal or ceramic plate in your sink before you light them. It would be a shame to start your new existence by burning your home down," she said, smiling. Only Rachel returned a real smile; the rest had only a facsimile of the expression, and even that was tempered by the intensity of emotion glowing in their eyes.

Outside, late fall had brought full night to Hattiesburg, though a nearly full Moon had risen to illuminate a very warm evening. The women from New Orleans rode in the back of Lieutenant Vinson's car as they drove Rachel, her candle clutched in her hands, back to her apartment.

David caught a glimpse of moonlight as it shimmered off blue-black hair.

~Moonlight suits her,~ he thought. ~She's quite pretty.~

He felt a twinge of discomfort. She'd been a man as recently as Wednesday, but he hadn't known Tim, only Rachel.

~And by tomorrow, if all works as planned, I won't know that she's been anyone else.~

Linda's face was shadowed by the car roof's rear pillar; it was all that kept David from seeing her broad grin.

*****
Rachel's Apartment

~It's set, now. All I need to do is light it and sleep while it works its magic.~

She stared at her candle, placed carefully on a plain, white plate -- ceramic, of course -- and hardly appearing to be more than a pretty air freshener. It would end Tim, though. He'd never have existed, and she took a moment to mourn him.

~He wasn't so bad, just misplaced. I wonder how many lives will be changed when he goes away?~

She shrugged, struck a match, and went off to bed, leaving the candle burning away an old, misfit life behind her.

*****
Sunday, November 4, 2001
Rachel's Apartment

She woke slowly from her deep, dreamless sleep, wiggling under her lightweight covers as she tried to ignore the sunlight reflecting off her mirror.

~Mirror?~

She sat up abruptly, ignoring her covers as they fell from her not-quite-so-unfamiliar breasts, and scanned her room. And it was *her* room.

Rachel blinked and felt dizzy as her vision seemed to double for a moment. Memories of Tim's lonely lifetime swirled and blended with those from her own girlhood. She shook her head and gazed at a neat, simply furnished woman's bedroom. Her makeup mirror hung just above a dresser, and she remembered her mother deliberately placing it there, just where the morning sun would be.

"It will keep you from wastin' a perfectly lovely mornin', dear," her mother had said in her soft southern accent, ignoring her daughter's protests. A small potted plant hung in a crocheted hanger in the middle of the window; she'd kept it as it had been her first successful effort. Her mother had praised her accomplishment, and it still brought heartwarming memories of other mother-daughter moments.

She bounced to her feet, nightgown flying around her legs, and scurried to her kitchen. She grabbed her purse and opened her wallet to reveal a driver's license inscribed with the name 'Rachel Marie Henley.' Tears of joy blurred her vision, and she held her wallet close to her chest.

~Thank you, Tim. You were a good person, even if you were a bit of a misfit.~

She replaced the wallet and moved to clean up the remnants of the candle. She blew a kiss to the ghost of her past life as she turned to her present task. As she scrubbed away a minor drip of wax, she thought of her new friends -- her sisters in adversity -- and prayed silently to whatever gods there might be that they would find some peace in their own new histories.

*****
Carstairs Mansion

Alex had been awake frequently through the night. She slept only fitfully, and could almost feel the progress of her candle's work as she woke from time-to-time. They were all new memories, and integrated bit-by-bit, but every one was real to her. Her life as a young girl; a teen in school on her first solo date; graduation and college -- each one a part of Alexandra's life that subsumed the man she'd once been.

She wept silent, bitter tears as she finally experienced the duality of Alex's marriage and her own stubborn choice to remain single; watching joyous memories of his children's birth fade into oblivion was almost unbearable.

Katrina, too, had fitful moments of wakeful grief. Before her kidnapping and transformation, she and her wife had never had children. It was fortunate, in a way, as she found her pain eased with new memories. Her sharp-edged loss that had never happened now faded into obscurity, replaced by her life as a thirty-year-old.

Even before dawn broke, the four women -- including Charmaine and Yanyan, whose new memories were far more pleasant than those they replaced -- had clustered in the kitchen to share new memories and old.

David arrived shortly after noon, having spent the morning in strictly unofficial investigations. He had had slight problems; only three of his four missing person reports remained of interest. He had all four sit on a couch, together, as he revealed his findings.

"Charmaine, your family is still in Charlotte, North Carolina. Their business is doing well, but Charlotte's Police Department is anxious to locate you and close out your case. It seems your parents called every week since your disappearance; they're rather persistent."

He grinned as she commented, "That has to be one of the bigger understatements I've heard."

"Their business is doing well, and they all continue to be healthy."

He flipped to his next page of information. "It was a bit harder to locate information about everyone else. Your families filed reports, ladies, and I don't have any real news. They're all doing well, so far as I can find out. Your other inquiries ... I was able to only get a brief response at best. The law restricts what I'm allowed to investigate to things related to a crime. Some of my calls were not appreciated." He winced. "I did at least convince them to check on whether the individuals I asked about were well or not.

"I printed out their e-mail responses for each person we asked about." He pulled papers from behind his notebook. "Alex," he began, "you asked about a woman named Nina Jimenez. All I was able to find out was that she is married to a man named Amos Swanson. They have two children, though I wasn't able to find out more than that."

He turned a page. "Yanyan, it seems your friend has been married, and divorced, at least twice that I was able to easily find out about. She's still alive and healthy as of this morning."

Katrina had a hopeful look on her face. ~Good news, so far,~ she thought. ~At least mostly. Alex's wife is alive and well; Yanyan's wife is still having problems, but she's alive. Maybe Grace ...~ Her hope shattered against David's sad expression

"Katrina, I'm sorry. Grace was married, but she apparently took her own life about three years ago."

Someone wrapped an arm around her shoulders as Katrina crumbled into a sobbing wreck; she felt a slight easing of her pain as Rachel joined in, but she clung to one thought as she wept.

~That bastard, Simon, has her blood on his hands, and he's going to pay!~

*****

Soft words, spoken in a language remembered only by a few, hardly distracted Rachel from her thoughts. Cathy was intensely focused on her spell, intended to learn more of what Carstairs' Table had done to Tim as it transformed him.

It had been unsettling for Rachel to see her new friend's face turn slightly pale at one point.

~What is she doing, or finding out, that she reacted that way?~

Cathy took a few moments to explain, in layman's terms, what she'd been looking at and for, and in very general terms why she reacted as she had.

"Your magical ability is significant, though I don't know what your areas of talent are, yet. My problem is that you're linked to a very potent magical focus -- a resonator, of a sort -- that makes you far more capable. Even a minimally capable sorcerer, such as Simon Carstairs, was able to cast powerful spells with it.

"I have a couple of books I'm going to send when I get home, and I need you to take time to study them." She gave Rachel a solemn look. "You can do real harm, right now, without meaning to. I'll probably be chosen to instruct you in how to use and control your abilities, once we figure out what they are."

*****
Monday, November 5, 2001
Dews, Anderson, and Kirby, CPAs

Rachel had chosen a slightly more conservative outfit, today, compared to what she "remembered" wearing. She was supposed to be just over a bad case of the flu, so a slightly longer skirt and long sleeves, to keep a little warmer, would be reasonable. She was still a little nervous as she entered.

"Morning, Marlene!"

~God, I hope that didn't sound as bad to her as it did to me.~

Marlene looked up, and felt a moment of disorientation. She shook it off and grinned at her co-worker.

"Welcome back, girl! I hope you haven't saved any of your flu bugs for us." She waved at Rachel's desk. "We handled all your high-priority stuff, but you still have plenty of back-log."

"Thanks, Marlene. I really appreciate your helping out like that."

"No sweat, kiddo. Just keep your disease to yourself and we'll call it even."

*****
New Orleans, LA
10:00AM CST

Cathy sat back and waited for everyone else to join in. She'd set up a conference call to discuss Rachel Henley and, even more important, her Table. At last, she heard a familiar "bee-doop" that announced her final participant's.

"Good morning, everyone," Cathy began, "and thanks for calling in. I want to start by filling you in on what happened Halloween evening and what I've found out since...."

Forty-five minutes later, after she finished her question-punctuated debriefing, she asked her own question.

"So, given what we know about this Table, what do we do? Rachel is bonded to it according to my tests, so we can't block her ability to use it even if we knew how. I'm also not sure whether her 'magic charge' will make hear age as slowly as a natural magic user. No matter how I look at it, she has the makings of a potent sorceress."

Franklin Santos, a life-long resident of California and mage of considerable skill, finally replied. "I agree, Cathleen, that you need to remain as our point of contact with Rachel, and that you should teach her, as your mother taught you, so she can cope with her new powers. She knows you and probably trusts you enough to listen, and there's no one else closer who's as well qualified. If you need assistance, call."

"I'm also planning on supporting their planned 'trial,' folks. I'd appreciate whatever assistance you can provide for that."

"We'll see about sending out some in-the-know legal help when you're at that point, Cathleen. We'll need a week to get them there, so keep it in mind."

"I will, Franklin, and thank you."

She could hear his smile. "You're very welcome. It's a pleasure."

*****
Wednesday, November 7, 2001
Rachel's Apartment
6:00PM CST

~That was quick,~ she mused, as she examined the contents of the express package. Several books had been included, covering several different ranges of talents. She browsed through each table of contents, bemused by one chapter of a book entitled "Introduction to Magic." Titled "Essential Ethics of Magic," it listed several case studies where a sorcerer, or sorceress, had wielded their abilities either carelessly or maliciously. Though names and locations were altered, each situation gave both intent and actual results for the spells cast.

Sometimes, even well-intended spells had been cast carelessly; lives were warped and destroyed by those spells. Other people had been victims of voyeurs and thrill-seekers who swapped bodies with someone of the opposite sex, and then forced their victims to endure what amounted to rape -- though they used other spells to cause such a high level of arousal that their victim begged for relief.

~It seems that Simon was hardly unique,~ she thought, ~and I really need to be careful.~

She found herself intrigued enough that it was midnight before she finally turned out her bedside light.

*****
Thursday, November 15, 2001
Carstairs Mansion

"Carstairs Mansion. This is Alexandra; how may I help you?"

"Ma'am, I'm trying to reach Mr. Carstairs. My employer, Mr. Perry, had made arrangements for Mr. Carstairs to perform some specialized services. We were supposed to hear back by today, and would like to know when we can expect a reply."

"Mr. Carstairs has been away since the end of October, and he's not contacted us since. We have no idea when he plans to return."

"If he contacts you, please let him know that Mr. Perry is getting ... impatient."

*****
Saturday, November 17, 2001
Carstairs Mansion

Cathleen had called last week to announce that her friends and colleagues had managed to decipher Carstairs' spell. A reversal was possible, though it would take a great deal of time, or energy, to change all eight women back. A temporary restoration of mental function was also possible, though it would last less than an hour.

Before restoring the former slaves to their former bodies, all his victims were determined to hold him responsible for his actions. He would stand trial for his crime.

Myles Adams and Tony Franks, each with decades of experience in law and knowledgeable in magic, had flown in from Los Angeles to help. They had been called to prosecute or defend other cases, but in this case had more victims than usual, and their insistence on acting as a jury was straight out of an Agatha Christie novel -- "The Orient Express."

Myles looked dubious. "I can't see any way for this to wind up as anything other than a conviction. This jury can't be objective and fair."

Rose Brewer glared at him in fury. "Fair?! What was fair about what they did? We're at least giving them a chance to explain. We could just leave them as they are."

Tony held up his hands in a peace gesture. "I know, folks. We're lawyers, though, and sticking to the letter and spirit of the law is important to us. This isn't anything like a trial, ladies, and hardly qualifies as more than a hearing."

Rachel shrugged. "We could just leave them as they are, without ever giving them a chance to defend themselves...."

"If you're not going to try to be fair, then there's no point to this exercise."

"Can you think of any alternatives? What more can we do?" Charmaine asked.

*****

Shortly before noon, everyone gathered around the Table.

One of the transformed slavers was brought in, and carefully restrained in a chair. Her mindless giggles were punctuated by attempts to lure someone into ... intimate contact.

Rachel -- supervised by Cathleen -- cast her spell.

Vacant blue eyes blinked; confusion was followed by fear, as restored intelligence assimilated its situation.

"Wh-what happened? Where am I? What happened to my voice?" She struggled momentarily against her bonds.

Tony, acting as prosecutor, responded. "Calvin Barnett, you are charged with two counts of being an accessory to kidnapping and transporting a kidnap victim across state lines. This is a violation of Federal Law under 18 US Code, Section 32, parts a. You are warned that you are under a compulsion to speak the truth, if you speak at all. How do you plead?"

Calvin, embodied in his new, big-breasted, female body, gazed in horror at the array of women who he recognized as the one-time slaves of himself and his companions.
*****

One by one, each of the ex-slavers was brought out to face his, or her, accusers. One by one, each was faced by his victims.

One by one, each was cast back into living horror as Rachel's spell wore off. Intelligence faded away, replaced by their former, mindless, sex-addicted state. Kidnapping, in Federal or Mississippi state law, carries a sentence of life imprisonment. They would live out their lives unable to affect a single action of their bodies.

*****
Sunday, November 18, 2001
10:00AM CST

Samuel Carstairs closed his eyes as dizziness overtook him.

Several strangers were arrayed around his meeting room, where his magic table rested.

Thirteen familiar faces were also present, and he saw only intelligence, and hostility, in each.

A strange man stood and spoke.

"Simon Carstairs, you are charged with thirteen counts of kidnapping and transporting a kidnap victim across state lines. This is a violation of Federal Law under 18 US Code, Section 32, part a. You are charged with kidnapping under the Mississippi Code of 972, as amended, Section 97-3-53. Each offense carries a sentence of life in prison. You are warned that you are under a compulsion to speak the truth, if you speak at all. How do you plead?"

There was no escape, no evasion, no possible way to evade punishment.

He gazed helplessly at thirteen faces that held no mercy.

*****

Almost an hour later, the black-haired woman who'd been the instrument of his undoing stood.

"You are pronounced guilty on twelve of the thirteen charges, and are sentenced to live out your life as you had intended these women to live. I pronounce you innocent on the thirteenth count. You intended to enslave me, but your actions resulted in a good end for me." She shook her head sadly. "Return her to her quarters."

Simon felt his mind sinking again, trapped as surely as a mastodon in a tar pit, and just as unlikely to escape.

*****
8:00PM CST

Rachel collapsed into a chair, exhausted from her exertions.

She had cast Cathleen's reversal spell eight times, and eight men stood nearby and prepared themselves to return to their homes and families.

David Vinson had contacted federal and state authorities, letting them know he had located the eight kidnapped men. Arrangements were set for a mass exodus on Monday morning.

Alex and her three friends had chosen to remain where they were as custodians of Carstairs' estate; each understood they were also accepting responsibility for their former masters.

"Someone needs to take care of them, otherwise we'll have to explain who they are and where they're from. This way, no one finds out the poor creatures are even there," Yanyan said.

"That's fine," Rachel said. She yawned widely, and wobbled to her feet. "I have to get to bed, guys."

She shook Myles' and Tony's hands, thanking them for their help. Everyone else, including Cathy and Linda, got a warm hug.

She wasn't completely comfortable with what had happened, but Simon and his cohorts had received more than they'd given to their captives.

~It was more than fair. It was justice in action,~ she decided.