Alan Goodspeed is an ordinary teenage boy with all the hopes and dreams of any other teenage boy. Except for when he was a teenage girl. And then there was the whole pixie parenthood thing. That's fairly normal... right?

 

Fair warning, this is Chapter 1 in a series that I've not finished yet, though Chapter 2 is 5,000 words into it. That being said, for those who do decide to proceed, it's all plotted and I do intend to finish this, even if it is at the normal Jemima pace of things and will be woven around producing chapters of 'We are Family'. Thanks for reading this far and I hope you enjoy this first chapter! *big hugs*

Chapter 1

I was a man with a plan or I guess more accurately a boy with a ploy.

It was a meticulously laid out plan that even had a colour coded wall chart setting out each objective. I would study hard and party lite. When I wasn't studying I'd be cramming in as many extra hours of paid work and chores as possible to earn money for my savings account. And in roughly fifteen months time at the end of the next academic year, grades permitting, I'd be off to pursue my dreams at the university of my choice, or second choice, or third choice, or whatever institution I could get into through 'Clearing' depending on how good or bad my grades were. Regardless of which university I ended up attending, although my preference was for one a considerable distance away, I'd be living my dream and enjoying three years of freedom to live my own life away from the pull of the Family business.

I had a plan. A perfect plan. What could go wrong?

As it turned out, a lot of things.

My ordered, planned life had descended into a life of weirdness and calamity during the previous summer. Despite all of that I was just about hanging onto my goals, flexing the plan as needed on the hoof and it was mostly working until today. As I sat in the Headmasters office, soaked to my skin in what I really hoped was water and covered in masonry dust and little bits of ceramic, I saw the plan finally slip from my grasp.

"So let me get just summarise your story Mr Goodspeed to make sure I've got it down correctly... the explosion in the second floor boys’ toilets wasn’t caused by you. This is despite the fact that Mr McCormack entered the toilet only seconds after hearing the explosion and found no one else there other than you. Is that an accurate summary of your statement?"

The combination of his bushy eyebrows, his roman nose and the look of disapproval on his face oddly reminded me of Sam the American Eagle and I had to work hard to suppress a nervous giggle. I cleared my throat before speaking, edging backwards in my chair in response to the questioning gaze of the Headmaster as he peered at me over the edge of his half moon reading glasses.

"Yes sir."

"It may interest you to know Mr Goodspeed that several thousand pounds worth of damage was caused by the said act of vandalism and I have been forced to call in the Police to investigate the matter. As I'm sure you are aware from the never ending stream of procedural police dramas on television, the police have very good forensics teams these days and take a very dim view on homemade explosive makers in this post 7/7 world. So, I would like you to take a moment to consider very carefully your answer to the next question that I ask you..."

"Yes sir?"

"Do you know who caused the explosion in the second floor boys’ lavatory?"

The vow I'd made to my mother echoed in my mind - 'I will speak no lies'. I know what you're thinking, a teenager who keeps his promises in a tight spot is a fairly rare thing but we take promises very seriously in the Family. Very seriously. And there were consequences if you broke a promise to a member of the Family. Consequences I wasn't in a hurry to experience.

I'd been made to make that vow to my mother after the most recent act of weirdness predating this one that blighted my life. Then, just as now, I'd been found at the 'scene of the crime' and I'd avoided telling a truth which would more than likely have had me sent to a place where the sleeves on the jackets lace up behind you. Instead I'd gone with a much more plausible story that falsely implicated another student. This left me to catch the lesser charge of doing nothing to stop him, which only resulted in a few days detention through collateral guilt. To be fair, my patsy was no saint and many a bullied kid had breathed a sigh of relief when he was expelled. As a consequence I only felt a little bit bad about framing him. I mean, he'd done a ton of stuff he should have been expelled for and wasn't, so really this was just him reaping his karma right? I was really just returning balance to the universe I told myself. Situational ethics are only bad if the outcome is bad right?

However, my mother didn't see it that way and there had been threats of sending me off against my will to my siblings’ boarding school which I only managed to dodge through my vow to tell no lies. My brother and sister might like it at boarding school but I'd seen the syllabus and there was no way it met my academic needs or did anything other than prepare me for a life in the Family business, which I wasn't going to join. Uh huh. No way Jose. Heck, no way Jack, Jeffrey or Jeremy either.

So there was my dilemma, my Catch-22 as it were. My options were to:

(a) Tell a lie that would get me in serious trouble with my mother likely leading to being sent to my siblings boarding school but would smooth things over with the headmaster; or

(b) Tell the truth which would keep the vow I’d made to my mother but would mostly likely end with my being sent for psychiatric evaluation or expelled on the spot as a liar.

I was damned whichever of the two options I choose. I'd completely discounted the third option of saying nothing because this is school, not a court of law. There is no right to remain silent and indeed nothing ticks off a teacher more than the silent treatment. Silence equals guilt in the blackboard jungle.

Ludicrous unbelievable truth or perfectly plausible lie. Pick one. Tick, tock... tick, tock... buzzzzzz! Thank you for playing and your answer is to the million dollar question is... I’d like to take option (b) please. My mother scares the crap out of me.

"Ummmm... could it have been pixies sir?"

"I'm glad you saw sen... what? What exactly do you mean by 'pixies' Mr Goodspeed?" he asked leaning forward.

"Pixies sir."

"As in the small blue mythological creatures from Cornwall, Mr Goodspeed?"

"Yes sir. Cornwall sir. Sort of Bluish fur sir. Not mythological in the sense that you mean sir."

Removing his glasses, the Principal rubbed his eyes briefly before looking back at me.

"Pixies... I'll give you your due and admit that it's the first time in my twenty years here as Headmaster I've heard that excuse... You're sure you wish to stick with that story Mr Goodspeed?"

"It's not a story sir. It's the truth sir."

I nervously ran my fingers through my hair, never more grateful for dad's insistence that it be kept short than now given how wet it was. The absence of cold wet hair against the back of my neck was about the only good thing going for me right now.

"Fine," he said putting his glasses back on. "I'll be sure to remind the police to round up members of the local pixie community for questioning."

I desperately resisted the urge to point out the inherent unfairness of his last statement. Just because some pixies blew up the toilets doesn't mean all pixies were guilty. I'd have thought the sort of educated man who read The Guardian would have been against 'species profiling'.

"However, until such time as the pixie or pixies behind this come forward to assist the police with their enquiries I will be suspending you for a period of three weeks. At the end of which a meeting will be held with your parents to discuss what future, if any, that you have with this institution. I must confess to be very disappointed in you Mr Goodspeed. Your excellent GCSE grades and enthusiasm for sports had led us to have high expectations for you. This incident may well end up significantly limiting the university offers you receive in the next academic year. I wonder if you bothered to think about that 'eh? Frankly, I don't know what happened to you during the summer holiday but since you returned you have been nothing but a magnet for trouble Mr Goodspeed."

"But sir..."

"No 'but sirs' Mr Goodspeed," he interrupted, handing me a piece of paper. "Please take this note to Miss Bradbury. She will contact your parents and make the necessary arrangements for them to come collect you. I would also expect a visit from the local constabulary in the near future Mr Goodspeed and you may wish to consider changing your story from 'pixies'."

"Yes sir..."

His gaze softened slightly as I took the paper from him.

"I'm very disappointed in you Alan," he said with a sigh. "I hope you take this opportunity to reflect on where your life is going and find a way of turning this around. If this is about problems at home or you need someone to talk too, Mrs Fitzwilliam's a trained counsellor and even on suspension she will meet with you if you ask. Either way, if you are still with us after Easter, I hope you can knuckle down and get back on track to achieving the sorts of grades we expected from you in your 'A' Levels."

"Yes sir, I would like that too sir."

"You are dismissed Mr Goodspeed. I will see you and your parents in three weeks," said the Headmaster, his expression hardening as he rose to his feet. "I should warn you though, if you are found to be guilty of causing the damage to the toilets, you will more than likely be expelled."

"Yes sir."
 

~o~O~o~
 
Closing the Headmasters door, I made the short trudge of the condemned to the secretary's desk dropping the piece of paper off with her before bonelessly flopping in one of the nearby chairs lining the walls of the anteroom. Burying my head in my hands I tried to think how I was going to explain this to my parents.

"Alan, I've already called your mother and she will be here shortly," said Miss Bradbury, leaving her desk to take the seat next to mine.

Well that solved that one. No trial, straight to execution. I wonder if I’ll be allowed to stop at McDonald’s for a last meal?

“It’ll be alright Alan,” said Miss Bradbury quietly, placing a hand on my shoulder.

Despite the fact she was only in her early thirties, Miss Bradbury had a easy going charm and elegance to her that reminded me of old style Hollywood stars and I was the envy of most of the boys, and some of the girls, in school whenever she stopped to speak to me in the halls. She was actually a close family friend who I'd known since, well forever. She'd baby sat for me when she was a teenager. It was difficult to keep secrets from a woman who had changed your nappies and had been a childhood confessor and substitute mother. I remembered being devastated when she'd moved away after university and later got married. I was quietly elated when she returned to live amongst the Family again six months ago following her divorce. It was a source of great pride that she would ask me to babysit her young kids now and then and I hoped that her kids might regard their time with me as fondly as I did my time with their mother.

"Dawn... I didn't do it you know," I whispered, unsuccessfully trying to fight back the tears behind my hands.

"I know sweetie," she said, her tone softening to become almost maternal and she rubbed my back. "But if you can't control them it does amount to the same thing..."

"It's not my fault! I'm not even old enough to vote for a nearly another year and yet I'm expected to be responsible for a litter of pixies? How is that fair?" I asked sparing her with a plaintive look.

"Well, if you didn't want the responsibility..."

"I was PUSHED!! PUSHED into the nest!! By my bastard of a younger brother."

"There's no need for that sort of language young man."

"Sorry," I replied, blushing a little at the rebuke.

"Well either way, you imprinted on them and vice-versa. On the plus side, they are sort of cute."

I snorted at that, burying my face back in my hands.

"It could have been worse. I attended the Institute with a girl who had accidentally bonded with a litter of gremlins," she giggled, the sound reminding me of a young Doris Day. "The number of times we'd come back to our dorm rooms to find they'd dismantled all the furniture on a whim was frustrating. I shouldn't laugh but I remember once in class they'd removed every screw from the chair and desk of this boy who'd been trying to chat her up for weeks and wouldn't take no for an answer. As you can imagine when he sat down..."

I couldn't help but smile a little as I imagined the scene. Wiping my eyes, I looked around the room for the cause of my problems.

"Where are they?"

"Oh, it was so cute! They were working on an apology. At least, I think that was what they were trying to say."

Yeah, pixies are real if you hadn't guessed. Seriously, I'm not making it up. They were about the same size as a small cuddly toy, maybe fifteen or so centimetres tall, and covered in soft light blue fur. At least they were now, I was told they would eventually get a bit bigger and more human looking. Right now though they were more a cross between a 'Gizmo' and 'Stitch' than 'Tinkerbelle', with disproportionately large saucer shaped eyes, large sort of mouse-like blue ears, cat like teeth and completely covered in fur all over, yet they still somehow managed to convey cute in an anthropomorphic way. Unfortunately or fortunately, I'm never sure which, most people could not or would not perceive them. You needed either a seriously open mind, or to be in possession of the Talent, to be able to see a creature of The Golden Court. Do you ever see the hint of movement just out of sight that when you turn to see, there is nothing there? That's probably a pixie. Or a sprite. Or a peri. Or a faerie. Or... well you get the picture.

For those of us who can see them though, communicating with them is a whole other problem. They have at best a rudimentary form of spoken language although to human ears nearly every word sounds the same. They can speak a little English but what they do speak is mostly mimicked from something they've heard or seen and repeated back when they think it's germane. I guess their poor language skills are because their primary method of communication is a form of telepathic empathy. I'm not a telepath though so I can't really control what I think and therefore by default unintentionally broadcast random feelings and thoughts to them. I can however mostly understand the emotions they broadcast to me.

What makes it even worse is that pixies have no concept of the abstract and neither do they understand the concept of lying. As a result they can't distinguish between fiction and reality. After all fiction, aka pretending, is basically organised lying. If this was a movie trailer, this would be the moment where a forced jovial voiceover would chuckle "resulting in hilarious misunderstandings". For the record, when it happens to me I generally don't find the misunderstandings hilarious.

"Girls are you ready?" called out Dawn looking towards her desk.

Oh yeah, that's the other thing. Pixies are always girls. Always. Don't ask me why and don't ask me about the pixie version of the birds and the bees because that's their business. All you need remember is pixies are girls and that's important for reasons that are about to become clear.

"Tikka! Tikky tikka tikka tikka!" sang out a soft lyrical voice from behind the desk.

A gentle fluttering sound announced the presence of the pixies and I looked over to Dawn's desk to see 'Sonnet' and 'Pell' rising from behind it on their gossamer like wings, unfurling a banner made from what looked like school headed paper. In cut out newspaper letters stuck on it were the words "sorrey momma".

I brushed my long wet hair out of my face as I felt a brief tingling sweep over me and slid my feet out of my now slightly too large shoes. I was also very glad that a jumper was part of the school uniform given how my wet clothes were sticking to the new curves of my body. A wet shirt on its own would do little to cover my modesty right now.

"I know you are," I sighed. "It's okay, you're forgiven. You can come out now."

Even after just over six months I still couldn't quite recognise my 'new' voice. Holding out my hands, I was quickly surrounded by a small litter of pixies. To be precise the small litter of pixies I imprinted on, which from their point of view makes them my children. In accordance with what passes for pixie logic, if they are all female and I'm their parent then I must also be female. Evidently for magical beings my biology is childishly simple to correct, something that my bastard of a brother thought was hilarious. So every time I interact with them on anything approaching a mother - child basis, and being contrite for misbehaving obviously felt like a parental rebuke to them, I undergo a forced crossing of the gender divide.

"That is soooo cute," cooed Dawn as they enveloped me in fourteen tiny hugs. "They really do love you."

"Yeah..."

And heaven help me I loved them too at moments like this. It's hard not to when fourteen tiny empaths are broadcasting their completely unquestioning love for you. I gently lifted Sonnet up in the palm of my hand so that I could look her in the eyes. She was surprisingly light even given her small size.

"Let's go out front and find grandma," I said, trying to hide the feeling of impending doom. Running a finger across the top of her furry little head I listened to her soothing purr in response. I found myself cooing softly as she nuzzled against my finger tip.

"Don't worry about the police," said Dawn as she picked up my now slightly too large shoes. "The Family will take care of that."

"Yuh-huh," I scoffed. "Good luck with that. They totalled an entire boys lavatory. I can't see how the Family can make that go away. Are they going to pretend it's the 1950's and blame it on a weather balloon?"

"Something like th--"

"Miss Bradbury," called the Headmaster, interrupting our conversation as he stepped out of his office. "I'd like you to..."

He stopped taking in the sight of a bedraggled teenage girl dripping onto the carpet for a second.

"And you are?" he asked, canting his head slightly.

"The explosion in the boys’ toilets caused a problem in the girls’ toilets Headmaster," said Dawn, gently pushing me towards the door. "I was just taking her to change into her PE kit while her parents brought her some dry clothes in."

"I know every one of my students Miss Bradbury and I don't know this one," replied the Headmaster advancing towards me with an increasingly stern visage. "This student who seems to have an uncanny familial resemblance to Mr Goodspeed and is wearing a boy’s uniform for some reason. Are you a co-conspirator perhaps? Hmmm?"

Yeah, we're that sort of school where the girl’s uniform is different from the boy’s. Before I could respond however 'Sunflower' swooped up in front of him and literally puffed herself up to look bigger like a cartoon puffer fish, raising her hands above her head and roaring at him. In hindsight letting them watch Monsters Inc. was probably a bad idea not least because very few people could actually see her which made her even more frustrated and angry.

"Aaaargh!" shouted the Headmaster, physically recoiling from the pixie.

O.M.G... he can see her. "Oh shi--"

Miss Bradbury stepped forward, pointing her left hand towards the Headmaster.

"Befuddle!" she exclaimed, the large sapphire blue ring on her finger flashed as she said it. Although when she said it it sounded less like 'befuddle' and more like 'be-food-e-ly'. "Vos Obtemperare!"

I noticed her ring flash once again, although this time a similar sapphire colour washed over the Headmaster in synch with it. Magick - with a 'k' - spells are cast using Latin because the first recorded Families date from ancient Rome and they wrote the first spell books. It wasn't actually necessary to use Latin but it was the magical equivalent of learning your ABC's so all those with the Craft cast in Latin. It was the same with the ‘ring’ or the ‘wand’ that warlocks used (nothing phallic about that right?). Magick needed a focus to be channelled through and while in theory this could be something as simple as a plastic rubber ducky, over time witches and warlocks had become so indoctrinated into using rings or wands that their perceptions prevented them from using anything else.

Oh, and for those like me whose Latin was pretty no existent, 'vos obtemperare' was an instruction for the Headmaster to obey her.

"You will return to your office and take a short nap. When you awake you will have forgotten everything that you have seen here."

In reply the Headmaster yawned and like an automaton stiffly turned and returned to his office. We both cringed as we heard him fall heavily to the ground shortly after closing his door.

"In hindsight I should probably have been more specific about where he was to take a nap," she said, tiredly rubbing her forehead.

"Ya think?"

"Less of the backchat young lady... Huh, I'd never have thought he would have had an open enough mind to have seen the girls."

I bristled a little at the young lady comment before my anger deflated when I remembered how I appeared to others at the moment.

Oh yeah. I should probably have mentioned this before but the Family business is magick. With a 'k', not that stage illusion crap. Dad's a warlock. Mom's a witch. In fact, about a good third or more of the people living in Ackholt are either witches or warlocks themselves or the mundane related by marriage to one. Collectively, we make up what is known as 'The Family'.

"Are you going to get into trouble for using the Craft on the Headmaster?" I asked, trying to change the subject.

In reply she shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know. I'll have to report the destruction of school property and the pixie incident just now that's for certain."

"I guess you'll probably be okay. Dad's Chairman of the Family Council after all and mum and a couple of my aunts also sit on it, so you'll have friends."

"Of course it's not just me that will be before the Family Council, Alan..."

"Oh that's going to be just... peachy," I groaned. "The one group of people I'm not going to get a fair hearing out of are my blood kin! I'm an embarrassment to them. The black sheep. The first member of the House of Goodspeed to turn his back on the Craft in ten generations. I'll be lucky if they don't throw the grimoire at me. Destruction of property involving the Craft in a public setting and allowing a normal person to see the existence of mythological creatures under my care are serious matters to them."

"There are thirteen people on the Family Council and you're only related to four of them."

"Like the other nine are any fonder of me. Beside it would need to be a lot more people than that if you think it's going to stop mum making a scene."

"If you offered to try to learn some of the basics of the Craft it might appease them a little and who knows you might find you like it? You really are turning your back on so much."

"Yeah, I'm missing centuries of persecution from the mundane majority, abuses of the Craft and blood feuds between the great Covens... oh I'm sorry, 'the great Houses' because we never miss an opportunity to sound like pretentious arses. I'm sooooo going to miss that," I mocked. "No way. I'm turning eighteen next year and then I'm off to university. I'm getting free of the grip of the Family and the Craft. Assuming they will let me..."

"Why wouldn't they? A lot of us leave to get an education. I've never known the Family to force anyone to stay. The only grounds I could think of would be in the case of those whose use of the Craft makes them a danger to others," said Dawn, her face creased in confusion. "I moved away after university after all."

"Yes, but you never broke your ties with the Family or the Craft and you moved back when you got divorced."

"Which was my choice."

"Of course it was. I'm sure no one ever tried to sell the benefits of moving back to Ackholt and living amongst the warmth and support of the Family again. No one ever talked about being with others who practice the Craft or how the Family would help you find a job, assist with childcare arrangements and always be there for you..."

"No. It's a good thing. A generous thing. When you twist it like that, it sounds... almost Machiavellian..."

"Just when I thought I was out..." I snarked in my best Pacino impression.

"That doesn't sound the same when you do it as a girl," giggled Dawn.

"Yeah, I know," I said with a sigh. Again. It's been a real morning for sighing. "I'm serious though. Don't take everything the Family does unquestioningly. The great Houses rule with absolute power in the affairs of the Craft and we know what people say about absolute power..."

"I always thought you weren't as stupid as you looked," said Dawn, smiling as she reached out to ruffle the top of my head. "And it's been a few years since I could do that to you without getting arm strain. How tall are you now?"

"5 foot 7 inches in my bare feet," I replied. "I really liked being 6' 4".

The school basketball team kind of liked it as well.

"Well that explains why your hands have disappeared under those sleeves..."

"Ta da!" I laughed, waving my newly revealed fingers as I bunched my long wet sleeves up at the elbows.

"So... if you leave the Family what happens about the girls?" asked Dawn, her face becoming more serious.

My expression softened as I looked at my pixie companions fluttering around the room.

"As I understand it, this is a life bond that only ends with the death of them or me. I'm told that they draw on my magical Talent for part of their sustenance. It's one of the reasons they were able to bond with me in the first place after all, so I know I can provide for them. Other than that they mainly eat cat food and Lion Bars, so whether I'm a member of the Family or not they'll be fine as long as I'm within easy access of a Tesco's."

Dawn laughed before reaching to affectionately mess with my hair again.

"You always were different even as a small child," she said, smiling at me. "Knowing you and how determined you can be, I'm sure you will get to live your dreams even if I can't say that I understand why you would want to turn your back on something that has been a great source of comfort to me in my life."

"Thanks," I replied, my voice hitching a little with emotion that this woman who I admired so much would have such faith in me even if she didn't understand why I was doing it. "You know you are just about the only member of the Family who doesn't look upon me as some sort of freak."

"Let's get your stuff and then wait out front until your mother gets here."

She waved off my attempt to hug her, grimacing at how wet I was.

"This is a clean wet right?" she asked, looking at her wet hand from where she had touched my hair.

"I hope so. I really do hope so," I sighed pulling a small piece of blue urinal cake from my hair. "But given the way my day has been..."

"I'll get some wet wipes," she replied, pulling a face as she held her hand out away from her. "You wait out front."
 

~o~O~o~
 
"She's here," said Dawn, pointing to the black people carrier as it pulled into the school visitor car park. "I'd better get back and check on the Headmaster."

"Thanks Dawn. I really mean it. I've never been able to talk to anyone in the Family before about this. Most of the 'discussions' I have with my parents end up in screaming matches."

"No problem," she giggled. "And thanks for the flowers."

"Flowers?"

Dawn moved slightly to reveal one of my pixies hovering beside her with a collection of freshly picked flowers in its arms.

"Lysithea!" I hissed. "Tell me you didn't just pick those from the flower beds in front of the school!"

"Tikka?"

"Well I think it's sweet that you wanted to give me flowers," said Dawn, smiling as she accepted the offering. "See you around Alan."

*sigh* Uncontrolled 24/7 broadcast empathy.

"Bye, Dawn."

I waved farewell to Dawn as she passed through the doors back into the school and braced myself for what was to come. Staring at the car, I briefly contemplated running away and joining the navy. A life of swashbuckling adventure on the high seas with a girl in every port sounded quite exciting in theory, though knowing my luck the girl in every port would be me.

"Alan! I'm not waiting here all day for you!" shouted my mother from the car, shaking me out of my daydream of freedom.

"Tikka! Grandma! Tikka!" called out Sonnet, swooping around my head and then off towards the car closely followed by the others.

"Yeah... tikka grandma tikka," I snarked, picking up my backpack and following them.

"In the back on the plastic," ordered my mother with a scowl. "And make sure you keep your little familiars with you. I don't want them playing with the climate controls again."

"Yes mother."

Her dark haired bob flicked as she quickly turned her head away, underlining how angry she was with me. Opening the door I slid onto the plastic, which turned out to be some hastily ripped dustbin black bags, and I gestured to my litter to follow me.

"And make sure they stay down out of sight will you. You're in enough trouble as it is young lady."

"Sit down please girls," I instructed, trying to mentally project an image of them sitting down on the back seat of the car. I couldn't help but smile as I watched Sonnet shoo some of the stragglers onto the back seat. She'd always been a little bossy and had sort of become the de facto leader of the group.

"I trust you'll keep them there until we get home?" asked my mother as she pulled out of the school car park.

"I'm sure between Sonnet and me we can keep them in order mum."

"Sonnet? Which one is that?"

"Fourteen mum. She's number fourteen."

"Well if you had kept the little collars with the numbered tags on them I'd be able to tell them apart."

"The fur patterns are slightly different on each of them mother, you just have to make the effort to learn them. Anyway, they don't like the collars. It makes them feel like pets."

"That's part of the problem right there," said my mother shaking her head. "If you give them names without the binding ritual it just encourages them to act up. It makes the relationship one of equals. It's a basic rule of the Craft. Names convey power and if you actually took an interest in your heritage then you'd understand that. I mean, what sort of name is Sonnet anyway?"

"There are fourteen lines in a Sonnet. They all have names that are in some way linked to the numbers you insisted on giving them."

And you wouldn't believe how difficult it was to come up with interesting names linked to fourteen numbers.

"Alan," snapped my mother. "You needed to be able to control them, directing them to individual tasks as required. They are tools. Your life might even depend on it one day. That's why I suggested the numbers. It's the main reason why those of us who do have proper familiars try to keep the relationship to that of mistress and servant."

"I never really thought of Moondust as a familiar," I murmured in a small voice. "She was just the family cat."

"And that was cute when you were a small child but as an adult you must see them for what they really are. They are your protectors when you can no longer protect yourself and conduits through which additional magical energy can be conjured to augment your own. Pure magic, that is magic harnessed through the old races like pixies, is far more powerful and unpredictable than that tamed by humans through the Craft. Properly controlled and bound to your will their magic would make you a very formidable opponent. You know all this."

"Bound to my will, mother. Bound. I would be taking away part of their free will in exchange."

"You are being melodramatic. Again. It's not enslavement, it's housetraining. Taming. They would not suffer any more than working animals do. A familiar is also a responsibility for the master or mistress and in return for your mastery over them you would be expected to care for them."

"Well it's a shame it is too late for that then isn't it?" I replied, a sly smile playing at the corner of my lips. "If only you could have found them when the bond was still fresh enough for a binding ceremony..."

"You know very well why we couldn't find them," said my mother, sparing me a withering glance in the rear view mirror. "Don't think I didn't notice that they mysteriously vanished for that entire first moon."

Actually, they'd gone no further than my sock draw but I'd managed to convey the need for them to hide themselves from the rest of my family through a series of drawings and a slightly awkward game of charades that wasn't helped by the fact neither of us spoke the others language. The signal for 'sounds like' in charades is no use if in one players language 'ride' and 'hide' don't rhyme.

"Well, what's done is done..." I tried hard not to look smug as I said it.

My mother let out a disgusted snort in reply and turned her attention to the road. I gently tickled 'Canada' on her tummy where she lay next to me. I felt a genuine smile form as she alternately squirmed and purred next to me.

"You will be appearing before the full Family Council at 7.30pm tonight to explain yourself," said my mother after a few minutes of uncomfortably loud and pointed silence. "I expect you to be dressed appropriately."

"Muuuuuuum, the cloak is so hot and heavy," I whined.

"Fine. If that's how you want to be then I will lend you a smart dress instead."

I could see my mother's raised eyebrow in the mirror daring me to call her bluff.

"Errr... On second thought, the cloak is fine."

"Good. Then that's decided," said my mother, rather too smugly for my liking. "Make sure you find your father or I before we leave tonight if you are still a girl and we will change you back. We don't want a repeat of what happened with the neighbours do we?"

"No mother," I said, blushing slightly at the memory of that incident.

I'd been not long after my transformations started and I was sorting the recycling, which was one of my punishments... sorry chores... for staying home from the Institute. My regular recycling buddy was old Mrs Gentry from next door who I helped out now and then with some of her sorting when her arthritis was playing up. We had struck up a firm friendship even if it was mostly that sort of stereotypically English way where you say a lot about nothing. I'd continued a conversation we had been having the previous day and was half-way through telling her about my winning try for the school rugby team when I realised I'd forgotten that I didn't look like Alan at that moment. Luckily, mum had spotted the whole thing and come out to 'introduce' me as my cousin Alannah visiting for the weekend.

I'm not sure what Mrs Gentry made of it, I think she suspected that I was one of those ladettes she read about in the Daily Mail but regardless she clearly never suspected the involvement of the Craft and that was all that mattered. Revealing the existence of the Craft to a non-Family member was a serious matter and as long as she never suspected that I was a magically transformed Alan, I was still golden with the Family Council. Or at least silvery or bronzy given my black sheep status. However, ever since then mum kept insisting on reminding me about how careless I was whenever she wanted to put me in my place. Was it any wonder I couldn't wait to leave home at the end of the next academic year?

Maybe I wouldn't wait that long. I could runaway and join the circus right now. I could visualise my act - the Amazing Alannah, Queen of the Pixies. Not that the majority of my audience would be able to see the pixies thinking about it but then flea circuses in the 19th Century didn't seem to stop the public turning up to watch something they couldn't see and at least my pixies could genuinely ride a bicycle.
 

~o~O~o~
 
I let out a growl of frustration as I struggled with the knot of my tie. Normally, I wore my tie in that simple school boy style used the world over but for official House Goodspeed matters I was required to wear the House tie in a Double Windsor knot. Normally I'd ask my mother to tie it for me as I had deliberately never bothered to learn the knot as another sign of my rejection of the Family. Tonight though I was determined not to go begging for her help again after having to ask her to turn me back to Alan earlier in the afternoon. It was tempting to learn how to use the Craft just to change my gender back on my own but I knew that even learning the one thing would mark the slippery slope into a life I was trying to escape. With a resigned sigh, I flopped down on my bed and dropped the pictorial guide to tying the Double Windsor that I'd printed off from the web. I'd been trying unsuccessfully for fifteen minutes to get it right with no luck. I was so fu--

"Alan? Do you need any help?" called my mother through my bedroom door. I swear that woman was psychic sometimes and I could hear the hint of smugness in her voice. She knew I couldn't tie my own knot properly and wanted me to go cap in hand for her help.

"I'm fine mum!" I yelled, unable to stop an edge of teenage petulance creeping into my voice.

"There's no need to take that tone with me young man. Your father asked me to check you were ready as we're leaving in five minutes."

"I'll be down in a minute."

"We'll be expecting you. You know your father has to be there early as the Chairman of the Family Council."

As I heard her footsteps receding down the stairs I let out another squeal of frustration. Looking across my bedroom to the tailors dummy with the long royal blue hooded cloak hanging from it. I knew there was no way I'd get away with hiding a normal knot. The clasp holding the two sides of the cloak together was designed to show the area around the base of the neck. I was sooooo screwed.

A fluttering noise from beside the bed drew my attention, and I turned to see Sonnet hovering next to me with a broad smile on her face.

"Momma?"

I felt my body tingle as she spoke and I shifted a little uncomfortably as my body changed.

"Yes baby girl?" I asked, cringing slightly when I realised what I had said.

The flow of love through our empathic connection washed away much of my tension but also resulted in my lapsing into more maternal mode. One of the Family Elders had suggested that this was a self-defence mechanism in the bonding to ensure that I would not harm my newly acquired offspring. To be honest at moments like this I didn't care, the warmth and strength of the feeling of the love I received from my litter was almost giddying.

"Tikka! Hay-ulp Momma! Tikka!"

"How can you hay-ulp? I mean help," I asked, sitting up slightly.

"We can do it, we can do it! We can help our Momma!" she sang, tugging at one of my hands. "We can make her dress so pretty."

"I'm cutting back the amount of Disney Channel time you guys get," I laughed, letting her pull me to my feet. Around me other members of the litter buzzed.

"There's nothing to it really, we'll tie a sash around it," sang out Sunflower and Canada grasping opposite ends of my tie. To my side I noticed Pell holding up the instructions for the knot that I'd dropped which Sonnet proceeded to demonstrate like some imaginary Tie Airways stewardess going through the in-flight safety demonstration.

"Put a ribbon through it," sang Sunflower and Canada, checking periodically back with Sonnet as they worked. To my amazement the two pixies, swooped and looped around each other tying a perfect knot.

"Yessssss!" I exclaimed, clenching a fist in victory.

"When dancing at the ball, Momma will be more beautiful than all, in the lovely dress we'll make for Momma!" chorused the remaining members of the litter as they lifted my robe off the dummy and lightly draped it across my shoulders. Sonnet zipped back and forth directing minor adjustments to the positioning of the cloaks oversized hood which was currently draped over my shoulders and down my back. Once satisfied she signalled for the clasp at the front to be closed in position, locking with a delicate 'click'.

"Perfect," I beamed at my reflection in the mirror. Well perfect apart from the fact my trousers pooled around my ankles and my sleeves ended well past my hands due to the loss of 9 inches in height as a result of my transformation. The tie and cloak however were both perfectly positioned though. "Thank you all so much for your help."

I received a flurry of small kisses on my cheek in response before the litter flew back their converted cat basket bed.

I wiped a small happy tear from my eye. "Damn empathic connection."

"Tikka! Momma! Prit-ty!" sang Sonnet as she landed on my shoulder.

I turned slightly to look at myself in the wardrobe door mirror, my long wavy fair hair framed my heart shaped face with its high cheek bones. If I had to say so myself my eyes were my best feature, a beautiful hazel colour with long thick lashes that were underlined by a smattering of freckles. I had my mother's nose, which I had to say wasn't her best feature and my lips were a little narrower than I normally liked in a girl. I wasn't beautiful but I wasn't plain either.

"Pretty? Maybe..." I said, a smile on my face as I bit my lip slightly and flirted with my reflection. Was I pretty? I wasn't a 10 or a 9 but I was definitely a 7... in the right light, maybe an 8? I could live with that.

I could... what? Where the hell did that thought come from? Okay, I'll admit I was quite used to the gender change after over half a year of flipping and I wasn't freaked out by it anymore but I never embraced it. I'd clung desperately to the belief that I was the same regardless of the packaging and made no attempt to make any gender related adjustments. I wonder if it could be the empathic connection making me feel like this?

"Sonnet, sweetie, I need to turn back to Alan again."

"Tikka?"

"Alan. I need to look like Alan again," I said, carefully scooping her into my hand. I pointed to a picture stuck to the side of my mirror taken last year during our annual family holiday. "I need to look like that."

"Tikka?"

"Me," I said pointing to myself. "Look like that." I pointed to the picture of my male self.

"Tikka!"

A feeling like goosebumps surged across my skin and I watched with tears of joy as my reflection morphed from my girl form back to my normal male form.

"Finally! I got you to under--" I clamped my free hand over my mouth at the sound of my female voice.

"Tikka?" asked Sonnet, who with a push rose from my hand.

"Testing?" I whispered before clearing my throat.

"Testing?" I repeated more audibly. "Damn it."

I let my fingers tentatively touch my throat, noticing the absence of my Adam's apple. As I did so I felt my forearm brush against something that wasn't supposed to be there and indeed, looking down there was no sign of. Despite what my sense of touch told me my eyes kept telling me I possessed a flat male chest.

"Of course," I groaned. "It's a glamour. I said 'look like Alan' not 'be Alan'. Just great."

I'd been around the Family long enough to recognise some aspects of the Craft. I remember my older sister using an enhancement glamour before a date to hide spots and other imperfections. A very good glamour could even fool other members of the Family if they weren't actively looking for it.

"Tikka?" asked a smiling Sonnet as she floated in front of me.

Great. I can just hear my mother telling me it served me right. She wouldn't miss the opportunity to gloat over how if I embraced my heritage I'd be able to undo this on my own. I so need this on a night in which I'm going to be roasted - figuratively I hope - by the Family Council.

I squealed in anger, kicking at the waste paper basket under my desk. I had no choice but to try and brazen it out and hope no one noticed the glamour or even worse that it wore off while I'm speaking to the Family Council.

Noticed... damn. The height difference is going to be an immediately obvious sign.

"Sonnet, sweetie, please undo this," I begged again.

"Tikka?"

"Alan Lewis Goodspeed! Will you get a move on!" shouted my mother from the bottom of the stairs.

Damn. Damn. Damn.

"Alan! Answer your mother! Do you hear me?" bellowed my father, joining in. This was bad in that it meant he'd got fed up waiting and come back in from the garage.

"Sonnnnnnet?"

"Tikka?"

"Alan!" That last shout from my father was accompanied by the sound of him stomping up the stairs. Great. Now he's got a cob on as well.

"Sonnnnnnnnet? Please, for me?" I begged, my hands pressed together in prayer. "Pretty please?"

"Tikka! Momma prit-ty," sang Sonnet.

"Alan!" shouted my father, throwing the door open. "If you aren't dres--"

"Oh... you're ready," said my father, stopping in mid-tirade. "Why didn't you answer me?"

"Da--" I stopped and cleared my throat, trying to lower the pitch of my voice.

*Ahem* "Dad. Problems with my tie."

"Sore throat son? You sound very hoarse."

Oh my god, it's actually working. Although I think I sound more like Christian Bale's batman but with a less monotone delivery. Yeah, evildoers beware, I'm Pixie(wo)man.

"Tikka! Grandpa! Tikka!" cooed Sonnet, fluttering to him in greeting and saving me the need to speak. In reply my father gently but firmly waived her away from him.

"I can make your sore throat go away you know. I just wish you'd let us use our Craft skills to help you. Your brother and sisters have never had a day off sick in their lives and yet all you do is suffer unnecessarily," said my father, a weary tone in his voice. He was a good man and I knew it hurt him to watch me suffer when he could help me. He held his hand up to silence me when I started to reply. "I know. I know. You want to be 'normal'. It's overrated if you ask me."

I stifled a snort at that. I'm a girl wearing an illusion of my true self about to be hauled before a coven of witches and warlocks because of something done by my adoptive pixie children. From where I was standing in boxer shorts that were riding uncomfortably, normal looked like the promised land.

"Don't think for a moment that most of your normal friends would accept you if they knew about the Craft or the Family..." said my father before shaking his head in resignation. "Okay, let's go son."

He signalled for me to follow him. As I took a step forward I felt my feet slipping in and out of my shoe.

"Errr..." *Ahem* "I need to change my socks dad. These have a hole in and its cutting into my toe," I muttered. That and keep Gotham safe from crime.

"Oh for the love of... you've got one minute. You better be down stairs by the time I reach the car. You understand me?"

I nodded my head in response, not wanting to risk tripping up by speaking any more than I had too. Not least because my Christian Bale voice was actually beginning to make my throat genuinely hoarse.

My father canted his head to the side for a moment, staring intently at me.

"There's something different about you," mused my father with a frown. "I just don't know what it is."

I shrugged in response, feeling a trickle of sweat run down my back.

"I think it's seeing you in that suit and cloak for the first time in ages. You are starting to become an adult. A man," he said as his frown softened.

Nervously fidgeting with my collar I couldn't help but pray that he didn't discover how far from the truth that statement was right now.

"I... it seems like only yesterday you were so small, now look at you. I just wish that you would learn to take some responsibility in respect of your heritage. The world isn't always as kind on people like us as it is here in Ackholt and living in denial of your birthright isn't going to help you, as much as you might wish it too. I'm not trying to stop you from chasing your dreams whatever you may think, I just wish you'd work with us so that we could do it in such a way as to be compatible with the needs of the Family. I probably don't say this as often as I should son, but I do lo... care... about you. Very much."

My heart skipped a beat as he took a step towards me, arms starting to reach out for me. In a state of abject panic I was repeating the mantra 'please don't try and hug me' over and over in my mind. The glamour might be masking my appearance but my true state would be revealed by the contact of a hug. After a half a step he hesitated and instead of hugging me placed a hand on my shoulder.

"I'll see you down stairs. One minute remember."

I deflated like a balloon as he left the room, letting out a loud exhale. The steady trickle of sweat running down my side was a demonstration that my anti-perspirant was 39% nice smell, 60% outrageous marketing claims about my irresistibility to women and only 1% science. Thank heaven for that old fashioned slightly awkward English reserve my father had about hugging anyone other than my mother. The more pressing question was how he failed to notice the changes in me even with the glamour.

"Some sort of perception filter or trust spell to make him not question my height difference?" I mused aloud. "It must be a powerful one too for dad not to notice it at a conscious level."

"Tikka?"

"It was rhetorical," I replied, wearily massaging my temples with my hand. Slipping out of my shoes I grabbed a couple of pairs of sports socks from my draw. It would be uncomfortable as hell but worth it if it kept my shoes on and got one over on mum. Let her see how little I needed her help.

Pulling a couple of pairs of my thickest sports socks over my existing socks I squeezed my now thickly cotton padded feet back into my shoes.

"Hmmm... bit tight now if anything," I said to myself, taking a few test steps. "Still can't be helped."

After folding my trousers up enough so that I wasn’t standing on them, I carefully scooped Sonnet out of the air and put her down in the converted faux fur lined cat box on my dresser that was serving as their nest.

"Be good," I said to my litter. "Remember no internet and if I'm late, no tv after 9.00pm and no eating after midnight. Do you understand?"

"Tikka?"

"I'll take that as a yes. Be good and don't wait up!" I called as I closed the bedroom door behind me.
 

~o~O~o~
 
The squeak of the hinges on the doors in front of me signalled that after nearly two hours of waiting my moment had finally come. Pausing Kate Rusby in mid-song on my iPhone I rose to my feet. Standing between the double doors was a tall middle aged man with an inscrutable expression on his face like some butler out of a costumed drama.

"Master Alan Goodspeed... the Council requests your presence," he said with a slight bow.

Taking a deep breath I carefully wrapped my headphone cable around my iPhone, using the time it gave me to compose myself, before sliding it under my cloak into my suit pocket. Clearing my throat to affect my 'male' voice, I tugged at the edges of my cloak trying to ensure it hung correctly.

"Do I look okay Jenkins?" I asked.

"You like fine Master Goodspeed. Every inch the future warlock."

"Don't get your hopes up," I snorted as I strolled past him into the Council Chamber. "I turn 18 and I'm never setting foot in here again."

"Think what you like Master Goodspeed but mark my words. Blood will out," replied Jenkins. The patronising tone in his voice really got my hackles raised.

"Mark my words Jenkins, this blood is out of here."

As the double doors squeaked closed behind me I slowed my walk a little in order to allow my eyes adjust to the gloom and tried to ignore the sound of Jenkins footsteps following behind me. Up ahead was the raised horseshoe shaped podium on which the thirteen members of Family Council were usually seated, although I noticed there were only twelve members of the Council present. The backlighting combined with the raised hoods of their cloaks shrouded their faces in darkness making it impossible to see which member of the Council wasn't seated. Glancing upwards I spotted a dark cloth embroidered with small golden stars. It gave a limited impression of the roof being open to the stars while not actually being outdoors. Modern witches and warlocks preferred the comforts of the indoors over meetings on Shakespearean style blasted heaths.

I came to a halt in front of the Council at a small chest height lectern, trying to suppress a smile as I noticed the lines of the centre circle of the indoor netball court running under my feet. In typical English fashion the Family Council Chamber was a multi-use facility, doubling as a sports hall at other times. The overall impression of the Council Chamber was that of a nice homely feel rather than the intimidating environment I suspected it was supposed to be. I dare say that it would have invoked more reverence if I'd actually been bothered about the Craft and the Family.

"Merry we meet, Master Goodspeed," intoned a deep voice from beside me. Flinching slightly in surprise I turned to see a figure cloaked in the navy blue robes of one of the many different Chapters of House Goodspeed. Personally, I thought my own royal blue robes were a more flattering colour.

"Jeez Uncle John," I squeaked before remembering to lower my voice. "Uhhh… what's with the sneaking up on me?"

He wasn't a blood uncle but rather an honorary one as he was a close family friend who I'd known all my life. Despite the lack of blood ties he was always my favourite uncle. In response to my question he raised his right hand slightly to show me the wand in it.

Yeah, there's absolutely nothing phallic at all about the tradition of women using rings but men using wands to cast magick. Technically all the wand or ring was, was a focus for the craft. I thought the ring was a much better approach as it saved having to carry a separate wand in a pocket but y’know, ‘tradition’.

"What? Seriously?" I asked, my voice rising in pitch a little in anger. "You think I'd come in here carrying? I don't even have a wand!"

"I'm sorry. I know in your case it's a formality but everyone who comes before the Council now has to undergo it," he replied, having the decency to look a little embarrassed.

"Since when has the Council been doing this?" I asked, raising my arms as if to be pat down.

"Magica abscondita revelare!" exclaimed Uncle John, waving the wand around me much like an inspection at an airport. "Since things have taken a turn for the worse between the feuding Great Houses on the Continent."

"What do you mea--"

"Wait... I've got something..."

Uncle John pointed to the folds of my cloak's hood with his wand. A bright golden glow emitted from deep in the hood, slowly rising and emerging in the air behind me. Behind me I could hear Jenkins' heavy footsteps as he rushed towards me.

"Tikka?"

"Whoa!" I called out, interposing myself between my uncle's raised wand and the stowaway pixie floating in a ball of golden light. "Everyone calm down! She's one of mine! Chill!"

Reaching out with a finger, Sunflower burst the ball of golden light like it was a soap bubble and spun to face the red faced and rapidly closing figure of Jenkins who had drawn his own wand and had started to utter the first words of a spell.

"Tikka Tikkety!" she growled as Jenkins was swallowed up in a similar golden ball of light to that which had imprisoned Sunflower. I gently reached out and pushed the floating ball of light away from me, smiling as it gently tumbled away with an immobile Jenkins inside.

Turning to Uncle John, I gestured for him to lower his wand which he did after a moment's hesitation.

"How dare you insult this Council by bringing that... that... creature... here!" screeched a voice from the podium.

I turned to see one of the Council members rising to her feet. I think it was Mrs Dorian from the shrill sound of her voice and her aquamarine coloured robes. I'd never particularly liked her but didn't feel too bad about it as the feeling was mutual. I stepped back to the lectern, gently ruffling the fur on Sunflower's belly. She rolled over on the slope where papers normally were placed, squirming and purring under my ministrations.

"Which one is that?" asked a voice that could only be my mother. The hood on her cloak was slightly tilted to one side and I couldn't help feel that I was being intently studied by her.

"Hi mum," I said waving to her seat on the podium and forcing as jovial a tone into my Christian Balesque voice as I could. "It's Sunflower."

"John step back and return to your seat if you will," said my mother in an even voice. "Sunflower and Canada are Alan's main guardians. Sunflower will interpret any threatening move towards my son by anyone other than immediate blood family as a hostile act and will react accordingly. I'm guessing that my son's feelings of goodwill towards you are the only reason you aren't like Jenkins right now."

Actually, I had no clue if that was the case but pressing my advantage I smiled genially towards Uncle John and nodded my head slightly in acknowledgement of what my mother had said. His eyes fixed on the golden ball of light that held Jenkins as he slowly backed away towards his seat on the podium.

"Merry we meet Master Goodspeed," intoned my father in a formal voice from the centre seat of the podium. "I don't suppose you could see your way to asking Sunflower to release Jenkins?"

"Merry we meet dad," I replied, the slight nod of deference ruined by the smirk on my face. "I'll try but I can't guarantee anything."

"Sunflower, would you please release Jenkins?" I asked as I continued to rub her tummy trying not to convey any mental sincerity to my words. In response she just giggled and purred. We all watched as Jenkins bounced off the back wall of the room and started to gently spin upwards towards the ceiling.

"Erm... no. I guess not. Not to worry though as their magic usually wear off after a couple of hours. Maybe you could tie him to something until then?"

I tried not to smile as I heard Uncle John suppress a laugh that earned him what I'm sure would have been a dirty look from Mrs Dorian had we been able to see her face. A faint groan from my father attracted my attention and I noticed that his head was tilt forward into his hands. If I had to guess I would say he was probably having one of his headaches. I'm sure it was coincidental that he seemed to have so many when I was about.

"Let's get this over with," my father said out loud. "We've heard from Miss Bradbury her version of events at the school. Would you be so kind as to furnish us with yours?"

"What?" bellowed Mrs Dorian, rising to her feet yet again. "You ask him to give evidence before the Council when he has yet to be placed under the 'Geas of Truth'?"

"He is already under a 'Vow of Obligation' so there is no need," said my mother. "I will know if he speaks a lie."

As I said earlier, we take our promises seriously in my Family. Unlike a geas which has a physical consequence for breaking it, a Vow of Obligation purely conveys upon the caster the ability to know whether the subject is, or has previously broken, the obligation of the vow. In my case this would be to speak a lie. I know some shall we say, less romantic, couples in the Family use them as part of their pre-wedding vows in respect of fidelity. My parents used them from time to time as punishments for us kids as they had the advantage of being non-binding thereby allowing us to break them if necessary for our or the Family's protection while still enabling our parents to know if we broke the vow. Try that with a geas and you might find yourself suffering twenty-four hours of boils or something equally unpleasant no matter how noble your reason for breaking the geas was.

"And we're going to accept that?" snapped Mrs Dorian, her hood turning slightly as she looked around the horseshoe at the Council members.

"Umm... yes?" replied the figure at the end of the horseshoe on my right. "I trust Mistress Goodspeed to appraise us if her son tries to lie."

"Yesssss!" I hissed under my breath. "Way to go Aunt Sophie."

Seeing no support from the rest of the Council Mrs Dorian rather petulantly slumped back in her seat causing it to creak slightly under her weight, which like her age was I'm sure something that was greater than she ever publicly admitted too.

"Master Goodspeed, your version of events please?" asked my father.

I kind of felt a little for him trying to hang onto the seriousness of the proceedings despite the fact that Jenkins' bubble was bouncing along the ceiling. This was compounded by the fact that I knew pretty much everyone on the Council thereby negating the whole reason for the cloaks in the first place.

"Well, as you know I've been trying to teach my litter about the differences between what's real and what's not and to understand the concept of consequences. So, I've been showing them tv programmes where they debunk urban myths through sort of DIY science."

"And?"

"Well, I think they decided to conduct their own DIY myth busting after watching a cartoon where one of the characters cherry bombed the school toilets causing water to spout out of them."

"Truth," announced my mother.

"I have a question," asked Mrs Dorian.

"The Chair recognises Mistress Dorian," sighed my father.

"Master Goodspeed. Is it true that you did not complete the binding ritual to control your little pes... familiars?"

"Yes."

"Truth," said my mother confirming my statement. Not that she needed the magic of the vow for that one.

"And why was that?"

"Because my parents were unable to locate them for the first moon," I responded. I knew she was going somewhere with this even if for the moment it escaped me.

"But you knew where they were during that first moon didn't you?"

So this was where she was going with this line of questioning. It was one thing for my parents and I to both know unspokenly that I had hidden my litter during that first moon but it was another thing entirely for my denials to be exposed so boldly as lies while surrounded as we were by other members of the Council. It was becoming clear to me now that Mrs Dorian's intent was not just to get her pound of flesh from me but to also make my parents squirm as well. I glanced a hastily at my mother, keeping my counsel to myself.

"Master Goodspeed? Please answer my question."

"Chairman, I don't see how this is relevant," interrupted Uncle John. "I move that Mistress Dorian confine her questions to the event for which Alan is before us for judgement."

"Ahh but I am," replied Mrs Dorian, sounding insufferably smug. "I'm attempting to establish that Master Goodspeed has previously been negligent in the command of his familiars and that such negligence led directly to today's incident."

"Alan... please answer the question," said my father.

I felt my shoulders drop in response to my father's words. "I... yes, I knew where they were during the first moon."

"And you deliberately withheld that knowledge from your parents with the intent to prevent the binding ritual from being performed?"

"Yes," I replied in a quiet voice, avoid the eyeless gazes of the Council's darkened hoods.

"Mistress Goodspeed?" asked Mrs Dorian, positively crowing.

"Truth and Truth," said my mother after a moment's hesitation. I could hear the pain in her voice.

"I put to you Council Members, that Master Goodspeed was negligent in the control of his familiars and that the direct consequence of this was the property destruction and the exposure of a creature of The Golden Court to a mundane," said Mrs Dorian, rising to her feet. "A fact further compounded before this very Council in respect of poor Master Jenkins!"

"Hey! He drew on us!"

"I move that Master Goodspeed be placed under a Geas of Agony compelling him to learn the Craft so that he may be better placed to prevent any such reoccurrence of today's events!" yelled Mrs Dorian, drowning out my further protests. A Geas of Agony was exactly what it said on the tin. I'd be wracked with unbearable pain if I didn't fulfil the conditions of the geas.

The sound of overlapping voices in argument from the members of the Council was brought to an abrupt end by my father banging his gavel on a small wooden block in front of him.

"Before I call for a seconder for Mistress Dorian's proposal, does anyone else wish to speak?" asked my father, scanning the podium. A raised finger from him silenced me.

"Excuse me Chairman, if I may ask a question of Master Goodspeed?" asked an accented male voice that I didn't recognise. His seat was that of Old Warlock Hargrove's who had died a few months previously. He had no blood kin to take his place and I tried to recall the Chapter represented by the newcomers Cambridge Blue cloak, the greener hue to it making him stand out from the other assorted more traditional blues.

"The Chair recognises Master Bonvitesse," said my father with a wave of his hand.

So the accent was French. He definitely didn't learn his English here as there was a sound to it that wasn't English-English if you know what I mean.

"Did you know they were planning to do this... experiment? Or otherwise indicate that they should test ideas in such a manner?"

"No."

"Truth," announced my mother with evident relief in her voice.

"Thank you Mistress Goodspeed," replied Master Bonvitesse with a nod to my mother. "Despite the comments of Mistress Dorian, I am satisfied your son's recollection tallies with the earlier testimony provided by Miss Bradbury that Alan had no hand in this matter. I do have one more question though..."

"You may proceed," said my father with a nod.

"Did it work?" asked Master Bonvitesse with a hint of amusement in his voice.

"I'm sorry?" I asked.

"Did it duplicate the cartoon with all the water spouting out of the toilets?"

"Ummm...no," I replied, a crimson blush spreading across my face. "I don't know what they used for explosives but it destroyed all four cubicles and ripped the water pipes out of what was left of the wall. And I mean destroyed the cubicles. And the other fixtures and fittings. The largest piece of porcelain left that I could see was no more than a few centimetres long. Ironically, the only thing that seemed to survive anywhere near intact was the casing of the explosive which is why I ended up in the Headmaster's office."

"Truth."

"Thank you Chairman. I have no further questions. I seek to move that Master Goodspeed not be held accountable to this Council for the events of today."

"Does that proposal have a seconder?" asked my father looking along the horseshoe.

Uncle John raised a hand in response. "I second the proposal."

"Thank you John. Now, do we have a seconder for Mistress Dorian's proposal that Alan be placed under a Geas of Agony so as to learn to better control his familiars?" asked my father.

I tried my hardest not to laugh at the unseen expression of outrage that I felt Mrs Dorian wore when no one on the Council moved to second her proposal. Receiving no indications of anyone wishing to speak in support of Mrs Dorian my father continued.

"On that basis, I call for a vote that we accept Master Goodspeed's explanation of events. All in favour?"

I watched with relief as my father counted the raised hands. By my count I had ten members of the Council, excluding my father who as Chairman rarely voted except to use a casting vote in the event of deadlock.

"All against?"

I snorted quietly as Mrs Dorian raised her hand.

"Abstentions?"

I was a little surprised to see my mother raise her hand at this point. Whether it was to preserve her neutrality in the matter of her own son or whether she just couldn't bring herself to side with Mrs Dorian remained to be seen.

"On that basis, it is carried and it shall be entered into the records as soon as the clerk stops bouncing off the ceiling."

Uncle John gave me a thumbs up from his seat. Letting out a sigh of relief, I felt my legs buckle slightly as the tension flowed out of me.

"Mister Chairman! This is outrageous!" cried Mrs Dorian. "Surely the boy deserves punishment for his actions!"

I silently wished for a tornado to drop a house on her to no avail.

"Chairman, if I may?" asked the hooded figure of my Aunt Sophie. "While not agreeing with Mistress Dorian's earlier proposal it would seem to be appropriate that some form of sanction be applied in the circumstances."

A small groan escaped from my mouth at that suggestion. The hoods of the other Council members bobbed up and down.

"Agreed," said my father, a stern tone in his voice. "Does anyone have any suggestions… other than a Geas."

"Chairman?" asked Master Bonvitesse, raising a hand. "I realise that I am new this Council but may I ask why your son is not studying at the Institute with the rest of the children of age and possessing the Talent? I could understand if he had no talent for the Craft but clearly if he is able to sustain those creatures he has it."

"He has declined the opportunity to learn the Craft from a very early age Master Bonvitesse," said my father, his hand disappearing into his hood I assume to massage his temples again. "We hoped it was something that he might grow out of as he got older like his dislike of peas--"

"-- or his insistence on dressing up as a ballerina," interrupted Aunt Sophie with a gentle giggle. "He was so cute."

"Yes, thank you Sophie for bringing that up," replied my father. I felt my face burn with embarrassment and studied the markings on the floor intently, unable to look anyone in the hood.

"Anyway, I hoped it would be a phase but if anything it's got worse. He won't learn the Craft and he still won't eat his peas."

"And as for the ballerina outfit?" asked Master Bonvitesse, struggling to hide the amusement from his voice.

At this moment I was glad of the darkened state of the room as it meant no one could clearly see my blush.

"Anyway, I agree with him on the pea issue," laughed Master Bonvitesse. "But could you not have sent him to the Institute anyway?"

"No. He's my son and while I don't understand or agree with it, I respect his decision to be his own man."

I looked up to unexpectedly meet my father's gaze, as he pulled his hood back. The simple nod of respect he gave me meant as much to me as a hundred thousand words. He was acknowledging my freedom to choose my own life publicly for the first time. I felt my chest tighten as the implications of those words sunk in. Maybe there was a sliver of a chance that I could leave the Family but not leave my family, something I had assumed until now would be impossible.

"I understand," responded Master Bonvitesse in a slow, measured tone. "However, there have been unintentional consequences to his lack of control. I have heard that there is a Family run group for those who have the Talent but either are not suited to or choose not to attend, the Institute?”

Oh no, no, no… this is so not good.

“You mean the Corrective Craft Group?”

“Yes. Would not your son be suited to attending that? He can still avoid the Institute while learning how to better guide his familiars. They are going to be together for a long time after all.”

A smile crossed my father's face before he slowly pulled his hood back up. "I like your thinking Master Bonvitesse. Does this suggestion meet with the approval of the Council?”

“Daaaaad, please not the Misfits…”

‘The Misfits’ was what the kids with the Talent called the Corrective Craft Group, an assortment of the inept, the incorrigible and the awkward. The thought of spending three evenings a week studying remedial Magick with them made what little street cred I had in the town want to curl up and die. However, a chorus of ‘ayes’ drowned out anything further I had to say on the matter.

“Then it is agreed. Master Goodspeed you are ordered to attend the Corrective Craft Group for a period of six months after which this Council will review your progress and determine whether further corrective measures need to be applied.”

“But daaaaad–“

“This meeting is now closed,” announced my father banging his gavel on the desk.
 

~o~O~o~
 
"I feel a little bad that Uncle John has to wait for Jenkins' bubble to expire," I said, my first words to my parents since we’d left the Council. I was still a little pissed at having been sentenced to the Misfits but dad had made it clear that the matter wasn’t for further discussion so I’d spent the last ten minutes sulking. Resting my head against the cool window of the car I watched the streets of Ackholt glisten in the light rain that had cooled the air considerably from earlier in the day.

"He didn't seem to mind," said my father glancing back at me. "Someone had to do it and besides, he'd already said he'd stay and help clear up so that everything was ready for the netball league tomorrow night."

"Oh yeah. I'd forgotten they play Wednesday's."

I enjoyed most ball games with a passion but with my height, and by that I mean my real male height, I had an edge at games like basketball and netball. I wasn't good enough to consider playing professionally, not that there was any real money in playing basketball outside the US, but at a school level I was quite good. I'd made the difficult choice of giving up mixed netball when my schedule started to overload, opting to get my round ball fix through the school boys’ basketball team. I really did miss netball though.

"Alan..." asked my mother looking out her doors window as she spoke, her voice had a hint of something I couldn't quite place in it. “Why didn't you change into a girl when Sunflower defended you?"

Oh... shoot. It hadn't even occurred to me that in putting so much effort into looking like Alan that it might be suspicious if I stayed like Alan.

"Umm... well, I'm..."

"And what's wrong with your voice? It keeps creeping up in pitch."

"I'm..."

Fine? Can I get away with saying fine to my own personal human lie detector? I mean is it really a lie? I'm not freaking out about being a girl after all.

"I'm... not quite feeling myself," I answered, biting at the corner of my lip as I watched the sapphire ring on my mother's hand pulse slowly in affirmation of my statement.

"That throat still bothering you son? You still sound a bit hoarse," asked my father absently, his attention focused on checking his mirrors before turning the car into our road. "If you aren't going to let me help then the least you can do is take something for it when we get home. I don't want to have to listen to you coughing all night. I think we've still got some of that mundane cough syrup from the last time you were ill."

"Umm... yeah," I replied clearing my throat.

"You never answered my question, about why you didn't turn into a girl back at the Council," asked my mother.

"Ummm... because..."

A brief flash of colour caught my eye as I looked out of the car window.

"Wait... is that Mrs Gentry gardening in the dark?" I asked, squinting into the darkness.

"I think it is," said my father slowing as we approached the short concrete slope leading to our garage. "Do you think she's gone..." My father whistled a cuckoo sound to finish his words.

"Hush Jeff," chided my mother, gently slapping my father's arm. "She's a sweet old lady and she's a hell of a lot better neighbour than the Anderson's were."

"Mum, she's not wearing a coat," I said taking a good look at her. "She'll get wet and it's cold out there tonight."

The car bumped slightly as dad mounted the dropped kerb and coasted to a stop in front of the garage.

"Fine. Fine. I'll put the car away and go check on her," said my father, fumbling in the armrest storage space for the remote for the garage door. "I see her son's car in their drive, so if she seems out of it I'll speak to him. Okay?"

"You park the car. I'll go check on her," I said releasing my seatbelt. "She's my friend."

"I'll come with you. If she is... well, this could be a confusing and traumatic experience for her," said my mother, releasing her own seatbelt. "Just make sure your familiar doesn't come with us."

"She has a name," I huffed, turning to the pixie stretching out on the backseat next to me. I tried hard to project the image of her returning to the house with dad, hoping that once indoors she'd instinctively return to the others. "Sunflower, go inside with dad."

"Jeff, do you mind putting our cloaks away?" asked mum.

"What? Oh Yeah, that's fine Angelika," said my father looking up. "I think someone moved the garage remote from the car, so I've got to go inside and find it anyway."

That was my dad in a nut shell. Powerful and influential warlock to the world but, well a dad really behind the scenes - an embarrassingly bad dancer, a little awkward expressing emotions and always losing things but never admitting it. A favourite tactic of his was to put things in a quote 'safe place'. It was usually so safe we wouldn't find it again without one of them resorting to a Spell of Finding.

"Remember to take your cloak off before you leave the car," added my mother glaring at me as I was half-way out of the car. "I don't care if it's raining, there's no need to advertise the Family to a stranger and if she asks--"

"--we've been to a meeting of the Ackholt Civic Society," I intoned in a bored air. "I know the cover story."

"It was a presentation on crime and punishment if she asks," said my mother pointedly as she released the clasp on her cloak and exited from the opposite side of the vehicle.

I heard my mother fall into step behind me as we crossed from our drive to the neighbours. The small droplets of a light spring drizzle clung to my jacket and I pulled my upturned collar up around my neck as I hurried towards Mrs Gentry. Our house, like most of those in the road, was semi-detached with the driveway on the detached side paired with the drive of the adjacent property's detached side, creating rows of spaced out triangles. The front area to Mrs Gentry's house still in its original configuration, unlike many of the properties who had paved over the garden, and was dominated by a rectangle of lawn surrounded by a border of flower beds. In the eighteen months Mr and Mrs Gentry had lived in the house she'd thrown her life into creating a beautiful English country garden look.

"Why are you walking funnily?" asked my mother. "It's almost like you are walking like a g--"

I hurriedly glanced over my shoulder to see my mother shaking her head, the observation she had been trying to form had been lost due to the perception filter. The fact she had come so close to articulating it however, told me that I was running out of time. Quickening my pace I stepped over the border that lined the lawn side of Mrs Gentry's drive onto the small crazy paving path.

"Mrs Gentry?" I called out as we approached her.

Kneeling down next to her, I could see that she had been planting some flowers in preparation for the summer and she had her array of gardening tools neatly laid out next to her. She looked up at me, wiping some wet hair from where it had stuck to her forehead, her milky blue eyes struggling to focus on me for a moment.

"Mrs Gentry? Are you okay?"

Mrs Gentry blinked a couple of times before her face brightened with a smile.

"Hello Alan," she replied. "I'd hope to run into you. What brings you over? Is there a problem with the recycling again? Only I told George to be more careful with where he put our wheelie bin this time."

"No it's fine," I said returning her smile. "I came to check you were okay, being out here this late without a coat an' all."

She blinked a few times, her face creasing in puzzlement.

"Late dear?" she asked, looking up at the partially cloud obscured stars. "What time is it?"

"It's gone ten Agnes," said my mother from behind me. "How long have you been out here?"

"Not... I... I don't know," her head canted slightly in thought. "I don't even remember coming out here. It... it just seemed the right thing to do, to be gardening, I'm not sure why though."

"Why don't we gather up your things and we'll go inside? I'll go and nudge George to get you a towel and put the kettle on," said my mother.

Mrs Gentry nodded slowly in response. I couldn't help but smile. A cup of tea. The ultimate English solution to all ills.

"Alan, please could you help pick up all her gardening things?"

"Sure mum," I said gathering up lose flower pots and placing them on a plastic tray. "It won't take long."

My mother nodded, favouring Mrs Gentry with a sad smile as she stepped past us and heading for the house. She mimed the words 'I'll speak to her son' to me as she hurried towards their house.

"Thank you Alan," said Mrs Gentry, her voice hitching slightly with emotion. "I... I don't know what to say. I must seem so foolish."

I struggled to find the appropriate words. What do you say to someone potentially looking at the on-set of dementia? It's okay? Because with what little I know about the subject, okay seems to be the last thing it would be. Frankly if she wanted to scream at the moon right now at the thought of what was happened to her I would understand. I looked away briefly trying to get control of my thoughts and pulled my suit jacket closer together with my free hand in response to a tingle of goosebumps from the cold night air and the coating of rain running across my hands.

"The one thing I do know for sure is that you aren't foolish," I said, fighting the lump in my throat. "All that time we spent talking over the last year has proven that to me. I love listening to you talk about all the places you've been and the things you've done... and your wonderful garden."

She jumped a little as I reached out and placed my hand on hers in a gesture of support. Her hand was like ice and I wondered how she hadn't noticed how cold she was. The metal of her wedding band felt unnaturally warm in comparison to her skin. I couldn't help but wonder how Mr Gentry was going to take this news that his wife seemed to be losing it. He seemed so withdrawn at times as it was.

She met my gaze, holding it for a second a sad smile on her face.

"You've been a real friend Alan when I haven't had anyone else to turn too. I've treasured the time we've spent talking. I owe you so much..."

"Hey, hey... hush. Don't talk like that you're not going anywhere yet," I replied.

"You don't know how often I've longed for death," Mrs Gentry whispered. "To be free of this prison of a body. Don't get old Alan, particularly before your time."

"Please... don't say that," I replied, my voice softened to match her own whispered tones. "Let's go inside eh? I'm sure that George is wondering what's happened to you."

She smiled sadly at me and squeezed my hand in her hand sandwich.

"I think he's known for some time something was wrong. I just don't think he's known how to articulate it. I'm actually glad this is happening now you know. This is the year of his diamond wedding anniversary. I'd have felt such a fraud pretending I remembered his wedding."

I rested my free hand on top of hers, patting our hand sandwich gently. "C'mon, let's get in the warm and dry..."

Nodding in acceptance she extended a hand and as carefully as possible I assisted her getting on to feet. Quickly scooping up her gardening tools into the tray I offered her an extended elbow and she threaded her arm through mine.

"Knock, knock," I called as we carefully made our way into house through the open front door.

"In the kitchen!" called my mother. "There's a pot brewed."

"You can put those on the side in the kitchen," said Mrs Gentry, gesturing to a wooden door at the end of the hallway.

The door was slightly ajar when we reached it, so I gently pushed it open with my foot. Inside the small kitchen-come-dining-room I found my mother seated a square wooden table, a contented smile on her face as she savoured the warmth from a steaming hot mug in her hands.

"Alan, this is Aaron Gentry. Aaron, this is my son Alan."

Aaron Gentry rose to his feet as we approached the table and pulled out a chair for his mother, wrapping her in a blanket as he did so. Aaron was a tall, slim man, immaculately turned out in a smart but casual linen suit. His short blonde hair was messily styled giving him a rakish charm and when glanced over his mother's head at me and smiled I felt myself flush with warmth. Oh yeah, as a girl I'm definitely playing for the home team. It's one of those wonderful intangibles to the transformation that remind me that humans are more than just the sum of their intellect. Assuming this was me of course and not some side effect of being a pixie momma.

"You sit down and warm up mother," said Aaron, patting his mother's hand. "I'll make you a nice cup of tea."

Mrs Gentry mumbled a reply that I couldn't quite make out and sat with her head bowed staring at her hands resting in her lap.

"Just put those down anywhere on the kitchen counter," said Aaron with a wave of his hand at the trays I was carrying. "How do you like your tea Alan?"

"White with two if that's no bother?" I replied, dusting some loose earth of my hands after placing the gardening tray down.

"None at all Alan. As I was explaining to your mother... sorry, as I was explaining to Angelika..." he said favouring my mother with a smile. "I'd just brewed a pot anyway so an extra couple of guests is no trouble."

"Ohhhh... that's so good," I moaned, accepting the warming mug in my cold hands. I gently sipped from the mug, letting the warm liquid suffuse through my cold body. "What's that flavour to it? It's quite wonderful."

"Aaron was saying he has it blended especially for him in London," said my mother taking a sip from her own mug.

"I'd be happy to get a couple of packets put aside for you if you like it."

"Thank you. I'm sure Jeff would love it as well," said my mother, favouring Aaron with a wide smile. "I was always more of a coffee drinker but I have to say I've become a convert to tea since moving to England."

"You're not English?" asked Aaron with a surprised tone in his voice. "Scottish? Welsh?"

"Nein. Ich bin Deutscher."

"Huh. I would never have guessed. You have no trace of an accent."

"Thank you, though I've been speaking English regularly since my teens and lived here for over twenty years now."

"So what brought you to England? Your husband?"

I placed my mug carefully on the table and stiffled a yawn. My mother could wax lyrically for hours on how she met my father.

"We met at boarding school. It was love at first sight," said my mother, sighing slightly as her eyes shut and a faraway expression crossed her face. "We've been together since we were fourteen. Never been apart for more than one night since we married," said my mother, before hastily adding. "Which wasn't at fourteen, married that is. We married after we got our degrees."

"Are you okay Mrs Gentry?" I asked, turning to her. "Only you don't seem to have touched your tea."

"Sorry but I find that the asphodel in the tea gives me indigestion."

My mother nodded, covering her mouth to hide a yawn. "I know what you mean. I have a similar issue with garlic."

"Same here," I mumbled around a large yawn.

"You need to get to bed earlier young man," said my mother. "Though the asphodel in the tea isn't helping. If you mix it with wormwood it forms the base for a..."

I watched an expression of alarm spread across my mother's face as I fought another yawn.

"Alan... get your fathe--"

My mother's mug slipped from her hand, clattering against the wooden table top and spilling its contents in a rapidly expanding puddle.

"Runnnnnnn..." said my mother, her speech slow and slurred. Her eyes fell closed and after a few seconds of her head bobbling she slumped forward across the table.

"Mum? No..." I mumbled, blinking in an attempt to focus. Rising to my feet I stumbled a few steps towards the kitchen door before pitching forward onto the cold and hard tiled floor. The last thing I saw before my eyes finally closed was the pistol holster under Aaron's jacket as he knelt down in front of me and pulled some rope from his jacket pocket.
 

~o~O~o~
 
"--you have finished transforming you will come find me. I've given the kid a good dose of the happy juice so he shouldn't put up much of a struggle but try and make it a quiet kill okay? I need to report in on our progress and the last thing I need to deal with is the local council's noise abatement team."

"As my Master wills it, so shall it be done."

I heard a door close as my eyes fluttered open to reveal nothing but whiteness. It took a few moments for my vision to focus enough to start picking out texture in the whiteness and as my head rolled slightly a bulbless light fixture came in view. The sounds of movement just out of the range of my vision confirmed that I wasn't alone and from the earlier conversation at least one of the voices I'd heard earlier was still in the room with me. I wasn't sure that I wanted to meet them though given the use of the phrase 'quiet kill'.

Oddly despite my predicament I felt very calm to the degree that I almost felt emotionally numb. I found it hard to concentrate on anything and I felt my mind start to drift. I giggled to myself, feeling a little light headed as the edges of my vision began to blur. My eyelids drooped closed as the welcoming comfort of nothingness embraced me once more. A grunt of pain from someone nearby caused my eyes to jerk open again and with a lot of effort I managed to roll onto my side to get a better view.

"Ahhh... good you're awake," said Agnes Gentry, kneeling a short distance from me. Her face was flushed red and her breathing ragged.

"What happened?" I asked, my dry throat reducing my voice to little more than a soft whisper. "How did I get here?"

"Some disorientation is to be expected," replied Agnes through gritted teeth. I noticed her hands clawing at the carpeted floor I was lying on.

"I remember we were drinking... tea? Something happened after... it was drugged?"

"Yes, it was."

"Why can't I get up?" I asked, giggling as I tried to rise but instead fell back against the floor. "And why do I feel so good about it?"

"It's what they call 'happy juice' that is doing it to you," said Agnes. "That combined with a heavy dose of the sleeping draught in the tea should stop you escaping if you came round before they were ready. You'll find in addition to your muscles being very relaxed you'll feel very light headed and have problems getting to... enthusiastic... about anything."

I tried to flex various muscles in my arms and legs only to be rewarded with small, barely controlled movements in response. Thankfully I wasn't in any pain, I just felt numb all over. The numbness in my body muted my sense of touch giving everything a fairly dreamlike quality. It was like I was watching a 3D movie. It looked real but you couldn't feel anything you when you tried to reach out and touch it, although there was the added benefit that real life wasn't making me feel queasey like a 3D movie did. I kind of wished it was a movie so that at least I'd know what genre it was and what it held in store for me. Was it a comedy? A horror movie? An action-adventure? Or a fantasy movie? Did it have a really happy ending? Whatever it was, given the only other occupant in the room as far as I could see was an octogenarian I was really, really hoping this wasn't going to be a porn movie.

"Where's my mother?" I asked, trying to move my head enough to look around the room.

"She's safe for the moment."

"But probably not for the longer term," I replied, catching the inference. "Why are you doing this to us? We've never done anything to you."

"I don't have a choice."

"There's always a choice," I giggled. "Just because you don't like it doesn't not make it a choice..."

"You've been a real friend Alan when I haven't had anyone else to turn too. I've treasured the time we've spent talking. I owe you so much," she replied with a grunt. I tried to ignore her as she pulled a strip of dry skin from her arm.

"My iPhone is in my suit pocket. You could call my father and ask him to bring help..."

I tried to point to the pocket but my arm just flopped around. The numbness was interfering with fine motor control, much like the feeling when you wake up after lying awkwardly on an arm. I found myself giggling from the sensation of pins and needles.

Agnes let out an almost feral grunt of anguish and as she clawed at the carpet I noticed her nails breaking off from her bloodied fingers.

"I wish I could Alan," she panted in-between growls of pain. "The trouble is I'm just as much a prisoner as you are."

I squeezed my eyes tightly shut as she ripped at her blouse, sending buttons rattling around the room. While I wasn't adverse to a free show, there were some sights that I wasn't in a hurry to experience. Naked octogenarians being one of them.

"What are you doing?"

"Changing."

Something heavy and wet hit the ground close by, splashing my face. I cracked open an eye to see a chunk of wrinkly flesh lying on the ground. Glancing upwards I saw Agnes ripping the bloodied skin from her torso to reveal fresh skin beneath. Where the old skin had been removed I could see that Agnes’ aged body was gone, replaced by a much younger female form.

"What are you?" I giggled, still struggling to put any urgency in my voice. I had a horrible feeling I was going to die but not end up being too bothered about it when it happened. At this rate my tombstone would read 'Here lies Alan Lewis Goodspeed. Age 17. He died. Meh.'

"A metamorph. What your people once called a changeling. They intend for me to replace you.”

“Pffft,” I exclaimed, suppressing another giggle. “We both know that while a changeling can fool a mundane, they can’t fool a Warlock or Witch for long. Those with the Talent have second sight.”

“True… unless I take your essence into mine.”

“How are you going to do that?”

“Bone marrow.”

“Where are you going to get a surgeon for that procedure at this time of night?”

“There’s no need for any surgeon,” she replied, the nails extending from her hand like talons. “If it’s any consolation you will probably pass out from the blood loss before I start sucking the marrow out of your bones.”

Oddly enough it wasn’t any consolation though on the plus side at least I knew what sort of movie I was in now. It was in a horror movie... with a cliff hanger. I couldn't help but wonder if it was too late to hold out for the octogenarian porn option?
 

~o~O~o~
 

End of Chapter 1