“Honey?”

Colin glanced up. He calmed his mind, preparing himself for what was to come. He was very familiar with the syrupy, slightly wheedling tone Dee was using. She wanted something and didn’t want him to realize he was being manipulated. She would be mortified and loudly deny she ever did such a thing if he were to make the mistake of mentioning it to her.
 

Chapter 3

* * * *

“Sooooo, our laddie here dreams of being a lass. Interesting,” Ells mused aloud. He riffled the stack of printouts he’d picked up from where it lay besides Colin’s recliner.

“He’s also got Fey blood in him, just look at that aura,” Bruno muttered.

He handed over the object he’d been peering through at the slumbering Colin. It looked like an old fashioned pair of opera glasses but the lenses were an opaque matte black. When Ells and Max in turn looked through the glasses they clearly saw swirling patterns of silvery tinged rainbow light dancing in the air an inch or so above Colin’s skin.

“Pity we’ve no scryer locally,” Ells commented absentmindedly. A skillful practitioner could read Colin’s aura and determine his bloodline back to great grandparents in minutes, even further given reference books and sufficient time.

“This answers some questions but opens up many more. Like which clan is he? Ally or Antagonist? Seelie or Unseelie?” Ells paused, staring off into the distance. He seemed to come to a decision. “Still... he did claim to be Danu dedicated... and the aura’s silver touched... we should extend aid.”

“So what do we do now, Boss?” Max asked.

“What we do best, of course -- make his dreams come true.”

* * * * *

“Your 3:15 is here Ms Callahan. Shall I show them in?”

“Excuse me?” Dina clicked on her calendar and confirmed it was blank. She pressed the intercom button. “Cynthia I thought the afternoon was clear?”

“Sorry, there must have been a glitch when I made the appointment. It’s here on the calendar,” her secretary responded. Dina could hear someone vaguely in the background then Cynthia said in a dreamy voice, “These aren’t the ‘droids we’re looking for.”

“What?” Dina’s voice came sharply from the speaker in the outer office.

Ells turned to Bruno with a frown and a raised eyebrow.

“Sorry boss. I always wanted to try that...” Bruno shrugged and looked up at Ells with a lopsided grin.

“Okay Obi-Wan, stop fooling around and get us in there.”

“Cynthia, show the gentlemen in,” Bruno said to the secretary.

She stood and ushered them through the door to the inner office. Dina rose from behind her desk with a scowl. “That will be all, Cynthia, thank you.”

“Good afternoon gentlemen,” Dina extended her hand to shake. “I’m Director Callahan but please call me Dina.”

“Well ‘tis a pleasure to meet you, Dina lass. I’m Ells and these are my associates, Doctor Dullard and Professor Moron.”

“Excuse me?” Dina pulled her hand back and moved to the interoffice intercom. “If this is your idea of a joke, I’ll have security come listen in -- they have a great sense of humor.”

“Now, now, lassie. Hold your horses, I’ve something important to show you...” Ells stepped forward with his closed hand held up to chest level, palm upwards. Dina turned slightly as he spoke and Ells flicked his fingers outward sending a slightly luminous puff of dust into her face.

Dina blinked, suddenly feeling very warm towards these odd visitors. They were her best friends and she could trust them with her deepest secret thoughts. She smiled and gestured to a conversation corner, “Won’t you sit down?”

Ells and Dina took seats on the sofa while Bruno and Max rummaged through the office, looking in the file cabinets and surfing her computer.

“So tell me something about yourself, lass,” Ells said, opening the floodgates to her soul.

* * * *

“Director! Please, you *know* how delicate these trial samples are!” Marshal Arts, a lead research scientist, whined.

Max and Bruno, the objects of his protests, bounced about the lab poking their noses into everything. Ells and Dina stood to one side discussing the various projects currently in development.

“This is our cancer department. We’re focusing on prostate, testicular, ovarian, breast and cervical carcinomas.” Dina grinned self consciously. “I guess it seems our minds are in the gutter?”

“No, not at all dear girl, please go on,” Ells encouraged.

“We’re working on a new concept of gene re-sequencing to switch off the growth of tumorous cells...”

“Director Callahan -- Dina! I must insist! These gentlemen could ruin thousands of hours of work!”

“Nonsense, Marshal, they won’t hurt anything.”

“Professor, why don’t you show Dr Arts here that pollen sample you’ve got?” Ells said to Bruno.

“Huh?”

“Dust him, idiot!”

“Oh!” Bruno approached Marshal and momentarily all protests stopped and the researcher was falling all over himself in his attempts to be helpful.

“What sort of name is Marshal Arts anyway? Poor laddie’s parents must have fancied themselves quite the jokesters,“ Ells remarked with a shake of his head. “Now lassie, tell me of your boyfriend, Colin.”

* * * *

“So Dina, darlin’ we’re clear on how to help Colin, now aren’t we?” Ells asked. They were back in her office, once more seated in the plush conversation grouping that her rank in the company rated for entertaining important visitors. Bruno and Max were also seated this time but didn’t participate in the discussion, instead they nudged and poked at each other constantly, snickering like four year olds forced to share the backseat on a long car trip.

“Yes, we need to help poor Colin achieve his dream,” Dina said earnestly.

“And Bruno and Max here will be droppin’ by from time to time to assist with the formulation of his medication.”

“Of course, Ells, we’ve been all through this. Dr. Arts knows they have special and exclusive access to treatment material for subject 11-11. Everything’s set. Anonymity. Security. Timeline. Care plan. Nothing’s left to chance.” Dina spoke with authority.

“Ah, lassie, that’s where you’re mistaken,” Ells said with an amused twinkle in his eye. “In my experience *everything* is left to chance.”

* * * * *

The sound of tinkling bells drew Colin’s attention to one of the storage units down the line which had its door rolled up.

A large swarm of sparkly motes swirled in the air over a rack containing upright straws packed closely together. It looked as if each of the sparkles was dripping something, so that a shower of dust sprinkled down into the open ends of the upended straws. After a few minutes of this the sparkles swooped down to the straws and lifted them into the air with several of the flying sparkles carrying each straw. They dropped these into a cardboard carton labeled “Pixie Lix” and flew off.

When the carton was filled more flickering motes came and lifted the box, carrying it into the storage unit. Simultaneously two new battalions of sparkles flew out of the storage unit, one group carrying an empty carton and the second carrying empty straws that they then deposited vertically into the filling rack, and the whole process started over again.

Colin had to indulge his curiosity so he strolled over to get a closer look. Each of the tiny sparkly motes was a perfect little woman with dragonfly wings. They were all replicas of the classic Disney cartoon Tinkerbell. Each miniature girl hovered over the rack of empty straws and strained, wriggling her butt until a tiny droplet fell from her bum. Colin grinned ruefully and was glad he’d never been a big fan of the sticky sweet powdered candy as a child.

He shrugged and returned to his own unit. Colin was finding the activities around the storage units more fascinating than his lair and its contents.

* * * *

“Honey?”

Colin glanced up. He calmed his mind, preparing himself for what was to come. He was very familiar with the syrupy, slightly wheedling tone Dee was using. She wanted something and didn’t want him to realize he was being manipulated. She would be mortified and loudly deny she ever did such a thing if he were to make the mistake of mentioning it to her.

“Mmmm?” he feigned ignorant male inattention and continued flipping through the magazine. One of the unexpected bonuses of moving in with Dee was access to her fashion magazines -- he was reading an issue of Cosmo camouflaged inside a Sports Illustrated. As much as he’d of liked to, he’d never purchased women’s magazines before, always terrified of being spotted by someone he knew.

“Look at me, Colin,” she said, slightly irritated. Ever since her good friend Ells had revealed Colin’s secret desires she’d begun noticing things. For instance how he would appraise the way women looked -- not like a normal guy, zeroing in on boobs or legs or butt; instead he’d notice things that another woman might, like the color she was wearing wasn’t right for her, or she needed a different hairstyle. Or the fact that he knew the names for all kinds of women’s fashions; most men didn’t know the difference between an empire waistline and an A-line dress but Colin did. Now there was his feeble attempt to disguise the fact he was reading her Cosmo inside a sports magazine.

She was discovering that she loved him just as much but in a different way -- more like the sister she never had. She still thought his body was sexy and looked forward to enjoying sex with him while he was still interested. But her view of their relationship was in flux.

When he finally closed the magazine and turned to her she smiled sweetly. “I think I’ve figured out a way for you to earn some extra money. It would help you make your half of the expenses that you insist on paying -- despite, may I remind you, my repeated offers to cover the expenses as necessary.” She waved her hands in the air, consciously stopping herself. “But be that as it may, are you interested?”

“Sure I’m interested. What’s the deal?”

“It’s pretty simple -- I’m surprised I didn’t think of it before. My company has a shortage of male double blind test participants. You could sign up for one of our studies.”

“I don’t know, Dee. I mean testing drugs? Isn’t that dangerous?”

“Oh pooh. Don’t be silly Hon. You don’t think I’d ask you to do anything that could harm you, do you?” She looked straight into his eyes, the poster girl for wide-eyed innocence.

“No, I don’t suppose you would... It’s just... well, hell, Dee, I don’t like the idea of putting untested chemicals in my body.”

“They *have* been tested. Extensively. On a variety of animals and cultured cells. These are the final clinical trials. There’s no danger to your health whatsoever. In fact there’s a darn good chance it will *improve* your health.”

“Weeeellllll...”

“It would solve your financial problems -- you’ll be surprised how much we pay. Besides, it would really be a big help to me at work.”

Colin sighed. If he didn’t go along with this she’d pout and make his life a living hell until he finally capitulated. Might as well save himself all that and earn some bonus points in the bargain.

“Okay, okay. What do I have to do?”

* * * *

Colin sat in a paper gown in an exam room and waited. He’d been poked and probed and stuck and stabbed and was losing patience with the whole process. He had just endured a full body MRI scan and hopefully that completed the preliminaries.

A short rap and the door swung open. Dr Marshal Arts -- who named their kid that? -- entered brusquely. He consulted a tablet in silence for a long moment, completely ignoring Colin. Good thing he’s a research Doctor, Colin thought, his bedside manner sucked.

“Okay, looks like you’re all set Mr. ah... O’Brien.” Arts finally looked up and regarded Colin like a side of beef he was contemplating butchering. He consulted his tablet once more then went over to a counter and bustled about in the cabinets and drawers, eventually removing a vial from a small refrigerator and filling a syringe.

He turned back to face Colin holding a small tray containing the syringe, alcohol swabs, gauze pads and bandaids. Colin rolled the sleeve up on his gown and presented his shoulder, but the Dr shook his head, grinned, and twirled his finger indicating Colin needed to turn around and bend over. Colin endured two injections in his gluteus maximus then was instructed to get dressed.

“You need to come back every week for a set of injections,” Arts told him perfunctorily. “Make an appointment with the secretary.” He handed him a couple of pill bottles. “Take these twice a day, the instructions are on the label.”

“Hey wait a minute, Doc,” Colin said quickly as the Dr was turning to leave.

Arts paused with his hand still on the doorknob and gave Colin a look of exaggerated patience.

“What’s this stuff supposed to do to me? Nobody’s even mentioned if it’s some kind of antidepressant, or a new wart medicine, or the cure for the common cold.”

Arts had a pained expression on his face. He spoke as if to a dim witted child. “You’re not *supposed* to know, Mr. O’Brien. There’s at least a 50% chance that nothing at all will happen, you could be receiving a placebo. If it’s the real treatment it might have no effect on you. Or if it does have an effect we don’t want the results to be tainted by any preconceived ideas or expectations you may have.”

“But...”

“No, Mr. O’Brien, no buts. In order to maintain the integrity of the data we must have absolute secrecy.”

Colin sighed, resignedly.

Arts loosened up on his cold, clinical manner and said reassuringly, “Don’t worry, you will *not* be harmed in any way, I can assure you that. If you’ve been given the genuine treatment and it works as expected you may be very pleased with the results. And you’ll be well compensated.”

* * * * *

To be continued...