Edited by Kristine Roland

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This text is (c) 2009 by Melanie. All rights reserved.
 
 
Twelve

Alyssa looked at me and said, “Now, I will need to ask you some questions. Essentially, you have to agree to what I need to do. You don't know anything about these things, but I didn't make the rules. You're one of us and the spells I need to use on you are spells that can't be used on one of us without permission.”

She paused for a moment and I nodded my head. She continued. “I would like to block off a certain path in your mind. This is a temporary block you yourself can remove, once you learn how. It blocks your subconscious from accessing your powers. This is very important, because we need to protect you and everyone around you from wild magic. That is, from you casting spells while you dream. That could be very dangerous and we all have such a block in place. You can't place your own, so I have to do it. Do you consent to this?”

Images flashed through my head, images of what could happen if I was really as powerful as they said, and having a nightmare. Not really a choice, so I said “Yes, I consent.”

Alyssa brought out a glowing green gem, which she placed against my forehead and murmured a few words in a language I almost understood. The light in the gem flared once and died. She put the gem into my hand and said “Keep this safe. If it is destroyed, the block will be released and you will become a danger to yourself and others.”

I looked at the gem in awe, then pushed it into one of the ridiculously small pockets of my jeans, which earned me a disapproving look from the women. But, what could I do, they didn't get me a handbag yet.

Alyssa went on to say “Now, that is done and I feel a lot better about this. Next, I would like to put a tracer on you. Basically, that is a spell that would alert us and let one of us find you if you experience distress. I understand that you may not want to be found, but with your powers untrained, you could get into situations where you really need help. It's your choice, but I would really recommend that you allow this.”

I considered my options carefully. I sure didn't want to get into some mess, but I did want to continue to investigate without them getting onto me and taking it out of my hands. I asked, “Is this like a spy, so you can see where I am at all times?”

“No,” she said, “it's more an alarm system, it triggers when you are in distress.”

“Then I will agree to it,” I said.

Alyssa pulled a black object out of a pouch. I tried to look at it, but in some strange way it seemed to twist away from my very glance, like turning in directions nothing should be able to turn in. Alyssa placed the object in my hand and closed my fingers over it. It seemed to melt into my body and was gone.

She said, “There, it's done. Now, mind you, this will only work one time. If it triggers, you will know, and if you still need protection, we would need to give you a new one.”

“I have a question,” I said, “why should I avoid strong emotions, and why should I not have sex with men?”

She nodded to herself and said “Not having sex with men is simple. If you had sex with a man, the dormant second rider spell would trigger and you would fall into the life that was planned for you. We can't remove that spell here that is for a larger group to do, it's not really easy, even though it was not cast by a competent sorceress. To avoid that danger, you need to stay away from sexual relations that could trigger it.”

“As for the strong emotions, let's just say, if you were to get angry, for instance — well, it could become quite messy.”

I didn't really need a more detailed explanation.

Then I remembered something else. “One more thing, I don't have any paperwork, I can't use my credit cards, I have no driver's license and not much money. I'm probably asking too much, but is there anything you could do for me to help me manage these things?”

“Let me think,” she said, “it's not that easy. Later, we can shift your reality to fit your body, but for the moment, that can't be done. First we need to find the one who did this to you, and if we caused a shift in your life now, we might eliminate evidence we need. So, magical help is out.”

My face fell as I considered my options for living this way, as she continued. “We do have a fund for the victims of abuse of magic. So while we can't fix your life right now, we can at least help you not to lose what little you have left of it. We also have lawyers who will help you establish yourself as transgendered, effect a legal name change and get a driver's license in your new name and with your new picture.”

“I really appreciate that. It will help me a lot,” I said. Thinking to myself, “Great! So I'll be known as a sex change. Oh joy.”

Well, ok, it beat the crap out of the alternative!

We exchanged numbers and I was promised that someone would be in touch shortly. Alyssa folded up her table and smiled at me. “Bye for now. Just try to manage for a little while. We will help you.”

She waved, said her goodbyes with Debbie and Stacy, and was gone. Since it was already late, we made our way back to my place. Stacy called into work and left a message on the voice mail, claiming sickness. I slipped out of my clothes and made to get into bed when Stacy looked at me and asked “Could you let me have some blankets so I can make myself a bed on the couch?”

I answered “Sure, they're down here in the closet, help yourself.”

Stacy found the blankets and went off into the living room, and I slipped under the covers and turned off the lights.

Thirteen

I woke up to noises coming from the kitchen and the smell of breakfast cooking. The clock said 9am and I remembered the events of the previous day.

At least I had slept well; I couldn't remember any dreams at all. Maybe that was a side effect of the spell I had allowed to be placed on me. What a weekend of revelations. I found out magic exists, and that I have the ability to learn it. Really the duty to learn it. Oh wow.

I got out of bed, momentarily disoriented by the strange sensations coming from my body until I readjusted to being female and shorter. I got up and headed to the bathroom, did the morning's business, washed my face and ran a brush through my hair. Ouch! Tangles!

Leaving the hair for later, I found the bra I had dropped on the floor and put it on, backwards, spun it around and had an awkward moment sorting out the straps. Then, comfortably settled into the cups, I grabbed the panties I had dropped and tossed them into the laundry pile in the corner. Yea. So I was a slob. Or something. I didn't own a laundry basket, anyway.

Suddenly I remembered, there was nothing in that pile I would need again. I pulled the panties off the pile, and tossed them into the opposite corner to start a new “Ronni” pile. A moment of digging in yesterday's shopping bags produced the rest of the three pack of panties and I pulled out the light blue ones and put them on. I left the rose ones for last; I didn't quite feel up to that yet.

I found yesterday's jeans and top, put them on and opened the bedroom door.

“Good Morning, Stacy,” I called out.

“Good Morning,” came back from the kitchen carried on the delicious smell of frying bacon. I went into the kitchen, where Stacy was just about done with cooking, so I set the table while she finished up.

Stacy looked around and said “Oh my god, what did you do to your hair?”

I suddenly remembered I never got that finished.

Stacy went on “You can't be serious about wearing the same top two days in a row, and we need to get you all brushed out and styled.”

“Ok," I said, "but breakfast first.”

“You'll never change!”

She carried the frying pan over to the table and deposited the strips of bacon and the eggs on our plates while I got coffee from the machine and orange juice from the fridge. We sat down and attacked the food, and nothing more was said for the moment.

Fourteen

After breakfast, Stacy took me to the bedroom and gave me a lesson in brushing out long hair. “Start about 10” from the ends, on the inside, and brush downwards. If there are any tangles, work them out carefully. Don't yank, you'll hurt yourself and you'll lose hair you want to keep. Then, do it again from the scalp down. Once you can get through the hair on the inside, switch to the outside and get the rest of the tangles out.”

I did as I was told and I was soon looking almost right again. Stacy went on, “Now brush your bangs out, there was hairspray in it, make sure you get as much of it out as you can. If you let it build up, it gets really messy. Now, tease the bangs up a bit, so they look more alive.”

I tried following her advice, but the bangs kept falling flat down my forehead and that didn't really look good.

Stacy asked “Do you have a hair dryer? And a round brush?”

I told her where to find my hair drier, but I didn't own a round brush.

Stacy took the hair drier and my regular hairbrush rolled my bangs around the handle and gave them a good blast with the drier set to max. Then, she switched the drier to cold air and cooled the hair back down while it was still rolled up. She pulled out the brush and teased the hair apart. It looked better, but still not right.

Stacy went for her handbag and got out a miniature can of hairspray, misted over the bangs and immediately used the hairdryer on the sprayed hair. Teasing the bangs into shape proved much easier now, and she fixed things in place with another long spray from her little can.

“Oh my god, this is rocket science,” I moaned.

“No it's not, but I agree, getting your hair done is one of the more time consuming tasks in a woman's morning routine.”

“I could just have it cut short,” I said.

Stacy gave me shocked look and said “Oh no! You have such beautiful hair and it goes so well with your face. You're tall, too, and long hair looks good on a tall woman. You really should give it a try for a few weeks, I'm sure you'll get the hang of it.”

“I guess,” I said. I didn't have much of an opinion on most of this woman stuff anyway. Actually, with all that happened to me in the space of the past three days, doing my hair pretty much took last place in my thoughts.

Stacy dug out another bag from the shopping trip and pulled out another top. This one had normal short sleeves, and a much higher neckline, but it was made to look like it was 2 pieces, with a slit in between them, right above my breasts.

I pulled off the top I was wearing, finding that I had much less of a problem with this crossing my arms trick, and put on the new one.

“Turn around,” said Stacy, and she lifted my hair and tore off the tags I had forgotten to remove before I put it on.

I gave her a sheepish look and she laughed. “I do it all the time,” She said.

This black top looked good with my jeans, but the yellow and pink trimmed trainers just wouldn't do. Said Stacy. Not that I would have known. She pulled up another bag and got out what looked like a pair of pumps, but without any heel.

“Here, try these flats,” she said.

I slipped into them, barefoot, and said, “They feel a little tight.”

“Yes, they would,” she said, “they're new and you're in them barefoot. Get out of those shoes and jeans; I have some knee-highs you can wear.”

She proceeded to dig into the bags and produced a little packet, not unlike the ones I knew from pantyhose, but smaller. She tossed it at me and I deftly caught it in midair, tore it open and removed what looked like long socks made from pantyhose material.

I started to pull them on, but Stacy stopped me. “No, Ronnie, not like that, you'll rip them! Watch.”

She pushed both her thumbs inside and used her fingers on the outside to gather them up into a ring of fabric, with the toe bit right by her thumbs. I looked at the other one, and then did the same with mine.

I carefully pushed my foot into it and, letting go of the material as I went, smoothed it up my legs. A wide band of elastic settled right below my knee. Stacy handed me the other one, and I managed to take it from her without letting go of the material and I pulled it up my other leg.

It felt a bit strange at the toes, tighter than any socks I had ever worn, but not really constricting. I pulled on my jeans and slipped into the shoes, which fit much better now.

“One warning,” said Stacy, “when you wear hose, don't walk around without shoes. You'll ladder them very quickly if you do. That can get expensive; one pair is usually good for a few days with a skirt and another few days under jeans. Knee-highs can be washed a few times, too”

Skirts. I hadn't even though about them. I really didn't have any intention of wearing one. I didn't see a reason why I should. I put that thought aside for now.

Fifteen

I walked over to my study corner, pushed the button on my PC and watched it spring to life with the usual beeps, whirring sounds and clicks. The box booted up to the desktop and I clicked open Thunderbird, my email program.

I had 59 new messages, it said. Probably mostly spam. I hadn't really been taking care of things and it tended to build up. I quickly scanned down the list, marking as I went. Viagra, cheap watches, bank accounts and work from home offers were all consigned to the little flame that one marked junk mail with, and swiftly deleted. I was left with 12 real messages, which was quite a lot for my normal Mondays.

One that jumped out at me was from PayPal, I had received a payment of $4000 from the Celtic Conservation and Study Society. Great, that meant I wouldn't need to worry about living for a while. I logged into PayPal and started a transfer to my bank account.

There was an email from Alyssa, which I opened.

Dear Ronnie,

It was a pleasure meeting you and I would like to extend the Family's warmest welcome to you at this time. We have spoken about you at length and, since your family has renounced magic and you have no magical relatives, we have decided to “adopt” you into ours. This will give you a support network for those things that you can't speak to nonmagical people about.

We have tapped into the victims' fund and I have PayPal-ed some money to you to help you get your feet on the ground.

You should have an email from our lawyer, who will see you today or tomorrow to get your documentation changes underway.

You will also receive an invitation to our next Family meeting. We would be delighted to see you there.

Best wishes,

Alyssa

Reading it, I noticed the spelling of “Family.” So, that must mean the magical family, maybe a sort of clan, I suppose, I was sure it would all come clear in due time.

I did appreciate getting the monetary help this quickly, I had rent coming due and this took one big worry off my mind.

I remembered that I also wouldn't have to worry about having a 40th birthday party. Not for a long time, anyway.

I wouldn't say I was happy about being female, but a lot of the time I didn't even think about it. Right now it was hard not to, because the shoes, while a good fit, did pinch a little in places and I had to keep flexing my toes to make them feel better.

I skipped down the list of messages to another unknown name. Steven Warson. I clicked the message to open it and read.

Dear Veronica,

I am writing to you on behalf of the Celtic Conservation and Study Society. Alyssa has written to me and asked me to make time to see you about a name change. She also mentioned some other things, I won't go into the details in this email message.

Before you come in, please get a picture suitable for a driver's license taken.

Feel free to phone my office at 555-7755 at any time to make arrangements. I have provisionally kept a 3pm slot open for you, I would appreciate if you called to cancel in case you can't make it.

Best regards,

Steve

Wow. They sure wasted no time.

I read through the other messages. Some were from newspapers and magazines I had offered various articles to in the past and I put them aside for now.

Finally, I got to the more interesting ones.

Hi Ron,

strange you would contact me about those cases. We have 2 suicides that match the pattern you drew up. I checked on your suggestion and we tried the keys we found on these girls on the apartments of the men who had gone missing around that time. How did you know? We found two matching places.

I can't say much, since it's an ongoing investigation, but that sure puts a twist on what was already a weird case. If you got more hints to drop, please do. I got a commendation for finding the connection! I owe you a beer or two.

Cheers,

Matt

Great. That pretty much confirmed it. More transformations, but why? I'd needed to get the crime scene protocols and forensic results on those, if possible.

Hi buddy!

Long time no hear. Hey, you're nosing around in places that are clearly off limits! Well, they try to keep this stuff under wraps, anyway. Would you believe it, they're treating this like it's a homeland security matter. I got a bloody nose just asking. Then I got the third degree about who wanted to know.

I kept mum, though, yeah. I know you'll get me back for that, no sweat. Sorry I couldn't come up with anything. Shoot some pool, one of these days? Let me know.

Ken

“Whoa!” I thought, “Someone else must be on to the strangeness in this case. I sure hope he didn't get into trouble over this. Well, scratch one source. I wonder if he likes getting his ass whupped at the pool table by a girl.” That thought made me smile.

Hi Ron!

Great to hear from you again. Things aren't the same since you left.

Did you turn clairvoyant? I just got the police reports and there are 3 cases that fit the profile you sent. In total, we have 5 suicides, all without documents and no files on them. 3 fit the profile to a Tee the other two were apparently hookers.

Anyway, don't make yourself so scarce, I have a phone, you know? Call me!

Kisses,

Pam

I sighed when I finished that one. Pam had been a good friend even after the relationship had ended. She worked the news desk at a newspaper in LA, and we had a brief fling, maybe 3 months of whirlwind romance. Then I had to go away for a month and we drifted apart. We're still friends; we just never got together again. “Well, I can put paid to that now,” I thought.

So, the information Pam had volunteered meshed nicely with what I had heard from Alyssa. Apparently, in Los Angeles, two of the transformees had succumbed to the compulsion spell and become sex workers. Until they killed themselves. Which was probably because they couldn't stand doing it anymore.

What a fiendish spell. I'm was not a religious man, but it made me send a quick prayer of thanks to heaven, for having been spared that fate.

Sixteen

I sat down with Stacy and filled her in on the emails regarding the case and on the appointment I had at 3pm that day. Stacy immediately went into “planning mode”.

“You need makeup!”

“No! I don't want makeup! I'm not ready for that.”

“You can't have a picture taken without makeup. That's just not done!” Stacy said.

I did feel like I'd like to have more say about my life again, I guessed it was the failed spell's remaining emotional damping wearing off. But I realized that I would look suspicious if I wore no make up for a photo, I acquiesced. “Ok, we'll do makeup, then. Do you have any?”

“No, I couldn't really buy it without you there and you were in no shape.” She said. “They're having a Bobbi Brown promotion and they're doing free makeup demos, let's go there and have it done right. They will figure out all the best colors for you, and it'll be good fun, too.”

“Fun. As if.” I said.

“Don't be a wet blanket!” Stacy said. “Getting made up is good girl fun!”

“Now, what is so fun about someone putting paint on your face,” I asked?

“It's fun because you don't go alone. Actually,” she went to teacher mode, “normally I'd call some girl friends and we'd invade them en masse.” She looked at me. “But I don't think you're up to that just yet. It still makes you feel good to look good, and that is what make up is all about.”

She went on, “Sometimes, we use make up for a purpose. To get a job. To pull on a night out. To seduce a lover. To look better than another woman, particularly ones we don't like. But mostly, it's so we like who we see in the mirror.”

“I guess I have some more learning to do,” I said. “Because changing the way I looked had never been on my mind before. As a guy, you just take what you got. You decide whether you shave or wear a beard, and what hair style you wear, but, once that's decided, you stick with it for years. Why do you women put up with all this complexity?”

“WE women, remember. You've been assimilated!” She giggled. “It's us now. And why we put up with it? We're raised to it, I guess. I never really thought about it.”

“I never wanted to be assimilated. I didn't ask for this. Dammit! Why me!” I felt anger rising. “Damn fate, damn it to hell! I don't want to be a chick! I didn't ask for these!” I said while lifting my breasts and letting them drop. “I want my dick and balls back!” I yelled, my acceptance of my situation fading fast.

I started moving into the bedroom and I continued. “Why the fuck do I have to prance around in drag! I never wanted that, fuck, I never even tried my mother's clothes!” I yelled, really getting worked up now. “Take all this shit. Take it drag it and your ass out of here and leave me alone! I need to do something!”

I fumbled on the dresser for some scissors and grabbed a hank of hair to cut it off, screaming “Hair! All that messy hair. It's girl hair and I'm a guy! I'm a man, fuck it! I AM A MAN!”

A palpable wave of energy spread outward from me, Stacy, having followed me, was picked up from where she was standing by the bed and hurled against the wall, the bedroom door was slammed shut and the windows exploded outward in a shower of splinters, raining down into the courtyard. I stood there, mouth open, the scissors dangling from my hand, forgotten, as I surveyed the scene of destruction. Stacy lay crumpled against the wall, covered in blankets and shopping bags, the window was gone and the mirror was cracked, because the open closet door had slammed against the wall.

I dropped the scissors and ran across the room to Stacy and cradled her head in my arms. She stirred and started to come around. “What happened?” she asked, looking at the devastated bedroom.

“Are you ok? I blew my top and this happened. I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you, I'm so sorry... sorry...” I rocked back and forth, as tears came to my eyes and I broke down on the floor next to her, sobbing.

End of part four

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To Be Continued...