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This text is (c) 2009 by Melanie. All rights reserved.
 
 
Forty-six

Hi Ron,

Now that has to be the number one weird story of the year.

I just know you're pulling my leg. You're not the guy I would ever imagine having a sex change, so what are you trying to pull here?

Tell you what, I'll bite. Let's meet. Today. The bistro across from my office, at one.

I guess I'm still a sucker for a story.

See you there!

Pam

That was the message that arrived mere minutes after I sent my last email to her. I quickly typed a reply.

Hi Pam,

I will be there. You won't recognize me but I'll know you. See you then.

Ronnie

I hit send and turned to Stacy. “She's willing to meet. Today, at one, near her office.”

“Ok. We need to get you ready,” Stacy said, looking at the time, “it's already 11:30.”

“I'm as ready as I get,” I said.

“Oh no, you're not. You can't go to lunch looking as you are. Now, come on over here and let me help you get presentable.”

“Ok, Stacy, I'll play. But hold the girly stuff, that's just not me.”

“Just get your ass over here!” Stacy said with a smile.

I got.

Forty-seven

I cast a worried look at the array of war paint Stacy had dumped on the vanity from her makeup bag. I was not about to have her doll me up, but from the looks of that stuff, that was just what she was planning to do. Weapons of war, and all that. With relief, I saw her pick a handful of items out of the pile, then push the rest aside.

“Look at me,” Stacy said.

I looked at her and she quickly brushed some powder over my face with a large, tickly brush. She then took what looked like a black pencil and said, “Close your eyes.”

I pressed my eyes shut and Stacy said, “Not like that! Just close them lightly. Don't screw up your face.”

I wasn't too keen on this whole operation, but i complied and Stacy started drawing on my eyelids. Of course I twitched, which made Stacy curse and wipe the stuff off me again. The next time, I tried to hold still, and succeeded a bit better. A few more tries and Stacy pronounced my eyeliner done and told me to open my eyes again.

She then took a tube of mascara and attempted to make more of it get into my lashes than on my lower lids. I suppose I had the art of batting my lashes down pat; I batted the mascara brush right out into left field. So, off came the goop, and Stacy had to redo the liner on that eye as well.

Fifteen minutes later, Stacy finally had my eyes at a point where she was willing to let me leave the room. She brushed another powder, a blusher is what she called it, on my cheeks and told me to do my lips. I could do that myself, at least.

I went to the mirror and took a first look at my face. “Not bad. It took a lot of work but I guess I do look good,” I thought, as I applied my lipstick.

When I came out, Stacy hat pulled a simple white blouse with some decorative stitching from her bag and laid it out on the bed for me.

She said, “Wear that with your jeans, and a pair of flats, that should look good on you.”

Actually, that wasn't too far away from what I used to wear, as clothing goes. I slipped on the blouse, fumbling around a bit with the wrong-sided buttons, pulled up my jeans and slipped into the shoes.

Stacy pushed my handbag towards me and I grabbed it, glad I had someone to think about that for me. I knew I would have run out without it, then would have had to come back to get my car keys. I'm just not used to handbags!

I would have preferred to have Stacy with me, but of course there was Alyssa to take care of. We couldn't really take her, so one of us had to stay home. That meant I was on my own.

I got into my car and headed west on the number 10 freeway. I left the freeway at Century City and turned into the street where Stacy's office was located. I was lucky to find a parking space and got out, locking my car. Then I had to open it again to get that pesky handbag. Relocking the car, I dropped the keys into the handbag and placed the handbag on my shoulder. Checking my watch, it was 12:45; I had made good time.

I found the bistro, ordered a cafe latte and sat down at a table from which I could keep the door in view. I settled down to wait for Pam, sipping my coffee.

Forty-eight

A few minutes before one, Pam came through the door, looked around the place, shrugged and sat down at a table across the room. She ordered coffee and a bagel. I saw her watching the door, never really taking her eyes off it. I waited a few minutes, until she had her order and taken a sip of the coffee, then I took my glass and crossed the room. I pulled out the other chair from under her table, sat down and said “Hello Pam.”

Pam stared at me, speechless, then she said, “Hi.”

I looked at her and said, “I guess this is a little hard to believe.”

“Damn right!” Pam said, “It sure is. You don't look a bit like Ron, not even Ron-with-a-sex-change. So, give me one good reason why I should not just get up and walk out of here.”

“Well, we can't play the game of telling childhood secrets, we don't know each other well enough. So I suppose I can't easily prove it's really me. But I know one thing about you. You're a reporter. You can't resist a story. And I have one hell of a story to tell. So there's your good reason.”

“Fair enough,” she said, “that is a good reason. So, tell me what happened.”

“I can't tell you the whole story. Well, at least not here. Once you heard what I have to say, you will understand. Also, you can't print any of it. Not yet, anyway. I'm in danger and I can't have the public eye on me. I'd be dead before morning.”

Her eyes widened involuntarily as I mentioned danger, then she said, “Ok, go on.”

“It all started when I met this gorgeous girl and took her home. She was really throwing herself at me, I didn't have to work for it at all. It was like she was seducing me, not I her.

“We had a night of exceptionally good sex. She left before I woke up, leaving a note. It said 'Thank you. And Sorry'. I had no idea what she was talking about, but over the course of the next couple of days I transformed into the woman you see now.

“It was some sort of magic that seems to cause this woman to turn every lover into a woman. I have traced her path across the U.S.; she's leaving a string of transformed women in her wake. I caught on to it because of a strange pattern of young, healthy, beautiful women suiciding.

“After I transformed, I was able to get a correlation between male disappearances and dead females. Whatever it is that makes these men turn into women also makes them want to kill themselves. Up to now, I have failed to find a survivor.

“Our congressman is the first transformee I know of who is still alive. Outside of myself, of course.”

Pam looked at me and said, “I have a feeling there is more to this than you are telling me.”

“As I said, I can't really talk here. Do I have you interested enough to let me finish the story elsewhere?”

“Yes. I have to admit, I didn't know what to think. The thought that I was being set up for a joke crossed my mind more than once. But I remember those disappearances and suicides. You emailed me about them. So I know that part checks out. I have no idea who you are. But I smell a story, and I'm not letting it get away. Lead on, McDuff!”

I stood up and stepped out of the bistro, with Pam following close behind. I walked to my car and hit the button on the key to pop the doors open. I got into the driver's seat and Pam got into the passenger side.

“The car gives us a little more privacy,” I said. “Well, there is more to it, of course. The congressman's behavior, for one. She would be behaving like a bitch in heat, trying to get into the pants of every male she sees.”

“Yes. Actually, that is a pretty accurate description of it. And I didn't tell you that.”

“You didn't have to. See, the transformation is magic. Not nice, Disney fairytale magic, it's gritty, bad, real-world magic. The spell these poor girls are under forces them to behave like a two bit whore, while at the same time loading them down with so much self-loathing that they eventually suicide.”

“Who would do something like that? And why?” Pam said, shocked.

“That is what I'm trying to find out. That is the story I'm offering.”

“Ok, you got me. Hook, line and sinker. This is big. Proof that magic exists. Enchanted people. That's heady stuff. Pulitzer territory. But, one thing. Why weren't you affected?”

“I knew you were smart. Was really just a matter of time before you'd stumble on that. Yes, I was not affected by the secondary spells. I happen to be immune against certain aspects of it.”

“Come on! I can almost taste it, you're hiding something. Spill!” she said.

I briefly thought about the situation and decided that I had to trust someone. It might as well be her, at least she would be on our side until she had the story. Hopefully past that, too.

I looked at her and said, “Yes. Ok. Here it comes. I'm immune because the spell didn't turn me into just any woman. The spell turned me into a sorceress!”

Pam stared at me, eyes wide open. Her jaw dropped and I reached out and gently pushed it up with my finger.

She recovered and said, “So you can do magic?”

“Afraid so,” I said. “But I'm only learning.”

“Wow.”

We were silent for a moment, then I said, “We need paperwork. Good fakes will be enough. We need to rent a place to stay. That would be myself, a friend and a small child.”

“Why don't you conjure some ID, then?” Pam asked.

“I can't. I don't know a spell for fake ID. I doubt one exists. I don't think they had ID when this magic was discovered.”

“So, what's with the child? I won't be part of any kidnapping!”

“Don't worry. It's rather complicated, but I can assure you the kid is legit. Her name is Alyssa and she's three years old. She thinks I'm her mother.”

“And why would a child think that?”

“Pam, you're never satisfied, are you? Ok, she was an adult sorceress, an enemy. I turned her into a child to neutralize her. Turned out she identifies me as her mother now and I'm stuck with her.”

“I'm sorry. I shouldn't pry all that much. I believe you. Let me see what I can do to get you some paperwork. I will need pictures of you and some background. Birth dates, Hometowns, etc. The sooner I get that, the sooner you can have your ID. It will cost you, I'll let you know how much.”

Pam was all businesslike now. She had a lead on a story that had the potential to make her career take off and she wasn't about to let it get away. She would be in our corner for the time being. I was happy that we had made a useful ally and bid her goodbye. She got out of the car and I started the engine and headed home.

Forty-nine

Meanwhile, the Council had discovered that Alyssa was missing. A representative sent to her house had found the house empty and devoid of books. A quick query of the mortal's databases yielded a report of an accidental death of one Alyssa Harrows.

The Council then appointed Raven to look for Veronica, the assassin, and bring her in. Raven was a stunningly beautiful sorceress with long, straight black hair, which she had taken her name from. She was one of the council's most capable minions and she stood to gain much from this. Bringing in Veronica could mean moving up the table into Alyssa's seat.

Raven began the painstaking and complex task of building a detection matrix, an array of various enchanted stones, connected by lines of spell energy. This matrix would take at least a week to build and it should allow to trace certain kinds of magic.

Like magic books.

Fifty

Elsewhere, Charissa fell back on her bed, spent. It had been very difficult to follow events in the world, since they were unfolding so quickly. She had little energy left, certainly not enough to do what she would have liked to do. In the end, she had been able to focus long enough to send a burst of concentrated energy across the dimensional gulf.

In a cabinet, in a house, somewhere on earth, a flawless ruby gained an almost invisible crack.

End of part twelve