JoEllen Hunter, the newest Mistress of the Academy, has enslaved her own sissy and is forcing him to become a maid. Has Desdemona truly seduced JoEllen with power and riches? And what is happening with Diana and America's most covert agency?

Harry Pressley's skull was pounding. His mouth felt like dry cotton and tasted like puke. Every part of him that could ache did so with gusto.
He hesitated at opening his eyes, fearful that the stabbing brilliance of sunlight would somehow saturate his already overloaded pain receptors. He opened them to darkness.
As he became more conscious, he became aware of a wet stickiness. His nostrils recoiled at the disgusting stench of urine, feces, and vomit that he suddenly realized was his own.
The adrenaline rush of Harry's realization brought him wide awake. Despite the hangover agony he tried to stand, slipping on the pool of bodily waste he lay in.
A door opened. Light flooded the room, blinding Harry. As he attempted to stand, unseen persons opened up a high pressure stream of cold water, sufficiently forceful to push him off his feet. His unseen tormentors continued the water barrage, washing all of the waste products from his skin.
It was at this point that Harry realized he was naked.
The hosing continued for what seemed an eternity, but subsided in less than five minutes. Soaking wet and chilled to the bone, Harry lay in the corner, shaking. Then he heard footsteps.
He looked up and saw a familiar woman, dressed in a form-fitting black uniform with high-heeled leather boots. She carried a riding crop and affected a very dominating attitude. “Get up,” she commanded.
Harry did not move. He then felt as though he had been dipped in liquid fire. The pain of his hangover paled next to the agony he now felt. And just as suddenly as it has started, it stopped.
“I said get up,” the woman repeated.
Harry slowly struggled to his feet, only to be rewarded by another intense bolt of pain shooting through his entire body. It felt as though his flesh had been flayed open with a million tiny razors and then rubbed with salt. He staggered and fell under the onslaught. And just as suddenly, the pain switched off.
The ebony-clad woman walked toward him, her boot-heels clicking on the tile floor. “When I give an order, missy, I expect instant and unquestioned obedience. Now get up!”
Harry jumped to his feet, not wanting to incur the wrath of his tormentor. His eyes were wide with terror as he remembered seeing her before. “You're the girl from the bar!” he said.
Another searing bolt of pain ripped through his body. “You will speak only when spoken to!” she commanded. “And when you speak, missy, the first word and last word out of your sorry hole will be 'Mistress.' Understand?”
“What do you...” Harry's sentence was cut off in midstream by yet another agonizing jolt of pain.
“What did I tell you, girlie?” the woman said.
“I'm not a girl, I'm...” More agony brought Harry to his knees.
“Now let's try that again, missy. How do you address me?”
Harry tried to fight back tears. “M-m-m-mistress,” he said.
The woman smiled, a cruel, wicked smile. “Now is that so bad, Missy? All you need do is show the proper respect. Now what is my name?”
“Mistress, I don't know your name,” Harry said.
“Oh yes you do, little miss. My name is 'Mistress.' That is the only name you will use when addressing me, or any other Mistress in the school. Do you understand, Missy?”
“Yes, Mistress,” Harry replied
“Now as long as you know my name, why don't you tell me yours?” she asked, in a very sultry, seductive voice.
“Mistress, my name is Harry Pr...” Once again, Harry was staggered by unimaginable agony suffusing every fiber of his body. He did not fall to the floor, but could barely stand.
“No, Missy, your name is not Harry. Your name is Missy. From now on the only name you will respond to is 'Missy.' Do you understand me, Missy?”
Harry hesitated just long enough to earn another shock of pain. “Mistress!” he cried out, “my name is Missy.”
“Good girl, Missy,” the woman said. “Your days as an unruly undisciplined male are over as of now. You will be remade into a much softer, gentler, and obedient girl. You will be trained in all domestic skills, my little miss. But I have even more in store for you.”
The woman turned, staring at Harry. He looked like a deer caught in headlights, too fearful to run, uncertain what to do next. “First, little miss, you need to cover yourself. Follow me.”
The woman walked out of the room. Harry followed, unwilling to endure yet another painful episode. He followed the woman out to a corridor, and then to a small room. He was now even colder, but did not dare to complain.
The room contained a stool and a table. On the table was a bra and panties, a garter belt, stockings, and a towel. Hanging up were a blouse and a plaid jumper. “I want you to dry yourself off. I don't want you ruining your pretty new things. Use that towel.”
Harry picked up the towel and dried himself. He rubbed his skin briskly with the terrycloth, grateful for the warmth it provided. But now he was aware of his nakedness and began to blush. The black-clad woman noticed.
“Oh, look how shy my little Missy is,” the woman said in a mock sort of baby-talk. “Why she's blushing! That's very good, Missy, a young lady ought to be modest. But it's all right, you can get dressed now. Put on your pretty panties and bra. Now!”
The last word contained an edge and a hint of a threat. Harry quickly complied, and when commanded also put on the bra and garter belt. He struggled with the straps, earning a few punishments. He followed the woman's instructions to roll the stockings and unroll them over his legs. “Your legs are much too hairy, Missy,” his tormentor said. “But don't worry, you will be shown how to properly shave them. Now finish getting dressed! You still have to put on your petticoats.”
Harry felt the strange, soft, bouncy fabric brush against his skin as he pulled the petticoats over his head. He fumbled with the blouse's buttons but eventually had them all fastened. Then he pulled the plaid jumper over his head and smoothed it over his petticoats. The bouncy, lacy undergarments pushed his skirt out, making him feel cold and very vulnerable.
“Don't forget your shoes, Missy,” the woman said, pointing to the black pumps on the floor. Harry stepped into the pumps. His balance seemed precarious, as though he had never worn any sort of heeled shoes before, but he remained on his feet.
“Now that looks so much better,” the woman said, smiling wickedly. “You only need one more thing to complete your appearance.” She held a short, blond wig. “Put this on. You'll need it until your own hair grows out.
Harry reluctantly pulled the wig over his own short hair. He now looked the perfect image of a young teen schoolgirl, except for the hair showing through his stockings and his five o'clock shadow. And his behavior had also changed. He seemed docile, cooperative, and obedient; and frightened.
JoEllen could scarcely believe that she was going through with this charade. Having been a victim just over a year ago, she felt empathy with Harry. If only there were some way she could spare him this torment, she would do so. But she did not dare tip her hand. The stakes were far too important.
“Mistress?” JoEllen was interrupted by the pleading, almost tearful voice of the newest Academy recruit.
“Did I speak to you, Missy?” JoEllen said. “I distinctly remember telling you not to speak unless spoken to. You remember me saying that, don't you Missy?”
“Yes, Mistress,” Harry replied, his voice trembling.
“Well this had better be a very important matter, Missy, or I shall have to punish you for your impertinence. Now what is so important that you think you can disobey your Mistress' orders?”
“Mistress,” said Harry, unable to hold back his tears, “why? What did I ever do to you? Why are you doing this?”
JoEllen smiled at Harry like a cat smiling at a mouse, playing with its prey before the kill. “You were a man. You deserve it. And I'm doing it because I can.
“You thought you were going to lure me to your hotel room for a night of quick sex. You thought I was nothing more than an object to satisfy your lust. Now you will pay for your disrespect.
“You are now in the Academy, a place where delinquent boys are reformed into contributing members of society. Your male arrogance shall be replaced with proper feminine deportment, and you shall be taught to serve. Our graduates are highly prized as domestic servants, and you shall be no exception. Only I have something special in mind for you, Missy.
“You shall be my personal maid. You shall take care of my every need. You will make certain that my uniforms and my clothing are properly washed, pressed, and folded. You shall keep my personal area spotless and assist me when I dress. You shall do all of these things and do them gladly.
“You will take classes with the other students of the Academy, but after class you will report to me for extra training. I demand high standards, and you shall adhere to them.
“Your ass is mine, Missy. Now come with me! You are already late for class. No excuses! Follow me quickly!”
JoEllen walked next to Harry, prodding him on with occasional bursts of pain from her riding crop. He stumbled in the constraint of his petticoats and his high heels, but did not dare falter. JoEllen hated herself for doing this, and prayed that God, Harry, and the human race would someday forgive her for what she had to do.

* * * * *
The neighborhood was old, and showed it. But where it had been deteriorating, it was now returning to life. A new generation of young professionals was reversing the diaspora to the suburbs, coming home to the city that their parents had left for a better life in the suburbs.
Along with the influx of affluence, trendy little bistros were opening next to the longtime neighborhood shops. The shopkeepers had been wary at first, but found that the newly affluent young professionals sought out their wares as eagerly as those of the new boutiques.
Neighbors also took greater pride in their surroundings. The small patches of grass and flowers that served as lawns were now trimmed, cleaned, weeded, and well tended. A new pride had emerged in an old neighborhood.
It was in this neighborhood that Diana Hunter now found herself, in front of a newly renovated home. It had been her mother's, and was now being dedicated to a new purpose.
It was unusual for Diana to make a public appearance. As the CEO and owner of The Hunter Group, she normally maintained a low profile. On this day she made an exception, and allowed herself to be surrounded by politicians and the media.
She suffered through the introductions made by pompous, self-important, minor officials seeking to somehow turn this event into a political advantage. Finally, she was introduced and stepped up to the podium accompanied by polite applause.
She stood at the podium and adjusted a few papers. “Thank you, commissioner Weston,” she said, hoping that she had gotten the fellow's name right.
“Today a dream is given form. Today, we dedicate the first of many shelter homes operated by the Teresa Rossi Foundation.
“It was my privilege to know Ms. Rossi for many years. Her spirit of giving, of generosity, and of service to humanity were an inspiration.
“Teresa Rossi cared about her neighborhood. When many of her friends and relatives were fleeing the city for the safety of the suburbs, Teresa Rossi would not leave. She refused to abandon the neighborhood she loved. She always insisted that it was a good place. And so she endured the deterioration, the crime, the urban decay, all the while keeping alive the spirit that would someday reinvigorate her beloved home.
“In keeping that spirit alive, Teresa Rossi reached out and cared for the most vulnerable in our city, its children. She opened her home to young, innocent victims of abuse, of violence, of drugs, and of neglect. She offered them safe haven, love, and a chance to thrive.
“This day, we have gathered to dedicate a facility in her name, a place where her ideals shall live on. In this place that had been her home, the cast-off victims of society shall continue to find refuge from the storm.
“This is the first of many such facilities. It is made possible through the generosity of the Rossi family and the work of Commissioner Weston and the Office of Youth and Family Services. But it is also made possible by the dedicated staff and volunteers who will continue Teresa Rossi's kind work.
“In closing, let me say that, although we assemble here to dedicate this building, it is the life of Teresa Rossi that has truly dedicated it. It is her example we aspire to. May we remain worthy of this noble task. Thank you.”
Several news cameras taped Diana as she held the ceremonial scissors with Commissioner Weston. The scene was also observed from the rooftop across the street.
A worker spreading tar on the flat roof turned to her tool box and removed a high-power sniper rifle. She lay prone on the roof, aiming the rifle toward the ceremony. With practiced concentration she placed Diana's head in the cross hairs of her sighting scope. She breathed in, held it, and exhaled slowly. Carefully, she started to squeeze the trigger.
A stinging sensation in her thigh prevented her from squeezing off the fatal round. Just what the hell was that? She began to think. She never finished the thought. The world suddenly went black.
Margo Lane relaxed. Her target had been taken out. She signaled success. At just about the same time, two of her fellow agents were also reporting success.
At street level, the ribbon was cut and the assembled officials flowed inside to a waiting reception. Political hacks and minor functionaries would hobnob and share polite conversation over cocktails and hors d'oeuvres, unaware of the drama that had unfolded above their heads. Three would-be assassins had been intercepted and were now being transported to a building across town. It was a most unremarkable structure, another faceless tower of concrete, glass, and steel in the urban jungle. You may have seen it many times without paying it any attention.
Of course, if I told you its location, I would have to kill you.

* * * * *
“You could have been killed, Diana,” said a very annoyed Mary Risberg.
“I've been living on borrowed time for most of my life, Mary. Besides, this operation needed bait, and our fish would only bite at the real thing.”
Diana Hunter sat across from Risberg, who was seated behind her desk. “Damn it, Diana, you are far too important to use as bait. If I had gotten wind of this operation...”
Diana interrupted, “You would not currently have three live assassins to question. By the way, how is that coming along?”
“You're changing the subject,” Risberg replied.
“Yes, I am. And let's not forget, Mary, I don't work for you.”
“But you are one of our protectees, Diana, and I take that responsibility very seriously.”
“Glad to hear it, since I never asked for any protection. But seriously, Mary, do you think for one minute I didn't know what I was doing?”
“Sometimes I wonder,” Risberg mused. “In any event, our captives have not talked much. They are demonstrating a high level of resistance to out interrogation methods. But we did manage to recover some interesting hardware.”
Mary activated a large plasma display next to her desk. “This is one of the cyanide implants we recovered,” she said, pointing to the image on the screen. “It resembles a tooth right down to a simulated nerve shadow that shows up on x-ray, but it's a very sophisticated poison delivery system. And our analysis reveals that it can be used as a weapon.”
“A weapon?” Diana said.
“Yes, a suicide weapon. When activated, the false tooth ejects a capsule that begins to dissolve. By spitting it, the assassin could take out somebody at close range. She would still die of cyanide poisoning, but she could destroy her target in the process.”
Diana whistled. “That implies either a high degree of dedication or an incredibly effective mind control.”
“We believe it to be the latter,” said Risberg. “We're analyzing it to discover the triggering protocol. We're using that new supercomputer of yours to help us out.”
“You mean Cassandra?” Diana asked.
“Yes, and thank you for the generous donation. We can really use it.”
“Glad to help out, Mother,” Diana said, addressing Risberg by her codename. “Cassandra is the prototype, of course. I used it to fine-tune the algorithms and prove the operating system. It doesn't cost all that much to build.”
“I'm still grateful, Diana. We can use that sort of computing horsepower.”
“You can express your gratitude by telling me about my daughter,” Diana answered. “How is her mission coming along?”
Mary frowned. “You know I can nether confirm nor deny any knowledge of JoEllen.”
“Don't insult my intelligence, Mary. We both know that she's on a deep cover assignment. All I want to know is if she is all right.”
Mary Risberg looked about nervously. What she was considering was a violation of US Law and her own sense of loyalty and honor. Still, Diana was a good friend and perhaps the finest asset her agency had, even if she was not technically an agent. She weighed the two considerations and made a decision.
“We received a coded message a few days ago, Diana. JoEllen is all right and her mission is on track.”
“What sort of a coded message?” Diana asked.
“I'm not at liberty to say. It was an agreed-upon transmission of innocuous language to a certain destination. It signified that JoEllen was alive and still on mission.”
“And you are certain of this?”
“Certain enough to insert extra assets into the mission. They are also under deep cover, and may have made contact by now. We won't know until we receive our next message.”
“And that message will mean exactly what?”
Mary Risberg smiled. “Come a-runnin'.”

* * * * *
Jaydeep Kumar was in his element. As he typed, the complex relationships expressed in his code seemed to form a diagram in the space of his office. Jay needed no white-board, diagrams, or requirements. He instinctively grasped the information as easily as a child learned how to operate a toy. He was lost in his work when the phone rang.
Reluctantly dragging his attention away from his monitor, Jay stabbed the phone button to activate the speakerphone. “Kumar here,” he said.
The voice at the other end was Shawna Gilroy, Human Resources manager for The Hunter Group. “Jay, this is Gilroy at HR. We need you here for a few minutes.”
“Could it possibly wait? I'm in the middle of something important.”
“It can't wait, Jay. Shut down your laptop and bring it with you. Now.”
From the tone in Shawna's voice, Jay knew that this was serious. “Okay, I'll be right there.” He broke the connection, saved his code, and shut down the laptop. He pulled it from its docking station and put it in his case, then he carried it out to the hallway.
HR was three floors up. Jay didn't bother with the elevator, preferring the stairs for a bit of exercise. He was fairly fit, taking three flights of stairs without difficulty. By the time he reached Gilroy's office, his heartbeat was almost back to normal.
Gilroy's secretary waved Jay right into her office. Gilroy was seated behind her desk. Two women were seated in front. One was tall and dressed in a black suit with a crá¨me-colored blouse. The second woman he recognized immediately; Diana Hunter!
Jay was, for the first time in his life, overawed. He had never expected to meet the enigmatic Chairman and CEO of Hunter Group. She was something of a legend. Now he was next to her, and he had no idea what to say. “Ms. Hunter,” he began, only to be cut off.
“Is that your laptop?” Diana asked.
“Uh, yes, but...”
“Give it to me now,” she said.
Jay handed over the case to Diana, who unzipped it and removed the laptop. She looked at it briefly before handing it over to the tall woman in the other seat.
“I need a complete analysis of this laptop to see if any other little beasties may be lurking inside it,” Diana said. She turned to Gilroy. “Thank you, Shawna, I'll take it from here. Mr. Kumar, please come with me.” Diana did not so much ask as command. Jay found himself following her to the elevator, up to the top floor, and into a private office.
“Please sit down, Jay. May I call you Jay?”
“Uh, yes, of course, Ms. Hunter, but...”
“And you can call me Diana. Jay, your laptop has been hacking into our network and gathering sensitive information.”
“What? I mean, I never...”
“I know you didn't do this intentionally, Jay. You're a good developer, one of the best, but this particular bit of spyware is beyond anything you could design. How long have you known Virginia Monroe?”
“Ginny? We met about two years ago at DeltaCon. We've been living together for about two years. Is she in trouble?”
The tall woman now spoke. “We believe she is an operative for an organization that intends to overthrow the government and seize power. This organization has tried to assassinate Diana on several occasions. We managed to foil the last attempt, but in doing so we may have put you in danger.
“Your girl friend is probably going to kill you. For your own protection we have to take you into custody. You're going to drop out of sight for a little while, Jay.”
“Wait a minute, just who do you think you are?”
The woman replied, “I'm the government, that's who. And you will be very, very dead if you don't listen to me, kid. I'm trying to save your life!”
“What about Ginny?” he asked.
“We're sending somebody over to deal with her.”
“She won't be hurt, will she?”
“Look, kid, your lady friend has been using you and was ready to kill you when you stopped being useful. Now use your head and cooperate with us.”
Jay stared in stunned silence for a few moments. “Okay, I guess I better go with you.”
Diana said, “You don't have any choice, but we're glad you chose to cooperate with us. Now we need to disguise you before we move you to our safe house.”
“Disguise me? Why?”
“Not to put too fine a point on it, Jay, but you're sort of conspicuous. I don't know if anyone is watching us or not, but I don't want to tip them off in any way. My associate Margo Lane is quite skilled in disguise. I guarantee nobody will be able to recognize you when she's done.”
Margo opened a closet to reveal a black dress. “Fortunately you aren't very tall. I'm sure you aren't familiar with female underwear, so just let me guide you. I'll do your makeup when you're done dressing.”
“What? I'm being disguised as a girl? That'll never work! People will know right away that I'm a guy.”
“You're sure of that?” Margo said.
“Hell yes! Anybody can tell when a man tries to dress like a woman!”
“Can you tell that I'm a man, kid?”
“You? But that's not...”
“Oh yes it is, Jay. The legs are real, but everything else is paint, padding, and illusion. Trust me! Now let's get this done and get you into protective custody.”
Jay hesitated, and then allowed himself to be transformed by Margo Lane.
Several hours later, three black-clad women left the Hunter IS Center and entered a black Lincoln Navigator. They attracted no attention as they drove out of the parking lot and into the city.

* * * * *

Classes had ended for the day. Missy changed into her maid's uniform and hurried to Mistress Jessica's quarters. This was part of her daily routine.
She knocked on the door and asked permission to enter. Permission was granted. Missy closed the door behind her and stood straight for inspection. Mistress Jessica expected an impeccable appearance.
JoEllen scrutinized Missy's uniform, make-up, shoes, hair, and nails. All were acceptable. “Well, Missy, you're starting to look like a maid. I suppose you are proud of yourself.”
“Mistress, my only function is to serve,” Missy replied.
“Well said, Missy. I have some special training in mind for you this evening. I am certain that it will benefit you.”
JoEllen went over to the laptop she had open on her desk and typed a sequence of characters. She studied the screen and was apparently satisfied. Then she said to Missy, “Make me an egg cream, please.”
Missy replied, “Three A.M. In the morning and you want I should make you an egg cream?”
JoEllen said, “Why can't I have an egg cream?”
Missy replied, “We're out of chocolate.”
JoEllen relaxed and extended her hand. “I thought you gave the recognition code earlier. JoEllen Hunter.”
Missy relaxed and took JoEllen's extended hand. “Maxine Kim. Mother sends her regards.”
“I'm sorry about putting you through the ringer, Maxine.”
“Call me Max. Mother warned us about the pain induction. I didn't expect to be drugged or sprayed with a fire hose, though.”
“Again, my apologies. I had to maintain cover. I wish there were some other way...”
“Forget it, JoEllen. This mission is too important. By the way, how is it going?”
“I have the data we need. I hacked Raventree's database and extracted the names and locations of all of her associates. It's a regular rogue's gallery of rich, powerful women.”
“Is the data ready for extraction?”
“Yes, and so are we. Can you reach your partner?”
“She's ready to go. Oh, and before I forget, I have a little present from the girls in the armory.” Max pulled up her skirt and petticoats to expose her navel. She pressed it and a small sphere about the size of a shooter marble popped out. She pressed a hidden catch and it opened like a clamshell. From the open sphere Max extracted a small cylinder.
Max held the cylinder behind JoEllen's ear. JoEllen felt a slight shock and something appeared to flash in her eyes. “What was that?” JoEllen asked.
“It disables the transdermal governor. No more pain induction.” Max now pressed the cylinder behind her own ear. “Ah,” she said, “that's better. No more problems with the riding crop. No offense, JoEllen.”
“None taken. Now get back to your partner and get ready. I just sent a message to Mother to come and get us. The data has been encrypted and coded onto a data stick.” JoEllen produced a small, flattened metal tube. “Here's a copy. One of us needs to get through.”
“Okay,” said Max, putting the data stick into the pocket of her apron, “you're the boss.”
“Get back to your partner and disable her governor. And when our ride gets here be ready to bug out.”
“You got it,” Max said. She opened the door. As she left, JoEllen called after her, “Get back to your dormitory, you lazy little thing, and clean up those nails! How dare you report to me with chipped nails! Fix them and get right back to me!”
“Yes, Mistress,” Max said, running as fast as she could.
JoEllen turned back to her quarters. Events were in motion, and the next few moments would be critical.
That's when a long-suppressed memory surfaced. She remembered Diana's visit to the Academy dormitory, and the capsule she had swallowed. She needed every edge she could get in order to succeed. She repeated the recall sequence that had been hypnotically implanted in her mind.

“There is a road, no simple highway,
“Between the dawn and the dark of night,
“And if you go no one may follow,
“That path is for your steps alone.”

It was the lyrics to a song, one of Diana's favorites but unknown to JoEllen. Now she repeated those words and activated the transmitter that was attached to her digestive tract.

* * * * *
Diana was in her country home when her pager beeped. She glanced at the message, then went to her garage. She quickly changed into a black jumpsuit and entered a waiting van. It was outfitted with everything she would need to enter the Academy grounds and retrieve her daughter.

* * * * *
A klaxon sounded on the Academy grounds. Intruders!
Maids quickly shed their aprons and grabbed rifles to take up defensive positions. Like a well-oiled machine, the Mistresses retrieved their automatic weapons, sidearms, and body armor and reported to their command posts. Within minutes the Academy was prepared to repel any form of armed assault.
Or so they thought.
Gas grenades exploded within the ranks of maids. Whatever the grenade packed, it put them down for the count. Automatic gunfire rattled across the perimeter, hosing down the defenders with mercy bullets. Whoever was mounting this assault was taking great pains not to kill.
The mistresses had no such reservations. They opened fire with their M-16's and shot to kill. They sprayed lead at their unseen adversary, hoping to take them out by sheer brute force.
That's when they heard the bike. Somebody riding a motorcycle had flanked them!
Diana twisted the throttle on her dirt bike and jumped over the fence. With one hand she removed an Uzi from its holster and sent hot lead flying at the Mistresses. She was careful not to aim directly, lest she hit JoEllen in the process, but she had effectively pinned down the force.
JoEllen was with Desdemona, laying flat behind a low brick wall. “Jessica,” called Desdemona, “get ready to move. We need to take out that bitch on the dirt bike.”
Desdemona was suddenly aware of cold steel at her back.
“That's not what's going to happen tonight, Desdemona. Tonight you are going to give the order to stand down. Do it now before I blow your head off.”
Desdemona reached for her riding crop and pressed the stud. She was astonished when JoEllen did not fall over in a helpless pile. “What's wrong?” she asked.
“Nothing's wrong, Desdemona. I just disabled the governor is all. You have no power over me. Now give the order before my finger accidentally slips.”
“No! I'm not going to!” she said.
JoEllen shot Desdemona in the foot. The bullet did no real damage, just grazing Desdemona's big toe. “That was a warning shot. The next one is in your head.”
Desdemona called out, “Stand down! Put down your weapons! Stand down!”
The Mistresses were stunned, but too conditioned to taking orders to resist. They laid down their arms and raised their hands. From the darkness, black-clad commandos emerged to handcuff them.
JoEllen stood up. She held her hands up and said, “Federal agent! Don't shoot! Federal agent!”
From the ranks of the commandos, one woman removed her helmet to reveal blond hair. She walked forward to JoEllen. “I got your message, Rosebud.”
“Thanks, Mother,” JoEllen replied. “I have the data here, and Max has a copy. That was some trick with the gas grenades.”
“Max and Lori managed to smuggle a few in and lobbed them when the party started. I hate to think what would have happened if we had to storm this place without them.”
Diana walked over from her parked bike, her Uzi holstered on her back. “Rosebud?” she asked.
“It's my code name,” JoEllen said. “Pretty cool, no?”
“I think you've watched 'Citizen Kane' a few times too many. It's good to see you, JoEllen.”
“And it's good to see you, Diana. It's been way too long.” The two women embraced.
Desdemona Raventree was hauled to her feet. Her hands were cuffed behind her back, and her scowl would have curdled fresh milk. “What's going on here?” she demanded.
“What's going on,” JoEllen said, “is the dismantling of your empire, Raventree. Did you really think you could get away with it?”
Desdemona smiled wickedly. “You can stop the Academy, but you can't stop my plan. I already have women in positions of power and influence, and they stand poised to take over. You couldn't possibly find them all.”
“We don't have to,” JoEllen said. “You were kind enough to keep records of all of your associates, as well as the maids you embedded in the households of some movers and shakers. All we have to do is neutralize them. Desdemona, your plan is over.”
Raventree's wicked confidence now turned to anger. “Why you ungrateful little bitch! Just who the hell do you think you are? I offered you a place at my side, with power and wealth beyond dreams of avarice! You're turning this all down for a paltry government salary?”
JoEllen's face was expressionless as she faced Raventree, but there was no mistaking her grim determination. “Raventree, I would do it again in a heartbeat. Do you want to know who I think I am? Let me tell you. I am the daughter of Diana Hunter, the woman you have been trying to kill. I walked into your little party with one goal, to take you out and dismantle your organization.
“I studied under Master Wan, and I thought I was beyond thoughts of revenge. But you know, I'm taking a very wicked delight in watching you fall. You tried to kill my mother, and I value her above any wealth or power in this universe.
“So go on and think about this as you spend the rest of your miserable life in a six-by-eight cell in some remote prison located someplace even God never heard of! Whenever I do, I'm going to laugh my ass off at your pathetic incompetence.”
Diana suddenly beamed with joy. This was the first time JoEllen had ever called her “Mother.” But this joy was short-lived. She watched as Raventree clamped her jaw.
“From the heart of Hell,” Raventree quoted, “I stab at thee.
“For hate's sake I spit my last breath at thee!”
Raventree bit hard. Diana knew exactly what was about to happen and launched herself at JoEllen. As she pushed JoEllen aside, Raventree opened her mouth and spit.
It caught Diana in the face. Raventree had activated her cyanide tooth and was expelling its deadly contents.
Raventree fell, no longer conscious. She was dead before she hit the ground.
Diana felt an intense, fiery pain radiate out from her face and suffuse her entire body. She thought that she was feeling the agonies of hellfire. Then all went black as her body hit the ground.
She felt a sensation like tissue paper tearing, only it was internal. All pain was gone. Diana was standing next to Mary Risberg and JoEllen. They were frantically calling while bending over a body.
It was hers!
Diana realized that she was dead.
As she looked at Risberg and JoEllen frantically trying to revive her dead body, she became aware of another presence. Desdemona Raventree was standing next to her. And she was terrified.
As Diana watched, a tarry black liquid seemed to seep up from the ground and cover her. Desdemona screamed as it advanced and continued to scream as it covered her mouth and nostrils. The liquid now completely enveloped Raventree, muffling her shouts. The distinct silhouette of Raventree became vague. The liquid lost its form and sank back into the ground. It was as though it had been completely absorbed by the earth. No trace was left of the black liquid or of Desdemona Raventree.
Diana looked around. Her friends had called for medics and were moving her body to a helicopter. Diana knew it was too late. She was certain that her mortal life was over. But what lay ahead for her?
From behind she heard a voice. “I know that it isn't very pleasant to watch, but that was the fate she earned.”
The voice sounded familiar. Could it be? She turned.
It was Anne Rossi. “Hello, Joe,” she said.
Diana looked down at herself and discovered that he was no longer Diana. The body was that of Joe Rossi.
“Annie, does this mean I'm done? Can I come with you?”
“Yes, Joe. Your time here has ended.”
“And we'll be in Heaven together?”
She laughed. “Something like that. It's a place of reward, the place you earned, and we can be there together. And Joe, Mama is waiting for us. She's anxious to see you again.”
Joe was overwhelmed. He embraced Annie and they kissed, a kiss that seemed to last for eternity, and probably did.
“And now what do we do?” he asked.
“We walk into the light,” Annie answered.
They held hands and walked. The light surrounding them grew brighter, until all was illuminated. And then they faded from this plane of reality.
Annie and Joe were going home.

* * * * *
Antares Estes was addressing the board of directors when she was interrupted.
“Just who the hell do you think you are?” she demanded of the woman leading a squad of uniformed officers.
The woman produced a badge. “Teresa Winters, homicide.” she answered.
“How dare you interrupt this meeting! I'll have your...”
Estes' indignant rant was interrupted by Detective Winters. “Antares Estes, you are under arrest for the murder of Malcolm Estes. And when I get done with you my associates in the FBI want to talk to you about conspiracy to overthrow the government.
Antares was stunned as Winters cuffed her and read her the familiar formula of the Miranda decision. “You have the right to remain silent,” Winters stated as she led Estes out of the room. “If you choose to give up this right, anything you say can me used as evidence against you. You have the right to an attorney.” Winters' voice faded as she led Estes out of the board room and down to the waiting squad car.

* * * * *
Ginny Monroe had just left Jay Kumar's apartment. She knew it was time to leave. Jay had been compromised and very likely she was as well. The last year had been fun, leading the little geek around by the dick, a helpless slave to his desire and a pathetically clueless dupe. Fun time was over. Time to high-tail it out of town.
The elevator stopped one flight below hers. Two black-clad women entered. The door closed and the elevator resumed its trip. Ginny waited patiently, sharing her space with two strangers as she had so many times before.
She did not expect one of them to turn and spray her in the face.
Ginny was indignant! Where did that bitch get off spraying her in... At that point, anything resembling coherent thought ceased to form in Ginny's mind.
“All right, honey,” the woman said, “we're going to take a little trip. Don't make any fuss, now.”
“Trip,” Ginny repeated. The elevator stopped at the ground floor, and the two women escorted Ginny to a black car waiting at the curb.

* * * * *
Inside a very ordinary building in the city, a memorial ceremony was being held.
Mary Risberg stood at the front of the room crowded with agents of America's most covert agency. Despite her show of fortitude, her red eyes betrayed the tears she had shed. And she was not alone.
Seated next to the podium were Agents Margo Lane and JoEllen Hunter. As Mary took the stand they stood, along with the assembled agents. At Mary's indication they sat.
“We have come here today to honor one of our own, who gave her life for the life of another.
“Diana Hunter was technically not one of our agents, but over the years she has become as much a part of our sorority as any of us. Her courage and determination are an inspiration to us all. She was ready to risk her life for any of us, and gave of herself and her resources.
“I remember when I first met Diana. She had learned of an insidious sex slavery operation and teamed with us to take it out. She worked alongside us, risking her life as though she were just another agent. I was impressed by her courage, and also her compassion. She was a rare woman, and we are diminished by her loss.
“I'd like to turn the ceremony over to Margo Lane, who would like to share a few words with us. Margo.”
Margo stood up and walked to the podium. She adjusted the microphone, then spoke.
“I knew Diana when we were kids,” she said. “Diana was Joe Rossi back then. Yes, he's THAT Joe Rossi, the man who fingered the Mancuso Family. But when I met him, he was just Joe the runt.
“Joe was physically smaller that the other boys in the neighborhood, and also a lot smarter. That was a deadly combination in a tough neighborhood, and Joe was often bullied. I never could stand a bully, so I would stick up for him. That's how we became friends.
“In the old neighborhood, most boys ether became cops or priests. I became a cop. But Joe took a different path. He became a software geek for Sal Mancuso. That's how he eventually became a wiseguy for the mob, and how he wound up in prison.
“I won't comment on Joe's choices here, because God knows he paid for them. He paid for them when he decided to co-operate with Federal prosecutors and turn state's evidence against Mancuso. He paid for it when he was enslaved by a sick group of bitter women and transformed into a feminized slave. He paid for it when he destroyed that group and liberated all of the captives they had enslaved. And he paid for it by founding The Hunter Group, funding Ellis Laboratories and creating one of the most beneficial financial empires in the world.
“And he paid for it by being Diana Hunter. I knew that Diana wanted to regain her manhood more than anything in the world, but she willingly gave that up in order to protect her friends. Diana was one hell of a friend. I am grateful to have been one of them.
“Now I'd like to turn the floor over to Diana's daughter, JoEllen.”
Margo stepped back as JoEllen took the podium. She looked at the audience of assembled agents. She was a little nervous, but cleared her throat and spoke.
“Diana saved my life,” she began.
“I was an orphan, a victim of good intentions gone bad. I had bounced from one abusive foster home to another before I ran away to live on the street. That didn't last for long. I found myself a captive, a sexual slave, forced to perform in front of web cameras for an Internet porn scheme. I was angry. I thought nobody cared abut me, that I was less than worthless. That's when Diana came into my life.
“Diana rescued me from that captivity in an incident you all know well. When she discovered that I was an orphan, she took me in. I was still angry, and surly, and basically pissed off at the world and all adults. Diana took this in stride. She gave me something I never had before, unconditional love.
“Diana took me into her family and treated me like her own from the first day. How she found the patience to deal with me I'll never know, but she patiently let me work all of the rage out of my system. She gave without reservation and expected nothing in return. I resisted, but eventually I had to give in. I learned to love Diana. And Lord knows I didn't deserve it, but she loved me right back.
“My biggest regret is that I spent over a year under cover. I didn't get to be with Diana in that last year, and our reunion was over almost before it began.
“Diana, wherever you are, thank you for showing a bitter orphan how to love. I owe you more than I could ever repay in a hundred lifetimes.”
JoEllen stepped back, and Mary Risberg returned to the podium. “We honor the memory of Diana Hunter with a star in our Hall of Remembrance. A star is placed here whenever one of us falls in the line of duty. Diana was not one of our agents, but I don't think anyone can say she was not one of our own.
“Godspeed and rest in peace, old friend.”
Mary removed a drapery from the wall to reveal several rows of silver stars. A new one now occupied a space at the end of the lowest row. An inscription above the stars read

JoEllen cried as the wall was uncovered.

* * * * *
“Are you certain you want to resign?” Mary asked.
JoEllen was seated across from Mary's desk. “Yes, I think it would be for the best,” she replied.
“You know I can't stop you, JoEllen, but don't make a decision in haste.”
“I've thought hard about this, Mary. Somebody needs to step in and manage The Hunter Group. Diana wanted me to do this when I graduated. I think it's time to accept the responsibility and run the organization she worked so hard to create. I only hope I'm half the woman she was.”
“So you think you'll be content to sit behind a desk and crunch numbers all day?”
JoEllen smiled. “Diana was never that kind of a manager. She hired the best and the brightest to do all of that. No, I need to take the helm and guide the ship to new destinations, all the while being mindful of the rocks. I'll be managing the charitable organizations closely, especially the Teresa Rossi Foundation. But the financial arms can almost run themselves, and the Ellis Sisters have been running the labs all along. I think I'm up to it.”
“Well, I guess you have to do what you have to do,” Mary said. “But I'm losing one hell of an agent today.”
Mary stood and extended her hand. “Best of luck, Rosebud. Anytime you feel like dropping in, the door is open.”
JoEllen stood and grasped Mary's extended hand. “Thanks, Mother. I'll be in touch.”
JoEllen turned and left the office. Mary sighed. It was tough enough losing JoEllen. The girl had a lot of promise. But now she had to deal with another resignation, this time an agent with two years experience. She picked up the phone. “Holly, send her in,” she said.

* * * * *
Epilog

The sun had set. Wildwood Cemetery was now closed. The black car should not have been able to enter.
The car pulled up to a row of headstones. A woman dressed in a black trenchcoat and a snap-brim fedora emerged from the back seat and walked along the row of stones. She paused at one.
The stone was inscribed with two names side by side. The inscription on the left read:

On the right, the stone read:

The woman stood with her head bowed, silently meditating. Then she took a rose from the folds of her coat. She grasped it in her hand, pressing deliberately on the thorns to break her skin. Blood oozed from her hand, down the stem, falling onto the headstone and the ground it rested on.
The woman placed the rose onto the stone, and then spoke aloud. “I vow by my life's blood, and by all that is sacred and profane, to devote my life to protecting the helpless, to give refuge to those most needing of it, and to deal justice to the scum who victimize them. To that end, I pledge my life, my fortune, and my honor.”
A tear trickled down from her cheek, mingling with the blood. “This I swear to you, my Mother.”
She turned and walked back to the black car. She opened the back door and sat down.
From behind the steering wheel, Max Kim said, “Everything OK, boss?”
JoEllen sniffled. “Not completely, but it will get better.”
“So where to?”
“Let's head back to Diana's house in the country. I have a few loose ends to tie up. Then...then we see what the future will bring.”
“You got it, boss,” Max said.
The black car drove away, taking The Rose into the enfolding arms of night.

 © 2006, Valentina Michelle Smith