My Faraday City stories have been exploring an increasingly expansive world of superheroes, adventure, whimsy and danger. So, to keep all the worldbuilding straight, I documented it! Character dossiers, location writeups, it’s all here. Also, some fun new pics, and even some sneak peeks of upcoming stories!

A Guide to Faraday City

By Jenny North

(Prodigious Girl and Prodigy in his hideout)

“Okay, then,” he nodded as he retrieved a small data pad and handed it to me. “Here’s some homework for you that’ll keep you resting on your tail for a while.”

“What’s this?”

“Comprehensive dossiers on all known metahumans.”

I turned on the pad and thumbed through the entries. There were entries on lots of villains I’d heard about and many more that I hadn’t. Caleb would probably go nuts for this, I thought. But as I skimmed through it, I noticed something else.

“There are heroes in here, too.”

“Of course there are. One of them goes woolly or gets mind controlled, you’ll want to know their soft spots.”

“Where are you getting this from? I mean, villains are one thing, but heroes don’t exactly—”

“I hacked the superhero registration database.”

I looked at him in shock. “You...”

“Get over it, girl. We need an edge, and you’re holding it.”

I glanced down at the pad and then back at him. “So, what am I supposed to do with this?”

“Memorize it.”

“What?” I cried. “That’s not fair! There’s gotta be hundreds of entries!”

“And more every day, princess. Fighting crime isn’t just about punching out the bad guys’ lights, it’s about being ready for them. Knowing their strengths and weaknesses.”

So, in that above scene from Identity Crisis, who here really wanted to see what was on that data pad with all the detailed writeups?

Oh, so just me, then? Okay.

Still, my obsessiveness is your windfall! Since I needed to organize all the worldbuilding material for my Faraday City stories anyway, I decided to put the materials on a site where others could enjoy them as well. Think of it like a mini-Wikipedia site dedicated to the stories. (Or OHOTMU, for you comic geeks out there.)

So far, there’s over 60 pages of content with more than 62,000 words of material, and over 100 photos! Listings for over 150 characters (with detailed dossiers for 25 characters!), plus full story analysis pages that cross-link writeups of all the characters, organizations, locations, and equipment with where they appeared. All that, plus never-before-seen pics, and sneak peeks of upcoming stories, too!

What’s that, you say? You don’t know the difference between a Morphex Crystal and an Eidetic Charm? You’re not sure what’s going on at that mysterious Petco? Curious what Prodigy’s car looks like? Or maybe you’re looking for a good place to get donuts while in Faraday City? Worry no more, with dozens of writeups on locations, items, supergroups, and organizations.

Lest we forget the fun stuff, there’s fun stuff, too! Electronic trading cards, cosplay pics of my friends and me dressing up as the characters, even pics of some custom figures and statues!

Now, what would you pay? (Is it nothing? Well, that’s good, because just like the stories, it’s free!)

In total openness, I’m not expecting you kids to actually read all of what’s up there. While the actual Faraday City stories are fun and entertaining, a Wikipedia-style article about them is...less so. That part of it is really meant to help me organize things for myself. But I added some pizzazz so you could poke around and enjoy a little peek behind the scenes.

The site is up at: https://www.worldanvil.com/w/faraday-city-jenny-north

Check it out! I hope you like it!

(Now, I just need to get back to actually writing the next story...)

Beauty and the Beast

by Jenny North

The witch emerged from the townhouse onto the darkened city street, her business inside concluded. She pulled the door shut behind her, cutting short the sound of husky heart-wrenching sobs inside, even as her vibrant red-blonde ombre hair flashed like a fading sunset under the streetlights.

Wordlessly, she climbed into the passenger seat of the waiting car. The woman in the driver's seat was a little older than she, with her ash blonde hair worn up in a conservative style that complemented her tailored business suit.

"Is it done?"

"Yes."

"Do you feel better?"

The witch looked ready to make a snarky comeback, but stopped. "No," she whispered.

"Revenge is like that."

"This wasn't revenge. It was justice."

"Gwyn, I don't know if I can protect you. You have a tendency to color outside the lines, but...there will be consequences."

"I don't care. This isn't about me," Gwyn responded, her voice labored and thick with emotion.

The blonde woman looked about ready to say something, but then changed her mind and started the car.

Gwyn regarded her carefully. "What?"

"I'm curious. Why include the cursebreaker provision?"

Gwyn laughed ruefully. "You don't miss a trick." She got a faraway look on her face. "I wanted to torment him more."

"But that wasn't the only reason."

Gwyn sighed. "I see that guy, and all I see is the miserable waste of flesh that killed Hannah." Upon seeing the other's reproachful look, she quickly added, "He did! He didn't force the pills down her throat, but he may as well have. She'd be alive today if not for him," she said bitterly. "But...seeing him there groveling, all I could think was, 'What did Hannah see in him?'"

"What changed your mind?"

"Hannah was a Diviner. She saw the truth of things. Of people. And while I think that guy is a worthless, self-centered prick, she saw something in him. I know she wouldn't approve of what I did tonight, but I thought I owed her that much, to trust her judgment that maybe there's something there worth saving."

The two said no more, and drove off into the night.

FIVE YEARS LATER

Zoe leaned against the bar and raised her voice to be heard above the din of the crowd.

"New Year's Eve is such a sham, y'know? Drunk people thinking they'll be different because of some arbitrary flip of a calendar page. Making 'resolutions' they know they'll never keep. But me? I know all about change. It's a need. It challenges you, especially when other people want to stop you. You know why they do that? Because real change terrifies people. Because when they see other people do it, they have to examine their own shitty circumstances and acknowledge that they could change, but they don't want to. It's easier for them to tear other people down for trying."

Her glassy-eyed companion had tousled hair and a rumpled suit and was wearing a little paper party hat. After a moment, he turned to look at her, suddenly realizing that she'd finished talking.

"Yeah!" he agreed vacantly. "So, what's your New Year's resolution?"

Zoe gave him a deadpan look. "I'm thinking about taking a yoga class."

"Good one!"

He scrunched up his face as he looked at her, like he was piecing something together. Zoe knew the look all too well. The asshole didn't even bother to make an excuse before wandering off into the crowd in search of better prey.

Zoe tugged at her dress. "I knew off-the-shoulder was a dumb move," she lamented, hating how it showed off her broad shoulders. She unsuccessfully tried to catch the bartender's eye and then tossed her sparkly paper tiara onto the bar before giving her short dark curls a vigorous fluff.

"Sorry I'm late!" a woman's high-pitched voice chirped through the crowd. It was a ridiculous affected 'sexy baby voice,' except that Zoe knew it was no affectation.

"Harper, I've been waiting for an hour! You—oh, my God."

The other woman removed her fluffy white faux fur coat to reveal a scandalously skimpy hot pink dress that was two sizes too small for her based on the way her voluptuous curves obscenely filled it out. Her honey blonde hair was done up in a sexy "just been fucked" look, and her makeup looked like she worked at a strip club.

"Subtle."

"Thanks!" she squeaked, adjusting her boobs. She leaned onto the bar to show off her chest, instantly attracting the bartender's attention. Her drink came quickly, and she downed it immediately.

Zoe raised her eyebrows but made no comment. "Kinda surprised you're out. I figured you'd be doing the midnight countdown camgirl thing with your OnlyFans supporters."

"I need a night out," Harper said as she received a near-instantaneous refill for her drink from the bartender. She sipped at it as Zoe shook her head.

"You know, when I decided to transition, I knew I'd be giving up male privilege. But you just stormed right on past all that, didn't you?"

Harper glanced at her drink. "This isn't privilege. 'Cause every guy here wants to see me get wasted. And I'm gonna get wrecked and fuck every guy here!" she yelled. Nearby guys gave a grateful cheer.

"Ah, it's the 'beauty is a curse,' thing again. Wait, no, I meant to say, 'beauty is a burden.' I forgot you don't like to talk about the itch-way urse-cay."

"I'm sorry I ever told you about that," said Harper.

Zoe smiled. "That witch did quality work. Hell, all the women here would kill to look like you do right now. And more than a few of the men."

"Including you?"

"Honey, I'm already a work of art," Zoe declared.

"If you're thinking about her for your bottom surgery, my rating is 'Zero stars, Do not recommend,'" Harper retorted as she turned to scan the crowd.

Zoe leaned back and took a drink. "Where's Beau?"

"Oh, we're officially over."

Zoe blinked in surprise. "That's...new. You want to talk about it?"

"Not even a little. Oh! Did I tell you my New Year's resolution? You're gonna love it. It's all about self-acceptance. I am going to accept that this is who I am from now on. So, no more talk about witches or curses. I am just a chick who is looking to party!"

Just then, a smirking dude came up and looked straight at Harper.

"Hey! I've got a bet with my buddies over there. Are you actually Harper McCoy?"

"And the universe provides," Harper sighed with a hungry leer. She tossed her hair and pressed her lips into a come-hither smirk. "What do I win?"

The guy wrapped his arm around her in a familiar way as they took a selfie, and he guided her over to meet his friends. As they did so, Zoe quietly hung back and watched in concern.

"Coming! God!" Zoe complained in response to the renewed pounding on the front door. She crossed the apartment and threw the door open to reveal Harper's boyfriend, Beau. As usual, he looked like he just stepped off the cover of GQ. Zoe, meanwhile, looked like hell warmed over in her loose-fitting pajamas covered with smiling cartoon pigs.

"She's not here," Zoe said, moving to close the door. "She didn't come home last night."

Beau put his hand firmly against the door. "I'm actually here to see you."

Zoe groaned and tromped over to the kitchen to make some coffee, pointedly retrieving only one mug.

"I feel like you and I got off on the wrong foot," Beau said, following her.

Zoe gave a dismissive shrug. "Can't imagine why."

He sighed. "Zoe, I'm not here to debate your...lifestyle. I'm worried about Harper."

That stopped her short. "Oh?"

"Everything was going so well. We were even set to use her photos in my upcoming exhibition."

"So very thrilled for you."

"Dating her wasn't something I did lightly! Harper is important to me. We took it slow. And I never once complained about her...reputation. For her promiscuity."

Zoe poured coffee into her mug. "Amazing how you and I never hit it off," she muttered.

"My point is, I care for her," Beau said. "And she for me. Or so I thought."

Zoe peered at him uncertainly. "What'd you do?"

"Nothing!" he insisted. Then as she held her gaze, he relented. "I told her I loved her."

Zoe put down her coffee mug.

"I don't understand. Is this some kind of commitment hangup?" Beau asked.

Zoe had a faraway look on her face. "Yeah. Something like that."

Later that morning, the tentative click-clack of high heels sounded on the apartment floor.

"So, how was the gang bang?" Zoe inquired.

Harper froze as her eyes darted over to where her roommate was seated on the couch. She eased into a cocky grin.

"It was amazing. Not to brag, but I totally ruined those guys for their next girlfriends. Is that coffee?"

Zoe followed Harper into the kitchen, nodding agreeably.

"'Walk of shame' is a good look on you. Smeared makeup, tousled hair, skanky dress. Solid 9.5."

"Mmm," Harper murmured, raising her eyebrows as she sipped coffee from her mug.

"But only a 2 for promiscuity."

Zoe slapped her phone down on the countertop between them and spun it around so that an Instagram video of Harper was visible. She was wearing the same outfit, and visibly drunk. She was ugly crying and blubbering something incoherent about relationships.

Harper looked down at the video and then back up at Zoe. She then took another sip of coffee. "That's gonna cost me some followers."

"This all-night diner is apparently as far as you got with last night's dudebro. Though some kids got quality footage of you binging on blueberry pie."

"Blackberry."

"Hilarious. Beau dropped by this morning."

Harper stared at her for a long moment, then she glanced over at the clock and started to leave. "I gotta get dressed. I've got a 'morning after' livestream, and somebody has to pay the bills. We have makings for mimosas, right?"

Zoe trailed Harper as she headed towards her bedroom. "You're seriously avoiding this?"

Harper paused at the threshold of her bedroom. "We'll talk later. My adoring public awaits!" She then closed the door behind her.

Zoe stared at the door for an interminable moment. Then she went right in without knocking.

Zoe seldom went into Harper's bedroom. Even more than a place to sleep, it was also where she filmed all of her streaming content, so it was more like a cross between a boudoir and a movie studio. In the "off camera" area, numerous sexy outfits hung on a rack next to a vanity with makeup and accessories, near a couple camera tripods and a computer desk. The open closet was filled to bursting with all manner of sexy dresses and shoes. But the "on camera" area was fantastical, with a large neatly made up bed in vibrant pink colors and all manner of glittering fairy lights strung about. It was a horny guy's fantasy of a hot girl's bedroom.

"What is this, reverse slut shaming?" Harper challenged. "You're upset because I didn't screw a bunch of guys?"

"Honey, I'm as sex-positive as the next girl. And you're no stranger to the big D."

"Sure, I like to have sex. I'm not going to apologize for—"

"Because you were trying to break the curse."

Zoe's accusation sucked the air out of the room.

"True love's kiss breaks the spell, right? So, you thought you could use sex to make guys fall for you, and that would break the curse. But that's not love, because you didn't love THEM."

"Shut up," Harper murmured quietly.

"He's the one, isn't he? Beau. You really love him."

Harper didn't answer, so Zoe guided her to sit on the bed.

Harper looked absolutely lost. "I don't know what to do. I have these feelings for him, but now if I kiss him, I'll change back. I don't want to change, I want to be with him! It's not fair!"

A tear ran down her cheek, and she sniffled and forced a pained smile. "It's better this way. I only cared about women for their looks, and now that's all anybody sees about me. I thought girls like me were only good for sex, and now..." She shrugged. "I told you about what happened...with Hannah. I deserve this."

Zoe took a deep breath. "Harper, listen to me. That's just what that witch thought you were like. That's not you. You're better than this."

Harper started to cry in earnest, and Zoe hugged her close.

"Don't worry, honey. It'll be okay."

From the outside, the dingy bar didn't look like much. But as she looked at it, Zoe's hands began to tremble. She rubbed them together, lying to herself that it was just from the cold.

Four years earlier when Harper had come clean about her curse, she'd actually talked about it quite a bit, glad to unburden herself. She mostly complained about the unfairness of her fate, but over time and with a bit of coaxing from Zoe, Harper talked about her relationship with Hannah. How what should have been just another "fuck and chuck" encounter became something more, for both of them.

But when Harper finally dumped her—abruptly and cruelly—Hannah took her life.

The thoughts made Zoe uncomfortable. For a number of reasons.

She took a deep breath and entered the bar.

The patrons' agitated eyes found her immediately, sensing an outsider. As a woman—and a trans woman at that—she was usually more careful, but this time she didn't have any choice.

She caught a glimpse of color, thinking—hoping—it was a trick of the light. After all, this had all been an educated guess on her part. Hannah had been a real person, which meant that the witch was likely a real person. And what Zoe had managed to put together about Hannah and the witch had led her here.

The woman in the leather jacket was seated at a far table. Her back was to Zoe, but her curtain of fiery red-blonde hair sent a chill up Zoe's spine.

Quietly, she edged closer.

"My name is—"

"I know who you are," Gwyn growled. "I can smell the stench of his curse all over you." She gave Zoe a dark look. "Did he send you?"

"She has no idea I'm here," Zoe said, defending the pronoun.

"I suppose you want me to lift the curse. I'm heartless. It's cruel and unfair. He's suffered enough."

"What happened to Hannah was a tragedy. And Harper absolutely had a part in it, but what you're doing is vindictive."

Gwyn nodded appreciatively. "You went right for the jugular, I respect that. Never say her name again."

Zoe got another shiver but pressed on.

"You were close. Obviously. I won't pretend to know how close. But I know what it's like to lose people to the darkness the way you lost...her."

"You don't know anything."

Zoe sat down across from the witch. "I know depression. To put on a brave face as the darkness closes in. To be unable to remember any of the good times, but even worse to be unable to imagine a brighter future. To feel rage and sorrow when you lose someone close to you to the darkness, knowing they were quietly suffering day by day right in front of you. Wishing you'd known because maybe then you could have helped, but feeling powerless since deep down you wonder if they would have even let you help."

Zoe leaned closer. "You went looking for vengeance on the one person you could hold accountable."

Gwyn raised her eyebrows and nodded slowly.

"So, our little blonde bimbo has fallen for someone, and now she's stuck. She's finally feeling genuine human emotion for someone other than herself, but she can't be with him. See, that right there is perfect karmic balance. That's exactly where he left Hannah."

"Balance," Zoe echoed. "Fine. Say she's getting what's coming to her. But where in your karmic equation do you take responsibility for his heartbreak? You're hurting two people, not just one. Or is some collateral damage okay?"

Gwyn regarded her for a long moment.

"All right," she said finally. "But there's a price to be paid. Are you prepared to pay it?"

"Me?"

"It's more of a choice, really, but it's a simple one. If she wants to be with her man, I'll let her stay as a woman. Or...I can turn you into one."

"W-What?"

Gwyn shrugged. "You've seen what I can do. You're obviously on a path, but you've gone as far as your money, medical science, and your own biology will allow you to go. I can take you the rest of the way. But that's the price. You, or her. It's time to choose."

The weeks that followed were difficult for Zoe. She tried to focus on work, but she was preoccupied. She found herself looking at women she passed on the street. Before she transitioned, she used to do that with a sense of yearning and envy, but it had been a while since she'd felt that way. But now those feelings had come bubbling back to the surface.

Harper, predictably, had hit the roof when Zoe told her she'd gone to see the witch. And it had taken no small amount of convincing for Zoe to assure her that she'd convinced the witch to lift that portion of the curse. A task made more difficult since Zoe withheld telling Harper the price of that largesse. But there was nothing to be gained from it. After all, it wasn't like anything had changed.

Harper had been reluctant to put that to the test, but she finally caved after Zoe arranged for her to meet with Beau and rather snappishly pushed her to go see him.

But any misgivings Zoe had about her decision evaporated the following morning when a doe-eyed Harper returned from her date. She was radiant. Beaming. Three times she told the story of how it went, her fears and misgivings, and that perfect toe-curling kiss they shared...and everything that happened after. She had the look on her face of someone who never expected to be happy, and now marveled at her own good fortune.

"I'm really happy for you," Zoe said. And somewhat to her surprise, she meant it.

After that, Harper and Beau were practically inseparable. Although somewhat annoyingly in Zoe's estimation, since Harper wouldn't shut up about Beau, or his photography, or his upcoming exhibition, or the cute way that he'd surprise her with flowers...

So, Zoe had been understandably dubious when Harper presented her with the invitation to Beau's new gallery showing.

"We'd really like it if you could come," Harper said.

Zoe raised an eyebrow.

"Fine. I'm not going to know anybody there," Harper confessed. "These are Beau's friends."

Zoe sighed heavily. "Honey, this isn't really my kind of thing. Those people are—"

"There's an open bar."

"Anything for a friend," Zoe amended.

The open bar wasn't cutting it, Zoe thought. Not for this. The side-eye glances, the disapproving looks. Constant reminders that she wasn't their kind of people. Even the trans-supportive ones who approached her did so in a performative way, making a point to refer to themselves as allies.

She downed the rest of her drink.

Harper came breezing out of the crowd, her bright red dress a sharp contrast against all the black suits and dresses. She immediately grabbed onto Zoe's arm and hugged it.

"This is really—"

"I know."

"They're all so—"

"I know."

"I just want to—"

"I know."

They moved through the gallery together, admiring Beau's photos. Zoe had to admit he had talent. They were beautifully composed, and obviously designed to provoke a reaction. Though she felt that the "Seven Deadly Sins" theme was heavy-handed. They paused before the photos in the "Vanity" group.

"Which one is yours?" Zoe said.

"I'm not sure," Harper said, her eyes flitting up and down the wall. "He took a bunch of photos. He's always taking photos."

"I love that you're excited to be seen as vain."

"Better than gluttony," Harper teased, sticking out her tongue.

Suddenly, Zoe became aware of a strange energy from the crowd. Her anger flared as she again picked up on the disapproving looks and little whispered comments.

Except they weren't being directed at her.

Harper, puzzled, turned around when she saw another area, lit more dimly than the rest.

"Harper, honey, maybe we should—"

It was too late. Harper made her way into the darkened area, and this time there was little question that people were looking right at her as she passed, whispering to each other.

The gaudy neon lettering on the wall read: LUST.

Unlike the other areas which had multiple subjects, here there was only one: Harper. Smaller photos hung around the edges, obviously some of her most prurient and erotic content from her OnlyFans site. But the centerpiece was a massive picture of Harper's bedroom, where a larger-than-life and fully naked Harper was perched on the bed. She was smiling in a decidedly X-rated pose, her legs spread wide towards the video camera as various sex toys lay nearby. Other photos showed a lengthy list of lewd and salacious comments from her viewers.

Nobody said anything as a dumbfounded Harper stared at the display, but eventually people started to take pictures of her standing in front of her own exhibition. At first Harper seemed to be in shock, but her mood suddenly shifted as she angrily brushed past Zoe, over to where Beau was standing.

The young couple quickly fell to arguing, with Beau trying to keep Harper from making a scene. He'd moved them off to one side, but it was punctuated by Beau very clearly saying, "This is who you are!"

Zoe had been standing a respectful distance away, but as he said it, she immediately flashed back to a moment from her own life. She'd been living full-time as a woman for several months when she came out to her parents, who’d reacted as badly as she'd feared. The emotional crescendo had been when her mother grabbed a family photo of Zoe as a smiling boy and waved it angrily at her with those same exact words. THIS IS WHO YOU ARE.

They weren't just words, she knew. It was the utter rejection of yourself as a person, being told that another person's image of you meant more to them than who you actually were.

The memory rocked Zoe so much that it took her a moment to realize that Harper was gone. Beau was still standing there, giving a dismissive "Whatcha gonna do?" grin to his admiring guests.

Zoe caught up to her in a cluttered back room of the gallery. Harper was sobbing, and Zoe quietly took her into her arms. She didn't say anything, and just ran her hand along Harper's blonde hair comfortingly and made soft soothing noises.

After a while Harper spent herself crying, and Zoe pulled back and gently wiped away her tears.

Harper sniffled and stared at Zoe quietly. The two women made long eye contact, and then Harper furrowed her brow just slightly as though she was just noticing something.

Tentatively at first, and then much more urgently, Harper leaned in for a kiss.

Their kiss was more desperate than gentle, a fervent need that had long gone unanswered. A connection far more than just the physical. And it might have gone on longer if not for the swift and sudden transformation that took place.

They parted again, and a confused man stood in Harper's place. He looked ridiculous in her makeup and earrings, wearing her dress that was much too small for him. He looked down at where his big male feet had torn right out of the high heels he'd been wearing just a moment before.

He looked back up into Zoe's face, who didn't seem particularly surprised.

"I didn't— I-I mean, I never—"

"I know," Zoe said as she leaned in for another kiss. This time when they parted she made kind of an amused little smile as she cupped his cheek in her hand.

"This isn't what I wanted for you," he said.

"It'll be okay," she assured him.

He nodded slowly, but then looked at her more seriously. "There's something I have to do."

As the door to the bar opened, a sliver of reflected sunlight sneaked inside, penetrating the dim interior. For a fleeting moment the glimmer of light came to rest on the woman seated in back, giving her red-blonde hair the appearance of a luminous sunrise.

The couple who entered obviously didn't belong there. The bartender recognized the woman from her previous visit, but the man was an oddity. He might have been one of the corporate douchebags who worked on Wall Street or Madison Avenue, although this one seemed less self-possessed.

They held hands, and as they approached the witch, she didn't turn to look at them. They edged around to the other side of her table so that they were standing in front of her together.

The witch regarded them with a placid expression on her face. Her eyes flitted downwards towards the open seats, and she watched as the young couple sat down. They were still holding hands on the table, and the witch regarded their clasped fingers quietly for a long moment before looking directly into Harper's eyes.

Harper's mouth moved wordlessly for a moment as he struggled to find the words. "Listen—" he began.

"Don't."

Her tone of voice wasn't sharp, merely neutral. But definitive.

"Just...don't," Gwyn repeated. "I know why you're here. I know what you want to tell me. And I...appreciate...how much courage it took for you to come here. Both of you. Some part of me even wants to hear you say it. And I know that Hannah would be glad that you found a second chance. Not everybody does. And this has run its course, and I can live with that. But sitting here right now, I'm not ready for you to talk to me about her."

Harper nodded quietly.

Zoe squirmed slightly and interjected, "I told him not to come, but he wouldn't listen."

"So, you came with him anyway." A rueful smile passed Gwyn's lips. "Hannah usually jumped in after me," she sighed as she took a drink from her glass.

Zoe regarded the witch. "You lied to me."

Harper stiffened up. "Um, Zoe, maybe we don't need to—"

"It was never in my power to break the curse," Gwyn interrupted as she glanced over at Harper. "Only you could do that." Then her eyes cut over to Zoe. "Though I may have...implied...that things were different than they were."

"You're a very cruel person," Zoe said. There was no malice in her words, which almost made it worse.

Gwyn's lip twisted into a sardonic little grin. "I suppose I should be grateful you didn't use the word 'wicked.' I wasn't always like this. But we are who we are."

She reached down and finished the contents of her glass.

"However, I'm glad you're both here. Whatever else I may be, I'm a woman of my word."

"Meaning...?" Harper said apprehensively.

"When your lady love was last here, I made her an offer. Now, I intend to make good."

Zoe straightened up. "You don't mean—?"

"I do. I can transform one of you to leave here as a woman if you wish. No strings, no tricks. Or you can walk away. Up to you."

Harper looked at her incredulously. "Do you honestly think we can trust y—?"

"We can," Zoe interjected. Both Harper and Gwyn seemed surprised by her assertion.

Harper leaned closer to Zoe and squeezed her hand a little tighter. "But...this is what you want, right? What you've always wanted?"

Zoe's eyes narrowed. "Meaning you want me to change to be the kind of woman you can be with?"

"That's not—I didn't—" Harper sputtered. "I never said..." His eyes cut between Zoe, whose eyes had picked up a mischievous little sparkle, and Gwyn, who was giving him a very intense look.

"That's a joke. She's kidding," Harper said to Gwyn.

"There's always the other option," Gwyn offered.

Zoe snorted out a laugh at the implication. Then she did a double-take as she saw Harper's pensive expression.

"You deserve...the person you fell in love with," he said.

"Don't you think that's my decision?" Zoe countered.

"Zoe, you don't know what I was like when I was...this. I don't want to be like that anymore. But in a million years, I'd never want to stand in the way of you getting what you've wanted your whole life."

She smiled gently and touched his hair. "Always the little drama queen," she sighed. "I told you, I'm already a work of art."

Gwyn stood up from her chair. "Let me know what you decide."

She moved over to one of the barstools, and the bartender brought her a drink. He then glanced over at the table with the young couple, watching as the woman gave the man a playful smack upside the head and then leaned in to kiss him.

"Young love, huh?"

"I wouldn't know," Gwyn said.

He watched them a moment longer. "You already know what they're going to decide, don't you?"

"Of course. But if I told them, they'd have assumed I was lying."

"Not easy being wicked, huh?"

She gave him a sideways grin. "Beast."

THE END

Broken Echo

by Jenny North

Antanaclasis /ant-an-uh-KLAS-is/ n.
From the Greek, antanaklasis ("echo" or "reflection")
from anti- ("against") + ana- + klasis ("breaking or bending")

1. A play on words in which a key word or phrase is repeated in a different, often contrary, sense.

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STORY ONE: The Ballad of the Broken Blade (Act I)
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It was the Festival of Stars in the small town of Beaford, and The Rose and Thorn tavern was bustling with activity. There were a number of regulars there that evening, as well as many people who were visiting from neighboring towns for the celebration. Amid the commotion, three of the regulars were sitting off in a quiet corner at their usual table and watching the crowd with a practiced disinterest. They were well known to the locals as adventurers, but for the most part tended to keep to themselves and the locals knew better than to pry into their business.

Standing nearby, one of the visiting tradesmen noticed that the trio had two empty seats at their table, so he gamely came over to take one of the chairs for his larger group when a huge meaty hand stopped him.

"Those are for our friends," the barbarian grunted.

"My pardon, good sir," the other man said. "But they've been sitting empty all evening, and I just assumed..."

The barbarian made a low, guttural growl.

"'Twas my mistake," the man said nervously, returning in haste to the safety of his group.

The young bard smiled at her brawny companion as she strummed absently on her lute. "Your manners, as always, continue to impress, Throg."

He grunted again. "You just gonna pick at that all night?"

"Play something!" a woman's voice called from the bar. Others quickly chorused in agreement.

"All right, all right," the bard acquiesced. "What are you in the mood to hear?"

"Adventure and swordplay!" one man shouted.

"Romance! And comedy!" cried a woman.

"Something with scary monsters!" a young lad called, quickly chastised by his mother.

The third person at their table was a man with piercing eyes and long raven black hair that peeked out from his deep hooded cloak. He leaned forward slowly and placed a gold piece on the table in front of her. "You know what I want to hear," he said.

The bard rolled her eyes. "Riffin, you always want to hear that! Let someone else choose for once!"

"Sing it!" a chorus of shouts arose. "We want to hear!"

"Oh, very well," the bard sighed in resignation. She had a small smile on her face as she looked to her satisfied companions.

She strummed a chord and was about to begin when Throg interrupted her. "Just go to the good part," he grunted.

The young bard gave the barbarian an exasperated look. "That is not how you tell a story," she responded reproachfully. "Every piece is important, and all must fit together and build to a satisfying conclusion," she explained. "And besides, not everyone considers the bloodshed to be the 'good part,'" she teased. "Now, if I might be allowed to continue uninterrupted?"

"The bloodshed is the good part," Throg grumbled, downing his ale.

The tavern grew quiet as she started her tune, a melody that was both moving and hauntingly familiar at the same time, like the memory of a love long forgotten. She sang along to the melody, her clear dulcet voice low and full of longing.

Wynn gripped the reins of his horse as he guided it down the quiet mountain trail. He hated the quiet. Some days, on the rides like today, it was like he could practically hear his father's voice on the wind lecturing Wynn reprovingly and denouncing his son's chosen occupation. If indeed "occupation" was even the right word.

His mother was a Human sorceress and his father was a High Elven mage of some small renown, making Wynn a Half-Elf that was doomed to be forever trapped between two cultures. Growing up, everything had been a battle, whether it was his choice of friends or his choices at the dinner table.

Making matters worse was that as a lad, he'd grown up on his mother's stories of high adventure from her reckless youth, listening breathlessly every time she'd tell him her stories of heroic deeds and daring escapes. So when he announced to his parents that his chosen career was to follow in her footsteps as an adventurer, his normally reserved father nearly disowned him.

"You are a dabbler," his father had told him in that officious way he had. "You never finish anything. These are nothing more than childish fantasies, soon to be forgotten as you move to your next failed venture."

The worst part was that Wynn knew there was truth in his father's words. Despite his efforts, he found that he lacked his parents' gift for wizardry, and his skill as a swordsman left much to be desired. However, when his mother noticed his musical ability, she quietly encouraged his schooling as a bard. There he was able to learn a smattering of druidic magic as he applied some of his latent magical aptitudes towards his connection to nature.

His father had been unimpressed. "Ah, a thief with a lute," he observed dispassionately. "Begging for coins as you play bawdy songs in taverns for drunkards and whores, even as you pick their pockets. You will do your ancestors proud."

Wynn stormed off in a huff, joining up with the first group of adventurers that would have him. That was three years ago.

Today, jolting himself from his reverie, he gazed ahead on the trail and saw his four adventuring companions riding in front of him.

At the head of the group was Riffin, a sharp-witted Elf with jet black hair and a fondness for putting on airs of mystery. Wynn had once commented that "Riffin" wasn't a particularly elvish name, to which the elder man merely smiled enigmatically and replied, "I suppose not." Wynn suspected that it was a nom de guerre of some type, but who or whatever Riffin might have been hiding from, he never saw fit to divulge. He liked to introduce himself as a wizard—and he had some skill with magic—but Wynn suspected the man's only interest in the craft was to enhance his more larcenous talents.

Next in line was Throg, a barbarian from the north. That was, in fact, the totality of his personal history that the taciturn man had seen fit to share with Wynn. After Wynn had introduced himself, the warrior had grunted, "Throg." For a moment Wynn thought the man had simply cleared his throat before he realized the barbarian was offering his name. Throg was a man of few words.

The woman in the group was Jakarra, who was by far the most passionate individual that Wynn had ever encountered. Driven and deadly, the warrior woman had accumulated a good number of magical artifacts to enhance her fighting abilities, and guarded them jealously. Her love of power and gold was matched only by her lusty nature, and she had a way with the men—and even some women, Wynn noted—making her beauty as deadly as her blade. And wielded equally as brazenly, especially in her skimpy battle armor, he noted.

The final member of their party was a Gnomish cleric named Gidral. Wynn did not usually care for the company of Gnomes, but Gidral had a quick wit and made for a fine traveling companion. "Short of stature, long on faith," he joked about himself. He also shared Wynn's love of storytelling, although most of his stories tended to be about his own exploits.

"What sort of welcome might we expect?" Riffin called back.

"These priestesses of Lythia are reclusive members of my sect," Gidral responded. "They are warrior maidens of the first order, choosing to secret themselves among these mountains. And they will be distrustful, especially of men. But the message I carry from the head of our order should establish our intentions."

"That isn't very reassuring," Riffin replied.

"What of the artifact? Will they give it to us willingly?" Jakarra challenged.

Wynn bristled at her directness. Jakarra's interest in the quest had been minimal until she'd heard that the priestesses were charged with guarding the Maidensword, said to be an artifact of the goddess Lythia herself. Along with the Maidenshield, the two artifacts were said to be the key to untold magical power. It bothered Wynn that she didn't seem to care about the lives that were at stake, and he suspected that her only interest in the artifact was for her own gain.

Gidral hesitated. "They have been charged by Lythia herself to protect it with their lives," he said. "And they will not be easy to convince. But Queen Sybeth's treachery runs deep. They should recognize that we share a common foe." Gidral's voice caught at Queen Sybeth's name. Once, Wynn had gently probed into the history there, but the normally gregarious cleric suddenly became stone-faced, promising only that she would meet a swift end at his hand, Lythia willing. Wynn didn't know what Sybeth could have done to earn the Gnome's enmity, but her atrocities in her blind pursuit of power were known across the land.

"Though curiously, of the two artifacts, the shield is considered to be the more powerful—"

"Quiet!" It was Throg that spoke. He had an edge to his voice that signaled trouble was about. He slipped warily from his horse and the rest of the company followed suit, gathering close.

"What is it?" Riffin whispered, quietly unsheathing his sword.

"Magic," the barbarian responded.

Gidral looked skeptical. "You're probably just sensing the temple's magical wards—"

"Demon magic," Throg declared.

The party stiffened up, having learned over the years to trust his senses about such things. Moving quickly and quietly, they soon arrived at the temple of Lythia, a towering structure that was seemingly carved out of the solid stone in the side of the mountain. It was an impressive bit of architecture with towering columns and large courtyard that led up to a massive and imposing door. A door that looked like it had been nearly torn from its hinges.

"Only one way inside," Riffin noted. "Stay on your guard."

The party moved into the grand entrance hall, which clearly had been the site of a pitched battle. There were several priestesses on the floor, all dead. Gidral made a quiet oath and led the group deeper into the structure.

The torches on the walls had been extinguished so the the halls were poorly lit and the group strained to see down the dim corridors as they explored deeper into the temple. It was deathly quiet...the only sound was their footsteps on the hard stone floor, and the air still had the lingering scent of demonic brimstone. Along the way, they came across the bodies of several more of the priestesses who had been killed, and as Wynn paused to examine one, he noticed a huge set of claw marks gouged into the granite wall.

He made eye contact with Riffin, who just whispered, "Let's keep moving."

Gidral paused at an intersection. "It's been years since I've been here, I was only an acolyte," he explained, peering down the darkened hallways. He then guided them down a towering hallway with huge arches that led into a large, open domed room. Gidral took a tentative step inside and the sound of his footstep reverberated and echoed loudly throughout the chamber. The party froze, waiting to see if they'd been detected, but after a few moments they relaxed.

Riffin, the stealthiest of the group, whispered, "Wait here, I'll scout ahead," startled at how loud it sounded in this space. Soundlessly he headed off into the darkness of the room. After a few moments he returned, shaking his head. "Dead end," he reported. "We should—"

Suddenly, the piercing sound of metal against stone reverberated throughout the room. The group readied their weapons and tensed up until they heard the sound of a woman's groan come from the inside.

Wynn took off towards the sound of the woman's voice before Riffin could stop him. Reluctantly, the rest of the group gave chase.

"She's injured," Wynn said, kneeling over the priestess. She was lying on the ground and her armor had been rent apart and was covered in blood.

"That was foolish, child," Jakarra warned. "That could easily have been a trap."

"It still could," Riffin said, glancing around nervously.

Gidral stepped forward. "Lie still, I can ease your pain," he said, readying a healing spell. The others looked at each other nervously. Gidral's healing magic, while potent, required a verbal chant. In this space, it would certainly announce their presence to anyone still nearby.

The priestess shook her head. "No... it's too late for me," she said. "Save your magic... for those it can help."

"The artifact," Jakarra said. "Where is it?"

Gidral shot her a reproachful glance and turned to the priestess, speaking gently. "We've been sent by the Archprelate to secure it," he told her. "Do you know where it is?"

The priestess tried to sit up, groaned loudly, and collapsed into Wynn's arms and passed out.

Riffin looked to Gidral. "You know this place. Where should we look?"

Gidral thought a moment. "This is the Hall of Echoes. The reliquary is on the second floor. But the armory isn't far from here, either. They may have some blessed weapons that might give us an advantage over demons."

Jakarra's eyes lit up at the mention of magical weapons, and even Throg gave a small smile when the armory was mentioned. "Right," Riffin said, "we'll make our way back towards—"

"I'm staying here," Wynn announced, reaching into his pack. "I have some herbs, I might be able to stop her bleeding."

Riffin was clearly opposed to the idea, but the other three members of the group were looking at him impatiently. "Fine," he decided. "Just try not to get eaten by a demon, young one."

As the four hurried off into the darkness, Wynn cast a small spell to bring a dancing orb of light overhead and began treating the woman's injuries. He soon realized that her wounds were mortal, but stayed with her as she regained consciousness.

"You have a good heart," she told him.

"I wish I could do more. I'm sorry."

"Do not be too hard on yourself," she said, wincing in pain. "You are only a man."

"I do what I can with the gifts I've been given," he replied with a supportive little smile.

"You have wisdom for one so young," the priestess whispered with a small smile. "Compassion and selflessness, as well." Her brow furrowed as something seemed to occur to her and she studied his face carefully. For a moment, Wynn felt like she was peering into his soul. "And courage, perhaps?" She coughed and looked at the floating orb of light. "And magic," she said to herself. She started to sit up.

"You should lie still—"

The woman looked at him intently. "You said you wished you could do more. Did you mean it?"

"Y-yes, of course..."

"The altar, there," she said, coughing. "Take this," she said, handing him a small silver medallion.

Wynn moved over to the nearby altar. It was beautiful and ornate, and inlaid in the stone was a mural depicting a woman in armor blazing with power and wielding a magical sword and shield. "Is this the goddess Lythia?" Wynn asked. "The Maidensword and Maidenshield...are they here, somewhere?"

The priestess shook her head. "The sword and shield," she gasped, "...they aren't what they seem," she said, coughing. "They are symbols of our faith."

Wynn nodded, not understanding, but not wanting her to strain herself further. "What should I do?"

"Throw it into the air."

Hesitantly, Wynn threw the silver medallion up into the air, watching it as it disappeared into the darkness above and then tracing its graceful arc back down. That's when he realized his mistake.

"No—!" he gasped.

It was too late. The medallion hit the floor hard, its heavy metallic impact on the stone floor making a loud pinging sound, amplified all the louder by the echo chamber of the room. The shrill sound resonated for several seconds that felt like an eternity. Wynn was berating himself for doing something so foolish when he heard another sound...the sound of monstrous breathing. A fiery glow was rapidly approaching from down the hall where they'd entered...the only exit from the room.

"Gods above," he whispered.

Wynn dove for cover as fiery arrows sailed inches over his head. The noise he'd made had attracted the attention of a succubus and two hulking solider demons who were even now loosing hellfire arrows at him. He unsheathed his sword and canceled the spell of light, so the only illumination in the room was coming from the fire licking off of the bodies of the two solider demons.

"A male. Interesting," the succubus purred, flapping her batlike wings. "And here I thought it was all going to be womenfolk." Her eyes traced Wynn's movements perfectly even as he dodged through the darkness.

One of the solder demons nocked another hellfire arrow and started to aim it towards Wynn. If the young bard had any lingering hope that darkness would shroud his movements, this disabused him of that notion. Though as he looked closely at the demon, it looked like while their hellfire arrows were magical, they still seemed to be made of some form of wood. That could work to his advantage.

Ducking for cover behind a granite pillar, Wynn mumbled a short spell and cast it as he stepped back out into view, even as the demon loosed his arrow, not realizing that Wynn's magic had warped its wooden shaft. Luck was with the young bard, since not only did the arrow miss its mark, but instead it buried itself in the thigh of the other soldier demon that was moving to flank him. The wounded demon roared and pounced on the other demon angrily, attacking its compatriot for the perceived affront.

The sly succubus moved away from the tussling demons, but the distraction was just long enough for Wynn to race up to her and close the gap. Before she could react, Wynn buried his sword in her chest, the hilt of the blade poking out between her ample breasts.

She looked down at the blade and then back up at Wynn. "Very brave," she said, eyeing the sword. "And had this been enchanted steel, I might be more impressed. But seeing as it isn't..."

The succubus backhanded Wynn roughly, her demonic strength sending him flying across the room. She casually pulled his sword from her chest—leaving nary a mark—and dropped it to the floor. She then paused to remove the whip from her belt and cracked it twice on the backs of the demon soldiers to get their full attention. "You!" she said, pointing at the nearest one, commanding it with a nod over towards Wynn. The other she sent over to deal with the fallen priestess.

Wynn's head was spinning and he tried to get his bearings. His body felt like it was on fire from the pain, but with bleary eyes he made out the form of the fiery soldier demon charging towards him, even as in the corner, he heard the anguished screams of the priestess, suddenly cut short. Wynn forced himself to his feet and reached for his sword, in his dazed state having forgotten that he'd lost it. As the demon got close, the beast lunged for him and Wynn clumsily ducked out of its grasp and stumbled backwards. But as he pulled himself up on the nearby altar, his hand chanced to grasp the hilt of a sword he felt there.

Wynn didn't even pause to question his good fortune. As the fiend again charged for him, Wynn swung the sword with all his might and raked it across the demon's chest, spilling the monster's ocher blood. Marshalling his strength, he then plunged the blade deep into the demon's flesh and as the hellspawn keeled over, he noted with satisfaction that the vile filth could be killed, after all.

From across the room there was a mighty war whoop as Throg entered the fray, and both he and Jakarra burst into the room and started attacking the other soldier demon. Not far behind, Wynn saw that Riffin and Gidral were casting attack spells at the succubus, who was defending with her own magic.

He paused for a moment to glance over to the priestess only to find that she, like her sisters, had been savagely killed by the monstrous demon. Through tears of rage and pain, Wynn felt a change come over him, a clarity of purpose, followed by a lance of searing pain throughout his body. When it passed, he was barely aware of his surroundings, noting only that he felt lighter and faster, more driven than before. Bounding over to the other soldier demon, he took advantage of the creature's split attention as it fought Jakarra and he buried his sword in the demon's back.

As their attacker fell, the warrior woman did a double-take when looking at Wynn, but she had barely time to react before Throg came in to attack her with a mighty blow. Reacting with lightning-quick reflexes, Jakarra managed to parry the attack, shouting, "Dolt! Do I look like a demon to you?"

The barbarian didn't respond, and in a flash, Wynn saw that the three men had been bewitched by the succubus's magic charms. As Jakarra tried to fend off the incoming attacks without injuring their allies, Wynn raced at the succubus, his sword flashing in the dim light.

The demoness smiled calmly at Wynn as her eyes flashed with a magical fire. "Fool," she said confidently, "no man can resist my charm—AAGGHH!" She reeled as Wynn's slashing blade sliced her exposed midriff, and she gaped at him in shock and confusion. "What is this trickery?" she demanded.

"Justice," Wynn said, his voice sounding strange to his ears. He swung the blade and the demoness's head was separated from her body, the look of stunned disbelief still on her face.

Wynn dropped to the floor exhausted as he started to regain his senses, like a fog lifting. He didn't even notice as the others approached him, looking concerned.

"Wynn?" Riffin asked. "Is that you?"

Wynn flashed him a tired grin. "Who else would it...be..." Again, his voice sounded strange to him. He cleared his throat and brought a hand to his chest, startled when he encountered a woman's soft yielding bosom there. He shook his head to clear it, and it felt like awaking from a dream. Except this dream was all too real.

As he grasped at his female body in shocked disbelief, he dropped the sword that he'd hardly been aware that he'd been carrying. The sound of the weapon hitting the floor echoed resoundingly in the space and they all looked down to behold it...an elegant sword with a long slender blade that had delicate runes running down its length.

"The Maidensword," Gidral gasped.

After a heated debate, the group agreed that it would be better to remain at the temple for the night. Riffin wanted to get back on the road as soon as possible to deliver the Maidensword to its proper guardians, but Gidral was adamant that they stay at least long enough for him to administer funeral rites for the fallen warrior maidens who had died defending it.

Wynn had prevailed on the both of them to at least try and lift the "curse" that the blade had placed upon him—or rather her—but after exhausting their repertoire of magical cures and counter-spells, they conceded defeat.

"I'm sorry, Wynn," Riffin said. "Maybe when we get back to the city we can get someone to lift the curse...if that's what it is."

Wynn crossed her arms defiantly, trying to ignore the feeling of her breasts pressed against them. "Well, what else would it be?" she snapped, hating how petulant she sounded.

Riffin shrugged slightly. "It's just...I'm not even detecting magic on you. Or the sword, for that matter. If I didn't know better, I'd say they were..."

"Divine," Gidral interrupted.

"What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean," the cleric replied. "This is one of the artifacts of the goddess Lythia herself. To wield it...you have been given a great honor."

"Yes, well, I've had enough honor for one day," Wynn retorted. "Perhaps someone else would care for the opportunity?"

Throg shuddered at the thought. "I've no wish to be a woman," he said.

Jakarra tried to pick up the blade but the moment she touched it, her hand jerked open, causing her to drop it on the ground. She made a small grumble of displeasure.

"'Twould seem the blade has already found its mistress," Gidral observed, glancing at Wynn. Wynn made a face at the feminine title and was about to take issue with it, but she saw no malice in Gidral's demeanor and let it pass.

The next morning before daybreak, Wynn sneaked quietly away from the others to see to her morning toilette. She knew it was unwise going off on her own, but couldn't bear the teasing smirks of the others as she explored this unwelcome aspect of her new maidenhood.

After seeing to her needs in the temple's lavatory, she chanced to hear running water and soon came upon a large open room with a small sheltered pool that had been seemingly carved into the mountain and was fed by a small waterfall above. She quickly removed her boots and breeches and fumbled with her top, which was loose and ungainly on her slender female frame.

"You would do well not to wander, milady," Jakarra's voice came, startling Wynn. "Especially now that you make such a tempting morsel for...predators," she added, eyeing Wynn's bare legs.

Wynn tugged girlishly down on her tunic. "Jakarra! What are you doing here?"

"Bathing," the other woman said matter-of-factly, doffing her clothes. In a trice, she was naked and entering the shallow water that did nothing to hide her stunningly voluptuous form.

Wynn blushed and averted her eyes, still tugging down on her shirt.

Jakarra cast an eye on Wynn's self-conscious demeanor. "You need new clothes," she observed. "Those fit you ill. Gidral has some skill with a needle and thread, he should be able to fit some of the priestess' clothes to you."

"I will wear my own clothes, thank you," Wynn sniffed, tugging vainly at one of the clasps on her belt, which was practically falling off her hips.

"Those clothes will get you killed," Jakarra replied as she emerged naked from the water and approached the flustered young Half-Elf. Faced with the amazon's brazen display, Wynn looked at the ground as Jakarra's strong hands nimbly unfastened the clasps. "They are too bulky for you, now, your armor too heavy for your girlish physique."

"I can manage just fine," Wynn said.

"An enemy's blade will not care what sex you were born as," Jakarra said. "And your pouting denials will offer no protection when their arrows pierce your tender flesh."

Wynn watched the taller woman as she turned and strode back into the glistening pool. "I wasn't pouting," she protested, stripping down to her baggy tunic. She nervously fingered the fabric, but upon seeing Jakarra's smirk she pulled the garment quickly over her head and tossed in on the pile of clothes. Nude for the first time in her female body, Wynn blushed and joined Jakarra in the pool.

As she washed her new body self-consciously, Wynn suddenly paused and broke into a little smile.

"What amuses you?"

"I'm just remembering something my father told me the day I left," Wynn said. "He didn't approve of what I was doing and I was surprised when he came to bid me farewell. When I asked why, he said it was because he thought it would be the last time he saw his son alive."

The statement hung in the air for a long moment before Wynn broke out into a decidedly girlish giggle. As she broke out into laugher, Jakarra started to laugh, as well.

"Damn the man, he always has to be right about everything!" Wynn laughed, wiping a tear from her eye.

Taking a long breath, Wynn gazed at the sword lying on the ground and then looked at Jakarra. "Queen Sybeth. She's not going to rest until she has the Maidensword, is she?"

"If you believe in the prophecy, it is the only thing that can stand against the magical power of the Maidenshield," Jakarra said.

Wynn considered that. "Do you believe in the prophecy? In Lythia, the gods above, the notion that I might be chosen for this task?"

Jakarra was silent for a moment. "I believe that there are powers greater than us, yes. That they have voices, if only we care to listen."

"And the rest?"

"It does not matter what I believe, it matters only what Queen Sybeth believes," she responded. "And she does believe in the prophecy. She will stop at nothing to possess that which would give her more power."

Wynn looked down at her girl's body, with its slender arms and gentle curves. "I was never much of a fighter even before this happened," she admitted. "Now I'm even less than that. But Sybeth was trained as a warrior priestess of Lythia before she broke her vows. I don't stand a chance against her."

"I agree," Jakarra said bluntly. "Your female body lacks a man's strength and your male mind lacks a woman's wiles. You are less than either."

Wynn looked at her in shock.

"The Maidensword is a mighty artifact, meant to be wielded by a champion—a woman—of equal mettle," Jakarra asserted. "It may have chosen you as its champion, but you are no warrior. Nor are you a woman. I fear you may get us all killed."

Late that morning, Riffin was pacing anxiously as he waited by the horses. "We should have left this place hours ago," he said to Throg, who was silently watching the agitated Elf. "This is the first place Sybeth will be looking for us, and that succubus was almost certainly one of her trusted guard. When she fails to report to her mistress, where do you think Sybeth will come looking?"

Without a hint of sarcasm, the barbarian grunted, "Here."

"Well, at least we're all in agreement," Riffin muttered. As Jakarra emerged from the temple and walked towards them, he called to her. "Any chance we'll be leaving before midday?"

"They're nearly done. Gidral had one last sanctifying ritual to perform."

"Those priestesses are as dead as they're going to get. I'm more concerned with the living."

"Mmm," she murmured in agreement. "However, this final ritual wasn't for the dead. Gidral felt it important to bestow a blessing on Lythia's new champion."

"You cannot be serious. What... madness... is..."

The three of them turned to face Gidral and Wynn, who were both emerging from the temple. Wynn was garbed in the armor and raiment befitting of one of the warrior maidens of Lythia. Her armor was functional and form-fitting, putting the transformed bard's feminine charms on captivating display as they clung to her shapely new body. Her hair and face had been cleaned and made up fetchingly, and the Maidensword hung in a ceremonial scabbard that rested against her curvaceous hip.

"I braided her hair," Jakarra said, sidling up beside Riffin who was gawking at the comely young Half-Elf. "And I thought the kohl-rimmed eyes were a nice touch, don't you?" she added playfully.

Riffin was still staring at Wynn in disbelief. The dirty-faced girl in the ill-fitting armor and bulky clothes was gone, replaced by a stunning, flaxen-haired beauty.

As Wynn walked up to the horses, she was blushing and plucked at her new garments self-consciously. "Sorry we're late," she said.

Jakarra nudged Riffin. "Well? Have you nothing to say?"

"Lovely," Throg said approvingly.

Wynn blushed further and looked at the ground even as Jakarra smiled broadly at the young bard's discomfiture. Riffin, finding his voice, said to the others, "Mount up. We need to put some distance between us and this place before we're discovered by—"

"Queen Sybeth," Throg cut in.

Riffin shot him a look. "Indeed. Or her demons."

"No," Throg said, staring down the mountain pass. "Queen Sybeth and her demons."

They turned to follow the barbarian's line of vision to see a small army of demons charging down the mountain pass, blocking the party's only way out of the canyon. At the head of the pack were a pair of black bat-winged horses—nightmares—pulling a chariot with a single occupant. It was a woman in jet black armor with pale skin and long white-blonde hair that was blowing in the wind beneath a dark crown wreathed in pale blue fire.

Riffin swore under his breath and shot his companions an angry glance that said, "If by some miracle we manage to live through this, maybe next time you'll listen to me." Over the years adventuring with them, he'd had ample opportunities to perfect such a countenance. Aloud, he said, "Everyone, get back into the temple! We'll make a stand at the entrance and try and fight them at the doorway. That way, they can't outflank—"

Just then, two massive winged demons swooped in from above and flew behind them. The ground shook as they landed and stood shoulder-to-shoulder, blocking the way to the temple's entrance as they unsheathed their flaming weapons.

"...or we could just make peace with our gods and die right here," Riffin said, his eyes darting around for a place for them to seek cover.

"Saves time," Throg grunted, unshouldering his two-handed sword.

His mind racing, Riffin had a thought and moved close to Gidral to whisper something to the Gnome. The normally affable cleric glowered at him in stunned disbelief. "Sacrilege!" he cried.

"But can you do it?" Riffin pressured him.

Gidral was incensed. "You would have me desecrate my most holy—"

"I said, can you do it?" Riffin said forcefully.

The Gnome glared daggers at the man, but finally nodded once.

"Good. Be ready."

Wynn watched anxiously as the creatures charged closer. "What are we going to do?" she said.

When nobody answered, she looked over her shoulder at the group. They were all deadly serious and had their weapons at the ready. Jakarra had a wicked smile and even Throg's normally inscrutable mien showed the tiniest hint of anticipation.

Wynn unsheathed her sword. "Right."

The group formed a circle, back to back with weapons drawn as the demons surrounded them. They were vastly outnumbered but knew better than to break ranks and start the fight, instead waiting for the demons to make the first move. As the demons mustered, Riffin scrutinized the front of the temple, noticing a huge stone pillar that had been badly damaged, presumably from the demons' first assault on the sanctuary. It was broken almost in half at the base.

Discreetly, Riffin nudged Throg and gave a significant glance at the pillar before raising an eyebrow to the barbarian. Throg grunted and tilted his head slightly.

"Maybe we'll live through this, after all," Riffin muttered to himself.

Queen Sybeth rode up on her chariot and dismounted. Her fair hair and pale skin were a sharp contrast to the ebon-black armor she wore, and she carried a blade at her side seemingly made of the darkest obsidian. As she turned, Wynn caught sight of a silver shield she carried, which was small and round and beautifully inlaid with a number of delicate runes across the front. The same runes as on Wynn's sword.

"The Maidenshield," Gidral gasped. "She has it already! We can't let her get—"

"Quiet!" Riffin hissed.

Sybeth took a step forward from the circle of demons that were surrounding the company. "Oh, gentle friends!" she declared. "I do apologize for the manners of my servants. It was never my intent to cause you harm. I do hope they haven't caused you any trouble. I would not wish for there to be any ill will between us."

"Step closer and find out," Jakarra challenged.

Sybeth laughed. "Ah, Jakarra! A warrior of Vala, if I am not mistaken? You most of all should understand my cause. We women have been forever trapped beneath the heel of a patriarchy that values us only as chattel. I would seek to elevate the role of women! Why not join with me? We would be a force to be reckoned with!"

"Lying filth!" Gidral spat. "You, who chose to forsake the holiest of orders!"

"A cleric of Lythia yet lives in this place? How delightful. But I don't believe I've had the pleasure?"

"You murdered my family at the massacre of Valladrest!" Gidral shouted. He started to charge her, but Riffin and Throg held him back.

Riffin whispered in the enraged Gnome's ear, "Don't, my friend. She's trying to goad us."

Sybeth took a few steps to the side, circling the group slowly. "And a priestess of Lythia, as well!" she said, examining Wynn. "And so formidable," she teased, admiring the Maidensword. "And yet..."

The dark sorceress paused and closed her eyes, holding her hand out just slightly as if feeling the air for something. Her eyes snapped open as she beheld Wynn, and suddenly burst out into laughter.

"Ha ha ha ha ha!" she cried. "This? This is Lythia's champion? I have long known this faith was bereft of any strength, but I would have thought you could have found some woman born that was equal to the challenge." She looked to Wynn. "Tell me—girl—how long have you been thus? Have you even experienced your monthly flows yet?"

"If you wish to see me spill blood, you need only ask," Wynn shot back, brandishing the sword threateningly. She smiled as she heard Jakarra snicker behind her.

Sybeth regarded Wynn for a moment. "Very well," she decided. "I had planned to kill you all and take the sword, but the chance to do battle with the half-sexed freak that is the 'Champion of Lythia' is much too tempting," she said with a smirk.

Wynn eyed her warily. "And you'll let them live? I have your word?"

"Certainly."

Gidral jumped forward. "Don't listen to her, lass! She can't be trusted!"

Wynn turned to Queen Sybeth and stepped away from the protection of her friends. She raised the Maidensword even as the Queen unsheathed her ebony blade. "To the death, then?"

Sybeth made a little face. "I rather assumed that went without saying," she said playfully.

Wynn made the first move, a strong—almost wild—swing that fell short of its target. Jakarra and Throg glanced at each other with trepidation.

Wynn and Sybeth traded thrusts and parries, finding each other's range, but it was clear that Sybeth was the more skilled opponent. And she was toying with Wynn.

"AAAH!" Wynn cried as the Queen's sword sliced across the flesh of her thigh.

Sybeth took a half step back. "What's the matter, girl? Not used to—OH!" Wynn cut the sorceress off in mid-taunt as the young bard lashed out with a vicious swing, putting her entire weight behind it. Sybeth barely raised her shield in time to block the attack and there was a mighty clang as metal met metal. "ARRGH!" she cried in agony, stumbling back from the blow. Wynn followed with a wicked slice that met Sybeth in the midsection, but was rebuffed by her magical armor.

Sybeth made a swift feint, catching Wynn's arm on the backswing and raking the blade across her forearm. Wynn cried out in pain and in a rage swung down hard as Sybeth dodged gracefully out of the way. The dark queen then exploited the opening that Wynn had provided her, bringing her weapon down mightily on Wynn's overextended sword, and catching it on the flat of the blade.

All eyes were on the Maidensword as it broke in half.

Queen Sybeth went deathly white as she saw what she'd done. "You fool!" she screamed at Wynn, lashing out wildly with her sword, cutting into Wynn's midsection and sending her flying back. "Stupid cow, do you have any idea what you've done?" Sybeth said murderously. "I've changed my mind. I don't want to see you killed this day. No, little maiden, you will live. And the horrors that I will see beset upon your soft female flesh will chill the heart of any woman-born that—"

Sybeth stopped suddenly as she looked up at the other members of Wynn's company. All three of them.

"Where is the Elf?" she demanded.

"Beg pardon?" Gidral said.

Sybeth strode closer to them for a better look. "The Elf! Raven hair with the cloak! Where is he?" She flashed an accusing glare at her demons, but they said nothing, glancing uncertainly at each other. Evidently even the pit fiends had been distracted watching their mistress's fight.

"Sorry, doesn't ring a bell," Gidral told her.

She spun on him, furious. "He was—!" She paused as she looked at him, cocking her head slightly to the side. Sybeth waved her hand as she mumbled a magical incantation, and as she did so, Gidral's image faded away and Riffin was standing in his place.

"Oh, the Elf," Riffin told her with a smirk. "Sorry, thought you said 'Gnome.' No idea where he's scampered off to."

"Find him!" Sybeth roared, and a contingent of demons started to search around the area. But even with Riffin's illusions there was no place to hide for very long in the open courtyard. She scanned around the area and her eyes rested on the temple.

"What was your plan?" Sybeth said with a sneer. "Send him into his holy temple? To do...what? Perhaps find an artifact to use against me? Pray for his beloved 'goddess' to intervene?" She took a step closer to Riffin. "There is nothing in there. The artifacts are destroyed. The priestesses are as dead as their forgotten religion. There is nothing in there but death."

"Yes," Riffin admitted, meeting Sybeth with a level gaze. "I'm rather counting on that."

From inside the temple they heard the sound of footsteps approaching. Many footsteps.

Sybeth looked at Riffin uncertainly. "Kill the Gnome," she commanded the demons. "Kill them all. Except for th—"

That was as far as she got before dozens of warrior maidens burst into the courtyard from inside the temple. Weapons at the ready, they started tearing into the force of demons.

"How—?" The word was barely past Queen Sybeth's lips when she saw that the priestesses were undead. The reanimated corpses of the temple's defenders. "The cleric," she muttered. "I'll kill you f—"

Throg cold-cocked her.

"Thank you," Riffin said.

"My pleasure."

Dazed, Queen Sybeth was unable to cast any spells, but managed to get her blade up just in time to parry a blow from Throg's sword that would have taken her head off. She stumbled backwards as a wave of demons surged forward to protect her and attack the party.

"Go! Go!" Riffin yelled to Throg, who ran to the broken pillar outside the temple. He braced himself against the wall at the base of the pillar and started to push against it with all his might.

"We need to buy him some time," Riffin said to Jakarra as he began casting a spell.

Jakarra just grunted, busy fending off two soldier demons who in turn were distracted by the assault of a pair of undead priestesses. "I was not aware that Gidral was able to do this," she said as she dispatched one of the creatures.

"It won't last long," Gidral said, running up to them. He shot a look at Riffin, who was finishing his spell. "Though the stain on my soul may last an eternity, damn you."

"Wait your turn. The line of individuals calling for my damnation begins there," he retorted, pointing at the nearest demon. As his spell started to take effect, a thick fog started to blanket the area, enshrouding the entire courtyard.

There was a resounding crack that came from the pillar that Throg was pushing against mightily, and Riffin turned to Gidral. "Get Wynn. We need to get into the temple. Now."

By now the tide had turned against the reanimated defenders of the temple, and the demons were starting to search through the fog looking for the company. Wynn, leaning heavily on Gidral, stumbled towards the main entrance even as she heard Throg's barbarian howl as he made a final push against the pillar. As they lumbered forward, she saw a demoness archer that had them dead to rights.

Jakarra sprang in from out of nowhere and at first seemed to interpose herself as she closed the gap to the archer, but at the last minute spun out of the way as the demoness loosed her arrow, which buried itself deep in Gidral's thigh.

"AARRGH!" the Gnome cried, stumbling forward with Wynn even as Jakarra ran the demoness through with her sword.

"In! In! Everybody in!" Riffin called, standing in the doorway. The supporting pillar was on the brink of collapse and he knew it would come down any second. Throg, exhausted, stumbled inside following Wynn and Gidral.

"Jakarra!" Riffin yelled. A phalanx of demons was charging right at him and through the mystic fog that was starting to dissipate, he saw her far on the other side of the courtyard. For a long moment, the two of them made eye contact and in that moment, they both realized what needed to be done.

Riffin, seeing the demons almost on top of the entrance, launched a magic missile at the base of the broken pillar. The rock shattered into fragments and as he ducked inside he caught a glimpse of Jakarra as she turned and disappeared into the rapidly fading mist. He stepped back from the door as it slammed shut from the impact of the falling column, and he could hear and feel the deep reverberating booms of the collapsing pillars outside as tons of rock piled up against the entrance.

They were safe. And trapped.

****************************************************************
STORY TWO: Breaking Character (Act I)
****************************************************************

Jack rolled the 20-sided die. "Ha! 19!" he cried.

From behind the Dungeon Master's screen, Rob looked down at the sheet. "You stab the demoness through the heart. She dies, saying, 'This isn't over! Queen Sybeth will vanquish you all!'"

Aidan put down his character sheet and turned to look at Jack accusingly. "Ass. Hole."

"What?" Jack said defensively.

"You stepped out of the way and let me take that arrow!" he said, pointing at the lead miniature of his cleric on the map.

"I was repositioning to take out the demon," Jack said. "Which I did!"

Troy scoffed, picking up his barbarian figure and putting it away. "You mean, you saw that the cleric had more hit points than you and let him take the hit."

"Oh, come on," Jack said. "He did have plenty of HP. I'm not going to risk Jakarra dying in some stupid skirmish. He can heal himself, anyway. No harm done." He retrieved his figure of Jakarra from the map.

"Is that a new miniature?" Brandon asked him, looking to change the subject. "That round metal base is different."

"Yeah, I just got it," Jack bragged. "It looks just like Jakarra, don't you think? That's the same kind of armor and sword that she uses. And someone even painted it already, and they even gave her auburn hair just like she has. Usually they paint it bright red like Red Sonja." He held up the scantily-clad figure for inspection.

Lisa shook her head at the discussion and turned to Rob, who was gathering up his DM screen and books. "So we're going to finish the story with Queen Sybeth at the LARP thing?" she asked. The Live Action Role Playing event—Michigan LARP Faire '92—was something that the group had been planning with varying degrees of anticipation and dread. The group had agreed that the culmination of their storyline would take place at the LARP game, so everyone would come dressed as their character so they could play it out in real life. Not everyone was thrilled with the idea.

"Oh, yeah, and that was some serious B.S. right there," Jack said to Rob. "How does Lisa's character end up with the Maidensword? That totally should have gone to Jakarra! She's already a woman, and she's the best fighter!"

Troy scoffed again at Jack's assertion, doing a credible imitation of Throg.

"Hey, it could have gone to anybody!" Rob said, holding up his hands. "Whoever found the dying maiden would have gotten it. You're the one who wanted to loot the armory first."

"It's still baloney. And her character broke it!"

Aidan looked up from his character sheets that he was collecting together from the table. "It was a critical fumble. It could have happened to anybody."

Jack wasn't convinced. "And now Lisa's character is a girl, so now she doesn't even have to crossplay at the LARP game."

"Hey, I was all set to dress as Wynn!" Lisa objected. Then she turned to Brandon. "I can still borrow your lute, right?"

Brandon nodded to her and then smiled at Jack. "What's the big deal, anyway? I thought you said you weren't going to do the LARP thing?"

"That's just dumb kid stuff," Jack contended.

"Translation: you don't want to dress up in Jakarra's chainmail bikini."

"It's +5 scale mail," Jack corrected him.

"I still think 'bikini' is the more relevant word in that sentence."

"That's big talk from a guy who just has to toss on some pointy Spock ears and a cloak, 'Riffin.'"

"I don't know what the big deal is, anyway," Lisa said. "I was going to dress as a guy. And Rob's going as a female character, too."

Rob nodded. "Yep, I've got a great outfit all picked out for Queen Sybeth. I still need to find a better wig, though. Can you still help with my makeup?" he asked Lisa.

"Sure, even though you turned my character into a girl," she smirked.

"It could have been anyone!" he said with a smile. "Okay, so no regular group next week and I guess the next time we meet, we'll all be 'in character.'"

Jack snorted.

"Except for Jakarra, who'll be away on some other extremely important quest."

"Ah! One last important point of business," Aidan cut in. "We still going to see 'Batman Returns' on Friday?"

"With Michelle Pfeiffer as Catwoman? Heck yeah!" Jack said.

Rob nodded in agreement. "Not so sure about Danny DeVito as the Penguin, though...I guess we'll see."

"I gotta work," Troy said. "So no spoilers!"

As the group broke up for the evening, Jack caught up to Lisa as she headed to her car. "Hey, sorry about giving you grief about getting the sword and all," he said.

"Don't worry about it."

He nodded. "So...you didn't say if you were going to the movie on Friday. I was wondering—"

Lisa stopped and turned to look at him. "I'm not interested," she told him.

"In the movie?" he asked, hopeful that it wasn't—

"In you."

Her bluntness caught him off guard. "W-why?"

"You're not my type," she said.

"But...you hardly know me," he said, flustered. "I mean, we hardly talk outside the game. I might surprise you."

"Well, then, you hardly know me, either," she countered. "Do you?"

"I've seen you at the comic shop," he said. "I know you read Sandman. I think you might be a vegetarian? And you don't like to admit it, but you really liked that 'Beauty and the Beast' Disney cartoon that came out last year. Oh, and you like fantasy but you don't like sci-fi."

It was her turn to be rattled. "I like Dune," she contended.

He thought about it and shook his head. "No, you don't."

She furrowed her brow. "How do you know all this?"

"C'mon, just give me a chance," he said.

"It wouldn't work out."

"Why?"

She looked him right in the face. "Because I know what you think of women."

"What?"

"Take Jakarra," she told him. "She's runs around with a max Charisma score in a skimpy little titillating outfit and sluts herself around with any man—or woman!—she can find. She only thinks of herself, and boggarts up all of the loot rather than sharing it with everyone."

"But I'm just playing her as an—"

"I swear to God, if you use the word 'empowered' I will literally scream," Lisa warned him. "You don't share, or worry about the story. You just think about combat and fighting like every other guy, and then you hide behind this veil of 'roleplaying' that's about as skimpy as her battle bikini. So forgive me if I think I know a little bit about your opinions of women."

"C'mon, now you're just exaggerating."

Lisa nodded. "Fine. Okay, I'll give you a chance," she said. "If I were to walk up to Rob right now and ask him, would I be correct in guessing that Jakarra's bra cup size is written somewhere on her character sheet?"

Jack hesitated. "W-well, technically, that's important information to know if she can fit into her armor," he stammered.

"Goodbye, Jack," she said, spinning around and stalking off.

That evening in their shared apartment, Brandon was playing Sonic the Hedgehog on his Sega Genesis while Jack sat next to him on the couch.

"Am I a sexist jerk?" Jack asked.

"Uh huh," Brandon replied absently, his attention focused on the game.

Jack was taken aback by the quick response. "Are you sure? 'Cause I never really thought of myself as—"

"Yep. Definitely." Brandon tapped away at the controller furiously. "Aww, c'mon!" he proclaimed as Sonic was jabbed by a harpoon. "How is that fair? Can hedgehogs even swim?"

Jack sat there quietly for a minute. "I'm gonna go rethink my life," he announced, trudging back to his bedroom.

"'Kay."

Jack saw the lead figurine of Jakarra on his dresser and examined it...the big boobs, the long hair, the ridiculous "armor" that covered almost none of her body. He sighed heavily. "I'm not...like that," he told himself. "Am I?"

He ran his hand through his hair. "God, I don't understand women at all," he muttered.

"Do not judge yourself too harshly," a woman's voice came from behind him. "After all, you are only a man."

Jack spun around to face a drop dead gorgeous woman standing in his bedroom. She had long auburn hair and was wearing a scale mail bikini with thigh-high leather boots and gloves. And she was leaning casually on an impressive-looking sword.

Jack jumped back in alarm, running smack into the edge of his bed and feeling like a cornered animal in the confines of the small room. "Who the hell are you?" he asked.

"I am Jakarra, of course," she replied simply, sheathing her sword and leaning it against his dresser. She slowly started to remove one of her gloves, pulling at one finger after another. "And you would be Master Jack, yes?"

Jack stared in total shock at the scantily clad beauty before him. She was stunning, tall and slim with an eye-popping curvaceous figure that was completely on display in her miniscule outfit. She looked like she could have been a lingerie model, but there was a tautness to her muscles that suggested that she worked out. And her confidence and matter-of-fact demeanor only added to her formidable charms.

"Wha?" Jack squeaked.

"Your name," she emphasized, removing her glove. "It is Jack, is it not?"

When Jack nodded dumbly, she took two steps forward, causing him to retreat against the bed. "May I?" she asked, plucking the figurine out of his hand. She regarded the curvaceous figurine for a moment with a small smirk, and then detached the metal ring from the bottom of the figure and slipped it on her finger. As she did so, it glowed brightly before fading again. "Ahh, much better," she said, stretching her fingers.

Jack stared at her stupidly. "How...?"

"I have been summoned here to help you," she told him. "You require the expertise of a woman skilled in the arts of love and romance, do you not?"

He continued to gawk at her, his eyes tracing over her soft flesh and amazing curves. She had a young face—probably not much older than Jack himself—which was exquisitely made up and heightened her feminine features. Her soft, pouting lips, her penetrating come-hither eyes...even her thin arched eyebrows, now raised quizzically at him.

"Huh?" he blurted out.

She blinked her eyes slowly. "Very well," she decided. "Clearly I must find other ways of loosening your tongue." She started to unfasten her armored brassiere.

Jack backed up against the bed. "Wait, wait, whoa! What are you doing?"

"You obviously find my sexuality intimidating," she said, temporarily frustrated by the clasp and pausing to remove her other glove. "Once we have sexual relations, that will make it more familiar." She turned around and brushed her long hair out of the way, revealing the expanse of naked flesh across her rounded shoulders and down her back, tracing downward to her slender waist and a truly profound set of hips. "Would you mind?" she asked, nodding over her shoulder. "The clasp seems to be stuck."

Jack ran his hands down his face, floored by the sight in front of him. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment before grabbing a blanket off the bed and throwing it to her. "Wait," he said. "Just...wait."

She held it uncertainly and arched an eyebrow. "You don't wish to have relations?" she asked.

"That would be awesome," Jack admitted. He sat on a chair and motioned to the bed. "But just...sit?"

She tossed the blanket on the bed and sat, eyeing him skeptically. "I would have hoped my maker to be more somewhat more articulate."

Jack was thrown by that. "You mean...you know who I am? And what you are?"

She shrugged. "I know enough. We are after all the playthings of the gods, are we not?" She regarded the lead figurine of herself.

"I'm not a god," Jack said. "But...you're just a fictional character. You're not real."

She reached over and pinched his leg.

"Ow! What was that fo—oh, I get it, very funny. But how can you be okay with that? Doesn't that bother you? Free will, and all that?"

"How do you know you're not a character in someone else's tale, Master Jack?" Jakarra challenged him. "However, that my maker should have need of my services is rather flattering."

Jack held up his hands. "Look, just...nobody's servicing anybody, okay?"

"I was referring to your problems with your lady love."

"Lisa? What do you know about her?"

"I know she is another celestial being, such as yourself." She paused as a thought occurred to her. "Does she command one of my companions, as well?"

Jack nodded. "Wynn. The bard."

"Ahh," she whispered in understanding. "A woman! That explains much."

"Well, I appreciate the offer, but I've got things well in control with Lisa. So you can shuffle on back to Rathorp or the Plains of Agzarar or wherever and meet up with the rest of the party."

Jakarra considered that. "No," she decided.

"Well, I...I command you!"

The pronouncement hung in the air for a moment before Jakarra burst into laughter. "Oh, you do have a sense of humor! Perhaps I see some of myself in you, after all," she smiled. "Understand, 'Master Jack' is an honorific, not an oath. I will stay until my work here is done."

"Fantastic," Jack sighed.

The next morning, Brandon walked out into the living room while eating a bowl of cereal to find Jack sleeping on the couch.

"'Sup?" he asked, as Jack rubbed his eyes.

"My, um, cousin is visiting for a few days."

"What's his name?"

"Uh, Jackie."

Brandon laughed once. "Jack and Jackie? That's gonna be con... fu... sing..." his jaw dropped as he stared past Jack down the hallway.

Jack turned around to see Jakarra walking out of the bathroom with nothing but a towel. That she was using to dry her hair. "Truly, you live in an age of wonders!" she marveled as she walked naked back to Jack's room.

Brandon was still staring after her after she'd gone. "Never mind. I think I'll be able to keep it straight."

Jack cleared his throat. "She's...Swedish." He called down the hall after her. "I put some clothes out for you to wear!"

"My gratitude, Master Jack!"

"She lost her suitcase," he explained to Brandon. As he rolled off the couch and got up to get some coffee with a puzzled Brandon in tow, she soon emerged wearing some loose-fitting shorts with sandals and an Iron Maiden T-shirt that had seen better days.

"That T-shirt has never looked so good," Brandon said admiringly.

"Brandon, this is Jackie, my cousin," Jack said, emphasizing the last bit for Jakarra's benefit. "Jackie, this is—"

"Riffin?" she asked, eyeing him carefully.

"Dude, you told her about our game?" he said. "And it's Brandon, actually," he said, shaking her hand. "Wow, nice grip," he added.

"A pleasure, Master Brandon."

He gave her a funny smile. "Right. Well, I need to run to class. You two have fun today. Jackie, I hope I'll see more of you later."

"I am certain that can be arranged," Jakarra said with a smile.

"I have got to visit Sweden," Brandon said in wonder as he left.

Jack looked at her accusingly. "What the hell was that?"

Jakarra shrugged. "What? When I see something I'm interested in, I pursue it. I thought you of all people would understand that."

"You want Brandon?" Jack asked, incredulous. "He's a nice guy, but kind of a tool, if you ask me. You could definitely do better."

She pulled open the refrigerator door, making a surprised little "hmm" as she peeked inside. "You shouldn't be so quick to base attraction solely on physical appearance," she chided him. "In fact, he reminds me a little of Riffin."

"Riffin?" Jack echoed, even more incredulous.

"I always rather fancied him," Jakarra admitted.

"But...he's useless in a fight!"

"There is more to life than fighting, Master Jack," she admonished. "It's true he has a roguish mien, but there is a devilish charm there, as well."

He sighed. "Look, just drop the 'master' stuff, okay? Just stay here and help yourself to whatever's in the fridge...we'll sort this out tonight after I get back from class."

"No," she said firmly. "Your studies will wait, and I will not tarry in my quest. Today you will fight for the love of your damsel," she declared in a no-nonsense tone. "And you," she added, scrutinizing his rumpled jeans and T-shirt, "you must gird yourself for battle."

A couple hours later, the two of them were walking along the sidewalk in town, and at Jakarra's prompting, Jack had cleaned up and was wearing his least rumpled button-down shirt and khakis. However, Jakarra, despite being the scruffier of the two in her ill-fitting shorts and shirt was definitely drawing more attention. She smiled coyly as a cute guy walked past, much to the annoyance of the girl he was walking with.

"Will you knock that off?" Jack chided her. "You're going to get into trouble doing that."

"I can handle myself in a fight," she reminded him. "On the battlefield or...elsewhere," she said, giving another guy an appraising look.

"Jesus, I really did create a monster," Jack moaned.

She stopped and turned to face him. "Are you ashamed of me?" she asked.

"What? No!"

"Then if you are not embarrassed by me, then you must be embarrassed for me," she reasoned. "You believe I am behaving improperly."

Jack looked around at the other people passing by on the sidewalk. "I think it would be nice if you weren't quite so forward, yes."

She nodded understanding. "You feel I should be more reserved."

"Yes."

"More demure."

"Well..."

"Subservient."

"Okay, now, that's not fair," Jack objected.

"No. No, it most certainly is not," Jakarra agreed. "Master Jack—" She paused, seeing his reproachful look. "Jack," she amended, "why do you think I am here?"

He shrugged. "To help me with Lisa."

"Yes, but why am I here? Why me, do you think?"

He shook his head.

"Jack, I am you," she said, putting a hand on his chest. "Or perhaps a version of you. One that you created. If I behave in a certain way, it is only because there is a part of you that must want that, as well. Even if you cannot admit it to yourself. So who better than I to be your guide?" she asked.

He stared at her for a long moment.

"What?" she said finally.

Jack blinked. "It's just...I think my imaginary friend may actually be smarter than me."

She smiled and slipped her arm around his waist. "Come, then. And tell me all about this maiden of yours."

Soon they found themselves outside Looking Glass Books, the used book store where Lisa worked part-time. Jack had been in there several times before, although lately his visits had often coincided with her work schedule. However, given the chewing out she'd given him the night before, he wasn't eager for another confrontation.

"This is a huge mistake," Jack said.

"I must see her for myself," Jakarra replied. "And more importantly, I have to see how you handle yourself around her. Not every battle need be a victory in order to win the war."

"Swell."

"And above all, be honest with her."

"Wouldn't a lie be easier?"

Jakarra nodded. "Yes, immeasurably. And were you simply trying to bed her, that would be my counsel. Guile and honeyed words have wooed many a fair maiden."

"That sounds pretty good. Let's just do that."

"Except that she knows you...or believes that she does. She would see through such deception and it would only cement her poor opinion of you. And you," she hesitated, "lack guile."

"You mean you think I'm a shitty liar," he contended. "How can you possibly know that about me? You've known me for less than a day."

She eyed him critically. "After an entire evening to plan your deceit, you introduced me to Master Brandon as 'Jackie.' Your cousin."

"I was tired..."

"Would I be wrong in assuming that 'Sweden' is an unlikely place for me to be from?"

"Fine, you made your point," Jack grumbled. "Let's get this over with."

The bell over the door rang as they entered the small store. It was crowded with shelves that were overflowing with books, and it had the familiar scent of old paper. Lisa was sitting behind the counter and as she saw Jack, she looked visibly annoyed. "Jack, I told you—"

He raised his hands in surrender. "No! No, I get it! It's not that, I just...I was looking for an old edition of a Heinlein novel—"

Jakarra was standing next to him inspecting some of the books. She cleared her throat gently.

Jack corrected himself as he moved up to the counter. "Okay, I came to see you," he admitted. "But I just...I wanted to apologize."

Lisa crossed her arms as she eyed him suspiciously. "Oh? For what?"

Jack wasn't sure how to respond. He didn't feel like he'd done anything wrong. "I...I'm sorry if I did anything to make you feel uncomfortable," he said honestly.

Lisa seemed slightly surprised by that. "Well, you didn't," she told him. "Was that all?"

"I guess so," Jack said.

Jakarra cleared her throat again as she sidled up next to Jack.

Lisa was at first taken aback by the woman's stunning good looks, but her eyes narrowed to slits when she saw her next to Jack. "Well, you certainly moved on quickly," she sniped. "Come to introduce me to your new girlfriend?"

Jack took a half-step away from Jakarra. "What? No! No, this is Jackie, my cousin."

"Pardon the intrusion," Jakarra said smoothly. "But I so wanted to meet you. Jack speaks of you in such glowing terms."

"He does. Really."

"Indeed. And—forgive me if I seem forward—but I am new to your city and I don't know any other women here. I just wished to introduce myself in case our paths should cross again. Perhaps we could...talk?"

Lisa eyed the beautiful stranger. "I kinda doubt you and I travel in the same social circles."

"Well, it was worth the effort," Jakarra said with a friendly smile. "It was a pleasure meeting you." She started to leave and turned to Jack. "Jack, I believe you had a notion for victuals?"

Jack followed her outside. "What was all that about? I thought you said we shouldn't lie to her."

"No, I said that you should not lie to her," she corrected him. "Though technically nothing I said was untrue." She looked up and down the street for a secluded spot and led Jack into a nearby alley.

"Well, I hope you enjoyed it. I looked like a complete idiot."

"Your apology was genuine, and she saw that. But unfortunately you have a different problem." She looked him over. "Master Jack, would you hand me your valuables for a moment?"

Puzzled, he handed her his wallet and keys. "So, what's my problem?"

Jakarra put the items in her pockets and removed the metal ring from her finger, moving close to him and taking his hand in hers. Jack's heart skipped a beat as she touched him...she was a beautiful woman, and he felt his face flush from having her so near.

"When she looked at me, she did not see me as a rival," she said as she took her ring and slipped it on Jack's finger.

Jack held up his hand and smiled. "Does this mean we're engaged?" he joked.

Jakarra just looked at him expectantly.

"Okay, so if she didn't see you as competition, what did she see you as?" He became dizzy for a moment, barely registering that Jakarra was fading from view before his eyes. He stumbled back into the alleyway against the brick wall as he felt a strange and uncomfortable sensation as though hundreds of snakes were slithering across his skin. In a moment, he realized his clothes had changed. Given a few moments longer, he would have recognized them as the clothes that Jakarra had just been wearing. But before that, he felt the changes to his body...the slender arms, the shapely torso, the wide feminine hips. He looked down in shock at his prominent bosom tenting out the Iron Maiden T-shirt and Jakarra's long auburn hair that framed his vision.

**I believe she saw me as a potential romantic partner,** Jakarra's voice replied from inside Jack's head.

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STORY THREE: Breaking His Spirit (Act I)
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Antonia Armstrong, the head of A2 Music, was not a well-liked woman.

Antonia Armstrong did not, as a rule, give a flying fuck that she was not well liked, so long as she was wealthy. Which she was. Extremely so.

Unfortunately, that wealth was also shared by her patsy of a husband, Aidan. And between an ironclad prenuptial agreement and the company's Articles of Incorporation—so craftily written they might have been penned by Lucifer himself—that joint ownership was likely to continue indefinitely. Notwithstanding the fact that the couple hadn't shared a house in years, much less a marriage bed.

Sharing, not surprisingly, was not Antonia's best quality. Nor was suffering fools gladly.

This particular morning, Antonia was sitting in her office and brooding as she watched the news on the large television screen on the wall. The perky blonde reporter was interviewing Aidan at the site of his latest philanthropic venture, where he was donating money to save baby sea turtles because his astrologer had told him that "where the shells meet the swells will be where fortune dwells."

Antonia stared at the screen in wonder. "Magic mirror on the wall, how the fuck does that cretin own half of the company that I built?"

Her fastidious assistant Devin came breezing in carrying a cup of coffee. As he placed it in front of her, he said, "It's true, he's a halfwit. But his lawyers are as ruthless and cunning as ninja weasels."

She shot him a look. "I said 'magic mirror,' not 'tragic queer.'"

"Well, I see that someone is looking to earn her 'Does not work and/or play well with others' mark on her report card."

"Mmm," she grumbled, taking a sip of her coffee. "What's on the agenda today? I'm in the mood to kick a puppy."

Devin smiled knowingly as he glided over to the door. "I thought you might be! You're going to love what I've got lined up for you. First up on the Gong Show is Dr. Tobias Blevins with some exciting new audio technology." He opened the door and let the doctor and his two colleagues in. "Right this way, Doctor. I got her all warmed up for you."

Antonia sat at her desk, looking irritable as she rested her chin in her hand. She was totally motionless except for her eyes, which followed the doctor's entrance like a predator studying her prey. Behind him, the doctor's two assistants hastily set up the presentation on the display.

He stood nervously as they fussed with the equipment. "Well, first, Ms. Armstrong, let me say what a pleasure it is to have the oppor—"

"Amaze me," she interrupted.

"Ahem. Yes, well. Are we set up? Yes? Good." A slick computer simulation displayed on the big screen. "My colleagues and I represent a biomechanical engineering group that's seeking venture capital from investors such as yourself who are interested in bringing audio technology to a new level. We have developed highly miniaturized biotech audio receivers that can be inserted directly into the user's auditory canal."

He motioned to his colleagues and an animation played of small spheres that were guided into the ear by a complicated-looking mechanical probe which attached them to the walls of the ear canal. "As you can see here, we've also developed a device that is capable of inserting the receivers safely within the ear. The microreceivers are fully biodegradable and will last up to seven days before needing to be replaced."

"How's the sound quality?" Antonia asked.

Dr. Blevins glanced at his colleagues nervously. "It...needs some fine tuning. But we're confident with some additional venture capital we can resolve—"

"Show me."

Nervously, Blevins nodded to one of his people who tapped away on the laptop. "Now this is just a simulation of what it might sound like, mind you." He leaned over and spoke into a small microphone. "Testing, one, two, three."

A moment later, the sound was played back. There was a high-pitched warbling noise in the background and the voice had taken on an eerie, almost alien quality. "Teessssttiiiiing... ooonnne... twoooo... thrrreee...."

Antonia made eye contact with Devin.

"We believe this can be corrected," Dr. Blevins said hurriedly. "With enough—"

"Pardon me, I have a question," Antonia said.

"Yes, of course."

"Let me just make sure I have this right. So, rather than going to Radio Shack and spending fifty dollars on a decent set of headphones, you're suggesting we offer our customers the opportunity to spend fifty thousand dollars for the pleasure of having a mechanical spider crawl inside their ear canal and lay its eggs so that they can listen to music for a week on speakers that would make Katy Perry sound like a humpback whale. Did I get that about right?"

Off to the side, Devin cracked a smile. "Well, technically, she already sounds like—"

Antonia raised a finger, silencing him.

Dr. Blevins was visibly thrown. "W-we feel that this could be—"

"Door," Antonia said.

Devin swooped in like a hawk, ushering them out. "Thank you so much for coming, she was very impressed. We have your contact information, don't we? Don't worry, we'll be in touch. Take care, now. Drive safe." He closed the door after them and turned to look at her. "Still want me to fetch you a puppy?"

"Something fluffy. Maybe a...Pomeranian..." Her voice trailed off as her eyes fell on the replay of the newscast with her husband and she stared off into space for a moment.

Devin approached her warily. "I'm getting a shiver, here. What are you thinking?"

She pointed at him. "Get that nerd back in here," she said. "And I need a company that sells the smallest surveillance kits you can find. And find me an anesthesiologist, and the number for my husband's astrologer."

Devin whipped out a small notepad and started scribbling madly. "Anything else?"

"Yes. A hooker—no, make that two hookers—and a professional dominatrix. The skankier the better. Also the magician from that Vegas show, and the number for the best talent agency in the city." She thought for a moment and looked around her office at the various paraphernalia and photos from her various music artists. "Oh, and get that costume chick from that video shoot with the...thing," she said, gesturing vaguely.

Devin paused. "Wait, do you mean the video with the thing?" he asked, waving around his head, "or the chick with the thing?" He gestured to his face and made a pained expression.

"Just get her!"

"Right, got it," Devin acknowledged, turning to get Dr. Blevins back. As he did so, his sleeve slid up and displayed the ivy tattoo that ran around his wrist.

"Hey!" Antonia said, stopping him. She pointed at his tattoo. "Where'd you get that?"

Aidan Armstrong staggered into his house, laughing as he wrapped his arms around the waists of the two scantily clad girls he brought with him. "This is it, ladies," he announced. "You two want a drink?"

"Wow, you live here all by yourself?" one of the girls asked.

"Yep, it's all me," Aidan told her.

"Which way is the bedroom?" the other girl asked.

Aidan laughed loudly. "Damn, you're raring to go, aren't you?" he slurred. He led them down the hall where he leaned on them heavily and they half carried him to the bedroom. By the time he opened the door, he was dead weight and they dropped him to the floor unceremoniously.

"Eh, close enough," the blonde shrugged. "Call her."

A short while later, Aidan was unconscious on the bed and the room was abuzz with activity with several people bustling about. As Antonia entered she nodded to the two call girls as they left, and watched as Blevins' people were installing the microreceivers in Aidan's ears. In the background she watched as some other people installed hidden surveillance equipment and replaced Aidan's glasses.

She picked up the new set of glasses, which looked identical to his old ones. "This has a camera and a microphone?" she asked.

The guy nodded. "And a wireless receiver and transmitter to broadcast the audio you send to the microreceivers. State of the art, this stuff. The resolution isn't the greatest, but you'll see and hear what he does. We'll track him with the van, and we'll transmit back to your office so you can monitor things from there."

Devin entered the room leading two women. The first was a short dark-haired goth chick with a number of tattoos who was carrying a large case. Devin pointed her to the unconscious Aidan and she started to unpack her portable tattoo machine and ink. The other woman was a heavily made up busty blonde in a tight leather corset top and leather pants. He guided her over to Antonia.

"Antonia Armstrong, it is my pleasure to introduce to you Mistress Bella," he said formally.

"You understand what you're supposed to do?" Antonia asked.

"Sure."

"And you're all right with it? A sudden attack of conscience would be unfortunate."

She shrugged. "I don't mind kink. And for what you're paying, I'm prepared to overlook things like conscience."

"It's always a pleasure dealing with a professional."

"That the guy?" she said, looking at the unconscious Aidan.

"Yes, indeed."

She gave him an appraising glance. "He's kinda cute. He'll turn out just fine." She turned to watch as a tall and distinguished dark-haired man with graying temples entered the room. He was directing some assistants who were carrying projection equipment into the bathroom. "Oh, my God, is that Ambrose Faust, the famous magician?" she asked.

Devin jumped in. "Ah, no, that would be Ambrose Faust, the plumber you've never seen or heard of before." He retrieved a garment bag and handed it to her. "Here, put this on. They'll be wanting to take some video of you wearing this."

Bella unzipped the bag and looked inside and wrinkled her nose. "Not really my style," she said.

Antonia gave a small smile to the woman. "Don't worry, it'll get more interesting soon enough. But first I get to have my fun." She turned and looked at Devin, who had a big smile on his face as he watched them install and test the audio receivers in Aidan's ears. "And what are you giggling about, Dorothy?"

"This is just like that Val Kilmer movie," he grinned.

The next morning Aidan woke up with the mother of all hangovers. He had no recollection of the previous night after coming home with the girls, but he was in his bed and after checking his bed stand was pleasantly surprised to see that they hadn't stolen his wallet. Though judging from the amount of cash that was missing, it must have been a pretty wild night.

He sat up slowly and trudged to the bathroom to relieve himself. Afterward, as he turned on the sink to splash some water in his face, he noticed a strange mark on his wrist.

"What the...?" he muttered, rubbing at the mark. As he looked at it more closely, it seemed to be some kind of symbol on the inside of his wrist. It was a little more than an inch across and resembled two swirls in a stylized Yin/Yang symbol. And it wasn't coming off as he rubbed it.

"Son of a bitch!" he swore. He didn't remember going to a tattoo parlor the night before, but then he didn't remember a lot of things about last night. "How the hell—?" he started.

//Aidan,// a woman's voice came in his head. It had an alien, almost ethereal quality to it.

He spun around in shock, looking for the source of the voice. "Who said that?" he demanded.

//Aidan Armstrong,// the voice repeated. //You are being judged! For crimes against the flesh and the spirit, you have been marked and must atone for your crimes...or I will pass sentence on you!//

He spun around, looking for the source of the voice. At first he thought it was coming from speakers somewhere, but even with his hands over his ears the voice was as loud as ever. The voice was inside his head! "Who are you?" he cried.

//In life, my name was Ruby Duarte. I died before you were born, and I was a nobody. Just some random call girl, like the ones you like to use and toss away. But now, for your crimes against women, you'll be the one at a woman's mercy!//

Aidan looked around the bathroom, eyes wide. "This...this is some kind of trick," he said desperately. "You're not fooling—AAAAH!" As he spun around, he saw the spirit's reflection in the mirror, staring at him accusingly. The image was a little fuzzy and indistinct, but she was very real. She was wearing a 1930s showgirl costume and at first, she had short dark hair and penetrating green eyes, but as he watched, her appearance changed into that of a busty blonde, but with the same haunting green eyes. She pointed a finger at him.

He squeezed his eyes shut and covered his ears, but her soft eerie voice sounded in his head. //Prepare yourself for judgment!// she said.

"No!" he cried, running into his bedroom in terror. He threw open his closet to get some clothes and get out of there, but the only thing hanging there was an exact replica of the showgirl costume he'd seen her wearing.

//Let's start with this,// Ruby's voice sounded in his head. //Get dressed.//

Twenty minutes later, Aidan was driving like a madman downtown. Unwilling to debase himself by wearing the showgirl costume, he'd searched around his house and in the laundry room had come across a ladies' pink track suit that he guessed belonged to his housekeeper, and with some effort he was able to squeeze into the outfit. He felt ridiculous and at first the spirit warned him against the price of defiance, but apart from a small giggle at his wearing the track suit, "Ruby" had remained quiet.

Aidan came screeching up to an address on the edge of town. He knew the place well, and he knew that if he could find help anywhere, it would be here. He rushed inside, past the sign that said "Madame Natasha, Astrology and Psychic Readings."

"Madame Natasha!" he cried as he entered. "It's Aidan! I need your help!"

The enigmatic dark-haired woman entered from the back room. "Aidan?" she said, puzzled. "You're not scheduled for an appointment today." Then, seeing his frightened demeanor, she said, "What has you so troubled?"

"I've been...possessed! There's a spirit inside of me—a woman!—she says she means to judge me!"

"Aidan," she said comfortingly. "To touch the spirit realm like that takes years of training. There is no way that you could—" Suddenly, she gasped as she saw his wrist. "What is that?" she asked in alarm.

"It's a tattoo," he said, holding it out for inspection. "I must have gotten it last night when—"

"You have been marked!" she cried, her eyes wide as she backed away from him. "Stay back!"

He touched the symbol on his wrist uncertainly. "What does it mean?" he asked nervously.

"Get out!" she cried. "Out! And never return!"

"But—!"

"Now!" she shrieked.

Aidan backed away in fear, stumbling out onto the street. His heart was pounding like a drum as he gasped in short, shallow breaths. As he staggered backwards, he bumped roughly into another person, accidentally knocking them down.

"Watch where you're going, dumbass!" the woman snapped at him angrily. She was obviously a street whore...in fact, she was almost a caricature of a hooker. His eyes tracked up her legs from her platform shoes and fishnet stockings up to the ridiculously short skirt and totally inappropriate bustier. But as he looked further up, Aidan winced slightly. She was an older woman, rough and haggard-looking, and her big saggy boobs were on brazen display in her scant top. Her aging face was mannish and overly made-up, lined with wrinkles and framed by a short hairdo that was colored an unnatural color of red. She looked like a trashy middle-aged grandmother dressed for an evening of rough sex.

"Give me a hand!" she growled. She plucked her cigarette off the pavement and stuck it in her mouth as she held up her hand.

"I'm so sorry," Aidan said, reaching down to help her up. As he hoisted her clumsily to her feet, he looked down at her hand and noticed that she had the exact same stylized Yin/Yang tattoo on her wrist.

The hooker noticed it, too. "Holy shit," she said, looking at him.

Aidan looked at her in fear. "You know what this is, don't you? What does it mean? Tell me!" he implored her.

"How long have you had it?" she asked.

"Just this morning. I woke up with it, and—"

She cut him off. "Have you been...contacted?" she said significantly.

He nodded, eyes wide.

"Then you're fucked."

"Please, I don't unders—"

"Look, buddy, I don't know you from Adam and I don't know whatever you did to deserve that," she said, looking at the tattoo and taking a puff from her cigarette. "My advice? You do whatever the fuck you're told to do. I guarantee the alternative is worse."

Aidan looked at the woman, trying to imagine how she could possibly earn a living as a whore with that worn-down face and body. "Did something happen to you?" he asked her.

She laughed once. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you. I used to be like you," she said. Her eyes traced over his face longingly, as though remembering something she'd once had, now lost. "A lot like you, actually." She stuck her cigarette in her mouth and started digging in her purse for something, eventually removing a business card from her wallet which she handed to Aidan. It was dog-eared and worn, and on one side it had the same stylized logo as the tattoo. On the other side was an address.

"I didn't believe it either when it happened to me," she told him. "Just go there at exactly sundown, and see for yourself."

Aidan shook her hand in gratitude. "Thank you. Thank you so much—"

"Jo. My name is Jo."

Aidan gave her a little smile. "Is that short for Josephine?"

She just laughed once ruefully, shook her head and walked away.

Aidan anxiously got in his car and drove off. After he was out of sight, "Jo" pulled out her cell phone and sent a text message: "Hook, line, and sinker." Then she went around the corner, got in her car, and went home to take off those ridiculous clothes.

Aidan gripped the steering wheel nervously as he drove to the address on the card. He almost didn't go, thinking himself foolish for getting carried away with all of this foolishness, but as he looked down at the symbol on his wrist, he got jumpy.

"This is all in my head," he told himself. Then, after a moment, he took a breath and said, "Ruby? Are you still there?"

There was no reply.

Aidan breathed a sigh of relief. He knew he was just being fooli—

//I'm here,// came the eerie voice. //But I'm not at your beck and call. I'm here to be your judge. And if I'm not convinced of your contrition by sunset on the seventh day, I will pass sentence on you.//

Aidan broke down almost in tears, apologizing and begging the ghost for forgiveness, but he was met only with reproachful silence.

By the time he arrived at the address, the sun had already set. The location was was outside town and to his surprise wasn't a residence or a business, but rather a small park in a wooded area. It was quiet, but as he parked the car he noticed that there were a handful of other cars in the parking lot. Aidan got out uncertainly, walking nervously down the dim wooded path he found, pausing as he heard voices coming from up ahead. As he rounded the corner, he saw a small group of people standing around a campfire, but as he edged closer, he could see that they weren't campers...they just looked like ordinary people, dressed in business suits or work clothes.

"You're late," a woman's voice came from next to him.

Startled, Aidan jumped as he turned to face the speaker. She was dressed all in black and looked to be in her early 30s with her dark hair cut in a no-nonsense style.

Aidan motioned to the group by the fire. "Are—are you also..."

She twisted her arm to display the symbol on her wrist. "Yeah. But I'm not like you. I'm not being judged. I'm more of what you'd call an 'attendant.' Name's Rea."

"I'm Aidan."

Rea faced him and bent down into a sweeping formal bow, saying, "Traveler from afar, I bid you welcome."

Aidan wasn't quite sure how to respond. "Thank you," he said uncertainly.

She looked him in the eye. "I wasn't talking to you."

//She was addressing me,// Ruby said.

"Oh," Aidan said anxiously. "Please, can you tell me what's going on? Should I go over there—?" he asked, pointing to the others.

"No," Rea said. "Don't interrupt them once they've started the rite."

Over by the fire, a woman cried, "No! No, please!" and broke down sobbing, though her cries soon turned into incoherent grunts and gibbering noises.

Aidan was getting more agitated. "What are they doing? What's going on with me?"

Rea looked at him. "Your spirit hasn't explained it to you?"

"She said she's judging me for some crimes against women, but I don't know what she's talking about. She said I have to demonstrate my contrition in a week or she'll punish me."

Rea nodded. "She'll test you and make sure you've reformed," she explained. "Think of it like this: you're in jail right now and in a week you've got your 'parole hearing.' If she's satisfied that you've changed, then she'll leave. Although she may 'drop in' from time to time like a parole officer to make sure you're still on the straight and narrow."

"And...if she's not satisfied?"

She gestured to the group around the campfire. "See for yourself."

Aidan edged closer to the fire to get a better look. There were six people. At first he thought there were two men and four women, but he realized that one of the "women" was actually a man dressed as a woman in a starched white nurse's uniform. Sitting on the ground was the woman he'd seen cry out. She was dressed in a professional suit and looked around anxiously as she gibbered indistinctly.

//She was judged and found wanting,// Ruby's voice came in his head.

Aidan's mouth was dry. "What did she do?" he whispered.

//She was a lawyer, greedy and dishonest. Her silver tongue won't help her anymore, though. Her spirit has decreed that she will live her days as an inarticulate beast with the language skills of a dog, never able to do more than grunt or jabber incoherently.//

The crossdressed man looked very relieved all of a sudden.

//Ah, that one has changed his ways,// Ruby said. //He was a surgeon and a—what's the phrase?—'deadbeat dad' that failed to take care of his wife and daughter, but now he will learn to be more nurturing.//

Aidan looked at the man in disbelief. He thought the guy looked ridiculous, like he was going to a Halloween party. "How long will he have to stay like that?"

//The rest of his life, of course. That's his penance.//

"What?" Aidan gasped.

Before she could answer, the next person stepped forward, a slovenly-dressed obese guy, unshaven and apparently drunk. He had a bottle in his hand and threw it down angrily, and a split-second later there was a flash and puff of smoke, almost like a Hollywood special effect or something you might see in a magic act. And where the guy had been standing, in his place was a fat round-bellied pig. It stood there for a moment and looked around in confusion before squealing loudly and running off into the woods.

"They turned him into a pig?"

//A sow, actually. Though he'll still be aware of what was done to him and what he used to be. There's a farmhouse off in that direction, so soon he'll either be nursing little piglets or he might end up on the dinner table, himself.//

Aidan was horrified but before he could say anything the next woman stepped up. She was dressed shabbily, like a derelict homeless person, but as Aidan looked closer he noticed that beneath her shabby clothes, she was fairly clean-cut. Her unkempt hair appeared to have been cut professionally not too long ago, and her face and skin were clean and flawless, despite her current lack of makeup. Even her hands and fingernails weren't very dirty. As Aidan watched, she fell to her knees, gasping in relief.

//She changed her ways, as well,// Ruby said. //Her greed threatened to consume her, but she gave away all her possessions. Now she'll have to make her way on the charity of others.// She paused as Aidan watched the next person to be judged. //Unfortunately, I don't think this woman will fare as well.//

The woman in question was dressed very stylishly, and was slim and very attractive...Aidan thought she could have been an actress. He couldn't make out what was being said, but her haughty demeanor didn't bode well. As he strained to hear, there was another flash and puff of smoke, and...she was still standing there. But as Aidan examined her more closely, he noticed that she was stiff and unmoving.

"She's...a mannequin?"

//The beauty that she was so proud off will be preserved forever for all the world to see as she's put on display.//

"They killed her just for being vain?"

//Oh, no,// Ruby said. //She's not dead, she's been magically transformed. She's can't move or speak, but she can still sense her surroundings, irregardless. She'll live out her days admired for her plastic beauty.//

Aidan furrowed his brow as something occurred to him. He was about to ask another question, but now the final man was being judged. He was a tough-looking customer, heavily muscled and threatening looking.

//I'm interested to see this judgment,// Ruby said. //This one beats his wife and children.//

They didn't have long to wait. As the guy gave an angry shout, there was another flash, and when Aidan's eyes cleared he could only see a bag lying on the ground where the man had been. "I don't understand?"

//Much like the woman turned into the mannequin, this abuser has been turned into a punching bag, though fully aware of his surroundings. He'll be able to feel the pain of his attackers' blows but helpless to defend himself. It is a good judgment,// she declared.

"Good judgment?!?" Aidan cried in disbelief. He backed away in terror, looking wide-eyed at the mark on his own wrist. "And I'm going to be 'judged' like this? But I didn't do anything! I didn't beat anyone or rape anyone!"

Ruby remained silent, but Rea stepped close to him, shaking her head. "You're not being compared to the crimes of other people, you're being judged by your own actions. Nobody knows why the spirits pick the people that they do, but your 'crimes against women,' whatever they are, rated judgment. And now you have to atone...or suffer the consequences."

Aidan trembled in fear. "Please," he begged, "I'll do anything! Anything!"

Rea watched intently as Aidan hurried off anxiously, jumped in his car, and drove off into the night. "Aaaand...we're clear!" she shouted. "That's a wrap, everybody! Great work!"

In a wink, the campsite came alive like a Hollywood set as people came out of the trees and hidden spaces. Three trapdoors opened up around the campfire as the "transformees" clambered out, and from out of the tree line, a guy in jeans came out with the pig on a leash, which was trotting by his side obediently.

"Oh, my God, did you see his face?" laughed the woman playing the lawyer who had supposedly been rendered inarticulate. "I can't believe this is all just to prank one guy. What must this cost?"

The guy in the nurse's costume replied, "Hey, what rich people do with their money is their business. I'm just happy for the gig."

"Amen to that." She held up her wrist, displaying the symbol. "Hey, this is gonna come off, right?"

Rea nodded. "Yes, that's henna. It'll wear off on its own in a couple weeks. But for now, remember, you all signed non-disclosure forms, so don't talk about this to anybody. After all, we wouldn't want to ruin his surprise, would we?"

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STORY FOUR: Breakout from the Island of Doctor Bimbeau! (Act I)
****************************************************************

"That is the dumbest thing I've ever heard in my life," I said.

"It's not dumb," my teenage son responded. He had that earnest look about him that children often have when trying to convince their parents that some new fad was actually not ridiculous, and that—with all due respect—their folks were just being old fashioned, straight-laced, out-of-touch, boring sticks in the mud. I'd had a similar conversation with my own parents the day I announced I was getting a tattoo. To say nothing of the day I went off to enlist.

"It's not hurting anyone," he asserted. "They're just stories! And other guys' folks let them."

Kids, I thought. I wondered if cavemen used to get into this argument. ("It not fair! Thag's parents let him use fire.")

"Honey, what's the harm?" my wife said. "It could be...educational."

Ah, I was wondering what my role in this ancient morality play would be. I'm to be the heavy, then. So be it. "What's the matter?" I said, with all of the righteous indignation of the countless generations of aggrieved parents that came before me. I looked down at the covers, all of them with cheesy titles and covered with crudely drawn pictures of aliens, atomic supermen, and bug-eyed monsters as well as scantily clad women being menaced by all manner of slavering beasts. We used to read hogwash like this when I was deployed. One of the guys in my unit loved this malarkey and the rest of us were so desperate for entertainment we ended up borrowing it, too.

"This junk will rot his brain, all this 'science fiction' nonsense," I said to her. "And this one," I said, picking up one title, "it's even got men getting turned into women. You don't see a problem with our son being exposed to stories like that?"

"You see something wrong with being a woman?" my wife countered.

"That's not the point and you know it," I said, not wanting to be drawn into another debate on the role of American women in postwar society. "Sometimes these stories even have sex," I told her.

Her eyes grew wide. "Heavens!" she gasped theatrically. "So, what, you'd prefer he be having sex in real life?"

"I'd prefer not to be having this conversation at all."

"You don't get it," my son groused. "They're only stories. It's just for fun."

Then, he looked me straight in the eyes. "Besides," he told me, "you're already a woman."

Perplexed, I looked down to see two prominent breasts tenting out the front of the dress that I was wearing.

"AAH!" I cried out, suddenly starting awake. I was confused and disoriented as my hand flew to my flat male chest, confirming my proper gender. The bumpy motion of the small single-engine plane jostled me properly awake as we flew into a storm. It looked to be rough weather ahead. Up in the pilot's seat Jake had a serious look on his face, but in the seat next to mine, my co-worker Janet gave me a bemused look.

"Bad dreams, Alex?"

"Worse," I grumbled. "Teenagers. Even in my dreams they're managing to get the last word."

She smiled and was about to say something when the plane rocked forcefully to one side. The storm was worse than I'd realized, and visibility was near zero. Jake didn't even have to bother telling us to strap in...one glance from him and both Janet and I both knew it was serious. Jake and I had served together in WW II, doing our tour in the Pacific theater. Now, ten years later, he was still the best pilot I knew, and was happy to take us on what was supposed to be an island-hopping milk run to deliver us to a scientific conference. Some of the big brains had gotten excited about the promise of harnessing nuclear energy to create electrical power plants and were pulling in a bunch of eggheads like us from various fields to weigh the pros and cons. Frankly I didn't think either Janet and I had much to contribute to the debate, but it seemed like a great excuse to get out of town for a few days.

The plane lurched again, even more violently this time. As the turbulence increased, Jake yelled out, "Hang on! I'm going to try and get abov—"

There was a shower of sparks as the instrument panel erupted and showered us with glass. As the plane went into a dive, I hit my head and passed out.

My first thought on waking was to register surprise that I wasn't, in fact, dead. My second thought was the stunned disbelief that I appeared to be uninjured apart from a splitting headache. Miraculously, Jake had worked his magic again and managed to land the plane...I could tell that it was badly damaged, but at least we all appeared to be in one piece. Janet was still unconscious next to me, but otherwise appeared to be uninjured. Jake was coming around but had suffered a nasty-looking gash in his leg from where the front of the plane had collapsed in on him.

"FUBAR, just like old times," I told Jake. "I thought we'd bought the farm that time for sure."

"Any landing you can walk away from," he said with a grimace, trying to move his leg. "Although—AAH!—I think I may need some help with the 'walking' part."

I dug out the first aid kit and did my best to bandage his leg while Jake tried the radio, which was shot. I thought that fixing it was a lost cause, but Jake wasn't willing to give up so easily. So while he busied himself with the repairs, I looked out the window at the cleared strip of jungle that surrounded us. "Where are we?"

"No idea. Instruments were out. I saw an island and thought I could crash land when I spotted this old abandoned runway. It was dumb luck."

I gave him a significant look. Runways in the jungle like this were seldom abandoned. They were either overgrown or in use by someone. It's possible this was a leftover from during the war, but interested parties often used old landing strips like this for their own purposes.

"Smugglers?" he said, reading my face.

I tilted my head uncertainly as Janet stirred behind us. I turned to face her and as she realized where she was, her eyes grew wide in panic. Just like a dame to lose her cool after the danger had already past, I thought to myself. I was just about to tell her to calm down when I realized that she wasn't looking at us. She was looking out the windshield.

Janet's ear piercing scream coincided with a fierce shake of the plane, and for a dumb moment I thought we were back in the turbulence again before we saw the side door being torn violently off its hinges by an unknown assailant. A gorilla, maybe? I didn't know for sure, but I knew better than to wait to find out. My soldier's instincts took over and lacking a sidearm I instinctively looked for the first improvised weapon I could lay my hands on. By the time I was fumbling with a flare gun to fend off our attacker, the door had been completely torn away and I found myself staring at a huge pair of female breasts that filled the door frame.

At first I thought I'd hit my head in the crash harder than I thought, but a quick glance at Jake's equally perplexed face confirmed that I wasn't hallucinating. As the woman's chest moved from the doorway, we heard a man's voice call in from outside. "I say there! Are you unharmed?"

Our "rescuers" were among the most curious individuals I had ever seen. Once we established that they meant us no harm, we climbed out of the wreckage of the plane to face a number of buxom, scantily-clad women. They were all young, fit, and gorgeous, wearing quasi-military uniforms that fell somewhere between a uniform and a bikini. At first, Jake and I could hardly believe our luck until we noticed that all of the beauties were armed. But the oddest one of the lot was a monosyllabic giantess we learned was called "Gorga," who had singlehandedly dispatched the door of our plane. She was almost ten feet tall and muscled like a circus strongman. I suspected that she could have crushed my head in her hand, had she wanted to.

Their leader was an Englishman named Wallace—I wasn't certain if that was his first or last name—a thin and dapper fellow in a waistcoat. He brought a jeep around and Gorga helped us load Jake in.

"We don't get visitors here, so you'll have to forgive our manners," Wallace apologized as we drove. "The doctor prefers privacy for his work."

"What sort of 'work' does he do here?" Janet asked suspiciously, and all business. She'd been less than amused with the adolescent ogling that Jake and I had been giving Wallace's comely associates.

Wallace avoided the question, deferring until we met his master in person. I was about to press the point when we rounded the corner and beheld the estate, a sprawling mansion that rose up from middle of the jungle like a defiant fist raised against Mother Nature herself. We were soon informed that the doctor was indisposed at the moment but would join us for dinner that evening, and that in the meantime we should make ourselves comfortable. So as Janet and I were escorted upstairs, two chesty dames in tight-fitting nurse uniforms examined Jake's leg and carted him off to the infirmary. I didn't like splitting up like this, but as the two nurses helped him into a wheelchair, Jake waggled his eyebrows at me, saying, "I think I can handle this one, boss."

A couple hours later, I stood at the window in my elegantly appointed guest bedroom, having washed up and changed into some clean clothes that Wallace provided. I opened the balcony door and was studying the dense jungle outside, listening to the sounds of the local wildlife. I'd spent some time in jungles in this part of the world, but the animal noises here were different. Angrier, somehow. I couldn't put my finger on it, but it put me on edge.

There was a knock and Janet entered, wearing an elegant evening gown and looking like she just stepped off of the silver screen.

"You clean up pretty good," I said appreciatively, watching her leg flash through the side slit of the gown as she approached. She'd always had nice stems.

"Not bad yourself," she replied admiringly. "When they put out my clothes, I half expected to find one of those skimpy outfits those women were wearing."

"Might not be so bad," I joked, imagining her wearing one of those revealing little uniforms.

"Mmm," she purred, gliding up to me. "Though you wouldn't believe the unmentionables they put out for me," she said, slipping her arms around my waist. "We have a little time before dinner, want to see for yourself?"

I put my hands on her shoulders and pushed her away, gently but firmly. "Janet...I'm married."

She looked at me, puzzled at first, then with a coy little smile. "Oh, yeah? Where's your ring?" she asked, taking my hand in hers.

"It's..." I looked at my hand. It wasn't there.

Janet was undeterred. "Alex, c'mon, we're on an island in the middle of nowhere. Nobody's gonna know. Live a little."

"I'll know," I said firmly. "It doesn't matter if it ever gets back to... to... um, her."

"'Um, her?'" Janet mocked gently. "So, does 'um, her' have a name, or are you just making her up?" She cocked her head and gave me a once-over. "You're not a fruit, are you?"

"I like gals just fine," I assured her. "And I am married! Her name is... is..." I shook my head. Why couldn't I remember?

Just then, there was a knock at the door and another one of the female "helpers" arrived. She was a knockout like the others and dressed in a frilly maid's uniform, and she informed us that dinner would be served downstairs shortly. As we followed her, Janet threaded her arm around my bicep, snuggled close, and "permitted" me to escort her downstairs.

Like the rest of the mansion, the formal dining room was large and elegantly decorated. The table was huge, but I noticed that there were only plates set for four. Wallace was already there, smoking a cigarette as one of the maids served him a drink.

"Would you care for something?" he offered. "Wine, or perhaps something stronger?"

"Wine would be lovely," Janet responded, accepting a cigarette from Wallace's case.

He offered one to me and I shook my head. "I don't smoke," I told him.

Wallace regarded me for a moment. "A man with no vices at all? After my poor manners startling you on the runway earlier, surely I can tempt you with something?"

"How's about you tell me where Jake is, for starters."

"Your friend is resting comfortably," a man's gravelly voice came from the doorway. We turned and saw the speaker, a distinguished older man with salt-and-pepper hair in a dark suit with a walking stick. He had an obvious limp and from the way he carried himself, I guessed that he'd served in the military at some point. The fact that I couldn't place his accent made me wonder which side he'd served on.

"Unfortunately, he won't be joining us," our host continued. "Though it's lucky that you brought him when you did, and that I had the proper surgical tools available." He stood before me and extended his hand. "But where are my manners? I am Doctor Bimbeau."

I laughed out loud.

Both the doctor and Wallace seemed thrown by my reaction, and even Janet furrowed her brow at me. "What?" I told her. "C'mon, you don't think that's funny?"

Janet frowned and accepted the doctor's hand graciously. "Please excuse my colleague," she apologized.

I smiled and shook the doctor's hand. "Sorry, I guess I'm more of an acquired taste. But Jake's gonna be okay?"

The doctor nodded. "He's being well cared for by my assistants." I could only imagine. Jake had quite the reputation as a ladies' man.

As we sat down to dinner, we enjoyed a sumptuous feast. Despite my probing questions, the doctor deftly avoided talking about the nature of his work, and instead kept turning the conversation around to the local political climate and our own backgrounds in the sciences.

"I'm a botanist and Janet here is a biochemist," I told our host. "We're attending an international consortium of... scientists..." I yawned. "Sorry, I guess I'm even boring myself," I joked as one of the maids refilled my glass. Conversationally, I added, "So, Doctor, I must say your 'assistants' are all quite lovely."

The doctor smiled. "My own handiwork, actually. And I'm glad you approve. Soon I will be able to share my achievements with all of humanity, ushering in a new age of prosperity, unburdened by the slow and cumbersome process of evolution," he said proudly. "My experiments in metamorphic transgenesis have proven quite fruitful, to say nothing of the synthetic estrogen. Karl here turned out quite well," he said, gesturing to the striking young woman holding the wine decanter.

Suddenly feeling dizzy, I turned to look at the leggy beauty flashing her abundant cleavage in her maid's uniform. "Karl? That's... a funny name... for a girl..." I slurred. Then, in a panic, I swung my head around to face the smiling doctor. "What was...in that food?"

I turned to look at Janet, but she was passed out unconscious on the table. I forced myself to my feet, and stumbled and tripped backwards over the chair.

"I have use of a biochemist," Doctor Bimbeau said. As consciousness faded, I watched helplessly as the hulking Gorga advanced towards me. "But unfortunately not a botanist. Though I imagine we can find other ways to make you...useful."

"Alex! Alex!"

I awoke with a start, hearing a woman's voice yelling my name. "Janet!" I yelled back. But it hadn't sounded like Janet.

I was strapped down naked to an operating table. As I looked around the operating theater my pulse quickened as I realized the gravity of my situation. The metal tray next to me had an array of sharp surgical instruments that fueled my rising panic, and I struggled in vain against my bonds. But my hands and feet were held tight.

"Hello?" I called, looking for the woman who'd called my name.

The door opened and a nurse entered wearing a surgical mask. She had unnaturally bright red hair and was stacked like all of the other broads we'd seen. She busied herself with some wicked looking needles and syringes.

"Hey, doll, any chance you could loosen these for me?" I asked with more confidence than I felt.

She continued her work wordlessly, but as she placed the needles on the tray next to me, I looked above her surgical mask and as we made eye contact, got a shock. It was Janet! Her boobs were at least three cup sizes bigger and from the unnatural hair color I guessed they'd dyed her hair or something, but it was definitely her. "Janet! What the hell did they do to you?" I said. "Thank God you're here, get me loose and let's get out of here!"

She looked me in the eyes, blinked once dispassionately, and went back to arranging the surgical instruments. There was no sign of recognition on her face.

"Janet!" I yelled.

"You may as well relax," Doctor Bimbeau said as he entered the operating theater in a surgical gown and mask. "She only responds to me, now. The mental reconditioning is quite effective, as you'll soon learn yourself." Then, turning to Janet he said, "We'll begin with the first injections." She nodded in assent and handed the doctor a syringe filled with a strange greenish liquid.

"Janet," I said anxiously, "you have to fight it! Whatever he's done, you have to—AAH!" I felt a sharp prick as the doctor calmly injected the serum into one of my nipples, then the other. I caught my breath as she handed him another syringe which he started to inject into my hips. "Janet! please! You—AARGGHH!" I writhed in agony as a burning sensation built all over my body. It felt like I was on fire!

The doctor looked at me in a detached fashion as he lowered his surgical mask and took my pulse. Though the searing pain, I looked to Janet as she lowered her own mask. To my horror, I saw that her mouth was gone and had been replaced by what looked like a woman's vagina!

I looked away and grit my teeth as the burning sensation swept through me. The last thing I was aware of before losing consciousness were two fleshy breasts slowly expanding on my chest.

"Alex!" It was the woman's voice again. "Alex! Wake up!!"

I started awake, this time in a small white room that looked like a prison cell. The only things in the room were a sink with a mirror and the cot that I was on. I hadn't taken three breaths before I realized that I'd been turned into a woman.

I was slim and bosomy like the other broads we'd seen, and a quick check of my naked body confirmed that I was, in fact, all woman. Hesitantly for fear of what I would see, I stumbled to look at myself in the mirror and saw reflected a girl who looked like she'd be right at home working the docks. Sighing, I looked out the small window and saw jungle outside, confirming that I was still in Doctor Bimbeau's care. For a moment I thought I might have been tossed in the loony bin, but as I looked down at my woman's chest I realized that the only "booby hatch" I'd been tossed into was my own suddenly-curvy skin.

My shock and disbelief gave way to outrage at this violation of my body. And then I circled back to disbelief. "This isn't possible," I said aloud, touching my female body. Then I remembered in disgust what he'd done to Janet.

"It doesn't make sense," I repeated, holding my head in my hands. How could that madman have done this? It defied all reason.

"Alex, can you hear me?"

I spun around, not sure where the voice had come from. It was the same woman as before. "Janet?" I asked uncertainly. Though if what I'd seen was real, I doubted that Janet was even capable of speech anymore.

"Alex, you have to get out of there," the voice said.

"Oh, really," I said sarcastically. "Any suggestions how?" But when the voice went silent, I heard the sound of high heels clicking down the corridor outside.

Quick as a cat, I jumped back on the bed and played possum, trying to ignore the jiggling distractions of my new female body. I heard the door plate slide open as whoever it was peered inside, and then heard the unlocking of the door as they entered. I chanced to sneak a peek and saw a nurse—not Janet this time—approaching me with another syringe on a tray. I tensed up, but to my surprise she put the tray down and sat on the edge of the bed. There was a short pause before she tenderly brushed my hair from my face and I felt her caress my hip and waist. At first I thought she might just be looking for a place to stick the needle, but as her hand traced further up my body and cupped my full breast I realized her intentions were more amorous.

Unfortunately for her, I didn't share the feeling. Summoning all the strength I could muster in this body, I swung my fist around and socked her right in the face, startling her and knocking her back before slamming my foot into her gut. It knocked the wind out of her and before she could react I viciously smashed her head against the sink. She was still breathing, but she'd be out for a while.

In another time and another place stripping her clothes off might have been rather enjoyable, but dressing myself in that embarrassing outfit was anything but. However, I figured it might serve as camouflage, at least for a while. Once I was dressed, I locked the nurse in my cell and headed down the corridor dressed in her uniform.

The corridors in this wing of the mansion were like a maze, housing a number of laboratories and operating theaters. One door had a cacophony of animal noises coming from inside, some sounding almost human in their cries. I hurried past, the clicking of in my high heels echoing down the halls. Twice I encountered another of the doctor's female "assistants," but they paid me no mind as I passed by. I was glad that my disguise seemed to be working, but distressed that I was definitely now "one of the girls."

My only thought was escape. I would have preferred to find the doctor and somehow force him to turn me back into a man, but I knew that would have to wait. I had to get out of the mansion, maybe steal a jeep and find a boat or some way off the island, then come back with reinforcements. Assuming of course that I could get anyone to believe the deranged rantings of a busty broad who looked like a call-girl and claimed to have once been a man.

Down the hall, I heard a number of footsteps coming, more quickly this time. Had they discovered the nurse already? Unsure what to do, I ducked into a room marked "Stable 4" and listened at the door as the footsteps passed by. As they did, the smell of the room hit me.

The room was, in fact, a stable, and the smell of animals and manure was pungent. There was even hay strewn about on the floor. But of more immediate interest to me was the doorway on the opposite end that appeared to lead outside! I hurried towards the door and had made it halfway across when I was suddenly aware that I was being observed. Nervously, I turned to face the other person and saw that it was Jake! He was inside one of the stalls and looked at me with dismay.

"Jake!" I said, moving in his direction. "It's me...it's Alex."

"Alex?" he said, looking me over. "Oh, God, is it really you?"

"It is! They did something to...me..." My voice caught in my throat as I got to the edge of the stall and saw what had become of my friend.

His head had been removed from his body and transplanted onto one of the bodies of the overstacked women, and his big tits hung down huge and heavy. But as he turned I could see that his female torso didn't have arms, leaving him looking like a man's head that had been put on an overendowed version of the Venus de Milo. But the real shock came as I saw that from the waist down, his body was gone and had been replaced with the body of a spotted dairy cow. He looked like some kind of bizarre centauress as he stumbled towards me awkwardly on his hooves, his legs trembling uncertainly, like Bambi learning to walk. As I gaped at his bovine lower half, I saw that his cow udders were huge and distended.

I was frozen in shock, wanting to run from the bizarre creature lumbering towards me but transfixed by the sight of my transformed friend, my own female features mirroring the horror on Jake's face. As he stumbled closer to me I saw that his oversized breasts were secreting a white liquid that I hoped was milk. "Please," he begged, "Please...milk me!!"

"This isn't possible," I said, pulling away.

"He did this to me!" Jake cried. "Oh, God, I feel so full!" His tail twitched and he stamped a hoof even as he shook his torso in discomfort, causing his big swollen breasts to wobble around. He made a pained expression and arched his back, and to my shame I took another step back as I didn't want to get any of his fluids on me if they came geysering out.

"This...it just isn't possible," I repeated. How could anyone do this? Humans and animals? It couldn't be done! Suddenly, there was a noise from the corridor. "I'm sorry, I have to go," I told him. "I—I'll bring help," I said weakly, not having any idea what kind of assistance could possibly aid...that.

"Nooo!" he cried, slowly lumbering after me as I hurried towards the door at the end of the row. As I passed, I heard more creatures rustling around inside the other stalls, and forced myself not to look for fear of what I'd find. The last thing I heard before closing the heavy door behind me was the sound of my best friend's cries for help along with the soft clanking of a cowbell.

The door led outside to an outdoor stable area that was thankfully unguarded and from there to a horse trail that led into the jungle. I couldn't find any horses, and after seeing what had been done to Jake, I hesitated to think what might have made the hoof prints I was seeing in the dirt outside. Worse still, I hadn't found any jeeps or trucks I could steal.

The impossibility of my situation was starting to get to me. What the hell chance did I have? I was a lone girl trapped on an island of madmen and monsters. I started to break down and cry as I stumbled off the trail into the jungle to at least avoid being seen. By anything human, anyway.

"Alex, can you hear me?"

I sniffled and stood up. "Yes! Who are you?" I wiped away my tears, searching for the sound of the voice. I turned and saw a concerned-looking brunette in a simple flowing dress step out from behind a tree.

"Can you see me?" she asked.

"I know you," I said. It was the woman from my dream. The one I'd been arguing with. "Are you...my wife?"

She smiled in relief. "Yes, that's right. I'm Marie. And I need you to listen to me very carefully. You're in a lot of danger."

"Yeah, thanks, doll, I pretty much figured that out on my own."

"No, you don't understand," she said. "It's not what you think. You're trapped inside a story."

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STORY FIVE: Breaking the Fourth Wall
****************************************************************

((Hmm...where to start this?)) The Author wondered.

((First, I guess I need somebody to mess with. Maybe someone unlikeable? It's more fun when they have it coming.))

Barry Jeffries was a real jerk.

((Oh, that's brilliant, Shakespeare.)) The Author muttered. ((So we're just phoning this one in, are we? Try again.))

The grizzled detective sat back in his chair listening to the rain splash against the window outside, the gloom outside suiting his dark mood. Formerly a 20-year man on the force, Barry Jeffries had it all until his conniving bitch of an ex-wife—

((Grr.))

((Okay, don't overthink this. Maybe an office environment?))

Looking out from his office window, Barry Jeffries surveyed the vast expanse of the city, feeling like the king of all he surveyed. Barry was a self-made man, having risen up from lowly beginnings to owning his own Fortune 500 company while he was still in his mid-30s. The biotech research his company was doing was going to redefine the industry.

Barry looked around his office with a puzzled look on his face.

((Okay, not bad,)) The Author mused. ((A little vanilla, but it's a start.))

Barry's brow furrowed. "Who's there? Who said that?" he demanded. "What just happened?"

((Wait...you can hear me?))

"Are you talking to me?" Barry asked. "Who is this?"

((Ooh, how meta! A character who's aware of his author! This has possibilities.))

"Look, I don't know who the hell you are," Barry said challengingly to the empty room, "but when I find out, you're going to be sorry!"

((That's adorable. Look, just play along and everything will be fine.))

"I'm not playing along with anything!" Barry yelled. "I'm going to find you and..." His voice trailed off as he felt a sudden draft. He looked down to see that he was standing in his office totally naked.

"What the fuck?" He was bewildered but still indignant. "I don't know how the hell you did that, but I swear I'm gonna beat the living—!"

Barry was standing naked on the lip of an active volcano.

"AAAAHHHH!!!"

((I like you. You're feisty.))

"Send me back! Send me back!"

Barry found himself back in his office, fully clothed as before.

((Now, then. Willing to play along, now?))

He nodded, visibly shaken.

((Groovy. Just relax, this will be fun. So, anyway...))

There was a knock at his office door and Barry's secretary Sheila walked into the room, carrying a folder and her business organizer. She paused when she saw him standing in the middle of his office, looking around nervously. "Mr. Jeffries? Is everything all right?"

"I don't think so," he muttered absently. "Did...did you want something?"

Sheila made a little face but let it pass. "Your ten o'clock got canceled. You're free until lunch where you have reservations at Le Travesti with Helena."

Barry nodded slowly. Helena was his fiancee and he remembered that they were going to have lunch, but there was something strange about what she'd just said. "Wait, where did you say—"

Sheila strode back over to the door, locking it. "But first, you and I need to talk," she said rather ominously. "I know what you've been up to," she said, walking slowly back up to him, like a panther stalking its prey.

"You do."

"Mmm," she nodded. "You've been a very bad boy, Mr. Jeffries," she purred, running her fingers along his necktie. Suddenly she yanked on it like it was a leash. "And now you're going to pay!"

The total shift in her demeanor was sudden and jarring. "What are you talking about?"

"I know about the girls you've been seeing, Barry," she said with a taunt. "I don't imagine that sweet little Helena wants to find out about that. And more importantly, I know that you've been stealing money from the company."

Barry looked perplexed. "Wait, I own this company. How can I be stealing from it?"

((Shit, I forgot about that.))

He looked around for the source of the voice, but Sheila didn't react to it. He looked at her quizzically. "Did you just hear—?"

Sheila cut him off. "Um, right! But there are, uh, stockholders! And the rest of the—the—"

He shook his head. "The Board of Directors?" he offered.

"Right, them!"

Barry's eyes narrowed and he looked around the room. "Oh, my God, you're just making this up as you go, aren't you?"

His secretary looked at him uncertainly. "No, I've been planning this for weeks!" she told him. "Look here!" she said, pulling him over to the plush couch in the center of his office. "I got you a little present. Today is going to be your 'coming out' party, and I wanted to make sure you had something special to wear!" She grabbed a large garment bag off the couch and shoved it in his hands.

He did a little double-take. "Where did this come from?"

"Shut up!" she commanded. "Now...take off all your clothes!"

He looked at her uncertainly. "Yeah, I'm kind of thinking I'd rather just take my chances with Helena," he said. "Come clean, ask for her forgiveness. Maybe we can go to couples' counseling or something. I can just pay the money back to the company."

His secretary stood there dumbfounded, unsure what to say to that.

((Sounds like someone's looking to be sacrificed to the volcano god,)) The Author snapped testily.

"Ugh, fine," Barry groaned, taking off his jacket and unbuttoning his shirt.

Once he'd removed the last of his clothes he stepped out of his underwear on the floor and presented himself to his secretary. "Care to join me?" he offered.

She gave him a little smirk. "No, you look chilly," she said, casting her eyes down to his flaccid member. "You should get dressed," she commanded, handing him the garment bag again.

Some time later, Sheila was tapping her foot impatiently as Barry was finishing getting ready in the small washroom in his office. "How we doing in there, boss?" she said with a smile.

The door opened and Barry walked out to face her. He was wearing a tight, form-fitting black pleather minidress that wasn't doing much for him since he didn't have a woman's breasts or curves. At Sheila's direction, he'd shaved off his body hair from the neck down, so his trim legs looked pretty good in his fishnet stockings and five inch stiletto pumps, however. He was also wearing long glittering gold earrings, and had made his face up with the makeup she'd provided.

"I look ridiculous," he moaned. He turned to look at the ceiling, saying, "I thought you said this would be fun!"

Sheila shrugged. "I'M having a good time."

((Me, too,)) The Author agreed. ((But if you're having trouble getting into the spirit...))

Barry looked down at himself in disgust, humiliated at having to stand in front of his secretary dressed as a woman. But even as his face burned in shame, he found the feel of wearing the clothes to be very sensual and arousing.

((There you go. Live it up!))

"C'mon over here, I want to get a better look," Sheila said.

He stepped confidently forward, his stiletto heels clicking on the floor as he—

—stumbled, being unaccustomed to wearing shoes with so high a heel. His ankles wobbled unsteadily—

—before he finally righted himself, gliding into a sexy, hip-swiveling strut sure to catch the eye of every red-blooded man in the building.

"Pick a fucking lane, will you?" Barry growled.

((Quiet, you.))

"Who are you talking to?" his secretary asked.

"Just some idiot."

Barry's mind clouded as he felt his I.Q. drop 60 points. "Oh, no!" he gasped, his voice now turned into a silly high-pitched feminine squeak. His benumbed brain struggled to think of anything beyond being pretty and sucking cock.

"Oh, I'm an idiot, am I?" Sheila said threateningly. "Well, in that case, maybe I should make you—"

"Not you!" Barry yelped. "It...uh...me! I...bad girl! I be good! I ap— ap—" he struggled with the word.

"Apologize?" she said.

Barry nodded vigorously. He felt the cloud in his mind lift, although the compulsion to suck cock remained. He hated the idea that he could go down on another man's member, but as he thought about his mouth wrapped around a big thick dick, he licked his lips in anticipation.

"I mean, I was just...talking to myself," Barry squeaked, making a face as he heard his overly girly voice. He cast his eyes down at himself and then over at his secretary. "So, no wig, no falsies?"

"Be patient. I've got something so much better in mind," she teased, attaching a leash around his neck.

Barry followed her obediently as she tugged him along on the leash, but as she opened the door to go out into the office, he faltered and she gave him an evil grin. He started to object, but he stopped when he realized that some ridiculously contrived circumstance would no doubt come along to coerce him.

((Hey, I heard that!))

Sheila made a big show as she led her crossdressed boss through the office, stopping off a few times to chitchat with fellow employees who did little to hide their amusement at Barry's plight.

Herb Stokes, one of the managers, was standing outside his office and talking to his assistant at her desk when they saw Sheila and Barry walk by.

"Whoa!" Herb laughed. "You lose a bet there, boss? Or is this Secretaries' Day, or something?"

"Oh, no," Sheila said. "Mr. Jeffries is making some exciting new changes to his lifestyle and practically begged me to help him come out of the closet. Isn't that right, boss?" she said with a sly grin.

Barry shrugged. "Sure, it's great."

((Ahem.))

"I mean, yay!" he squeaked girlishly. "It's so super-fun! You should try it. Ooh! Maybe I should change the dress code for all the male executives!" he proclaimed.

((Much better.))

Sheila gave him a satisfied smirk as she gave his leash a little tug and led him on. Barry noted that Herb was looking a little uneasy at his pronouncement, especially when his own assistant started sizing him up with a mischievous leer.

Being paraded around the office like a show poodle was bad enough, but Barry's heart sank when they reached their destination...the large conference room where the Board of Directors was meeting. Conversation ground to a halt as Sheila led him into the room, the clicking of his high heels the only sound. As Barry's eyes scanned around the room he noticed that all of the board members were women, including his fiancee Helena, who was the Chairwoman.

"Wow, that was completely seamless," Barry deadpanned.

((I'm warning you...))

"What's the meaning of this?" Helena demanded. "Sheila, I—" Her eyes widened in recognition. "Barry?! What are you doing?"

Sheila spoke up. "I'm here to stop you from making a terrible mistake," she said to Helena. "This pretty little minx has been fooling around on you, did you know that?"

"I had a feeling he was up to something," Helena said. "Do you have proof?"

"Well, most recently there was the stripper he hired for his bachelor party," Sheila offered. "And I can prove it."

Helena looked at him accusingly. "I thought we agreed you weren't going to have a bachelor party?"

"I didn't!" Barry objected.

One of the women sitting at the conference table raised her hand. She had long curly hair and was wearing a bright pink business suit. "Excuse me, this may not be any of my business, but maybe you might want to have this conversation somewhere more private?" she suggested blithely.

Sheila was about to say something, but Barry cut her off. "Relax, I've got this." He turned to the woman who spoke. "No, it's totally cool. You're not actually real. You're just a character in a badly written story. It's easier if you just roll with it."

"Ooh," the woman said vacantly. "Okey dokey! Thanks!"

((Asshole.))

Barry turned to Sheila. "I'm sorry, you were saying something about me being a cheating louse?"

Sheila gave him a smug look and looked over her shoulder. "You can come in now!" she yelled.

The door opened and all eyes fell on the woman who walked in. She looked wildly out of place in the office environment, looking like she'd be much more at home pole dancing in a seedy strip joint. She wore a pink fishnet dress that was pushing the limits of the city's obscenity laws and did nothing to hide her impressively curvaceous figure. She was heavily made up and wore an abundance of tacky silver jewelry, and her blonde hair was teased to within an inch of its life. She also had a few tattoos, including one with an elaborate rose and thorns design across her shoulder.

Strangely for someone wearing such an outfit, she looked nervous and awkward and was blushing furiously as she seemed to be having trouble on her platform heels. As she approached, she made eye contact with Barry. With her oh-so-familiar, piercing green eyes.

"Uh oh," Barry whispered under his breath.

Sheila looked at Barry. "Aren't you going to introduce us to your friend?"

Barry just shrugged. "Sorry, don't know her," he lied.

"You probably didn't exchange names," Sheila said. "But this—woman—was the stripper at your bachelor party the other night. But you probably know her better by another name. Barry, permit me to introduce your best friend, Chet."

Everyone in the room focused on the scandalously dressed woman, who looked even more uncomfortable than before. On closer inspection, her facial features hidden under her heavy makeup were a little angular, but based on her ridiculously skimpy and revealing outfit there was little doubt that she was all woman.

"I'm sorry, I should explain," Sheila said. "When I found out that Chet was cheating on me I decided to visit our R&D lab and test our company's newest venture—GeneX, our programmable transforming retrovirus—and turned him into the voluptuous creature you see here before you."

Barry shook his head in disbelief and looked up. "Do they even teach science where you're from?"

((Quiet!))

Barry looked more closely at the hooker. Her face certainly had more than a passing resemblance to Chet, almost like a strong familial similarity. But as he looked at her in her platform heels he noticed something. "Wait a minute, she's got to be six inches shorter than Chet. How the hell would a biotech virus change your—" He stopped and threw up his hands. "You know what, never mind. I retract my comment. Please, continue."

"Chet was...reluctant...to shake his booty for you and your friends, so I told him if he ever wanted to see the antidote, he'd do what I told him and suck your dick, or else Chester will be chesty for the rest of his life!" Sheila said with a smirk.

"I see what you did there. Funny."

"So you deny that you and this woman were intimate?" Helena challenged.

"That is the least of the things I am in denial about right now," Barry sighed. "But, yes."

"Oh," Sheila said. "My mistake, then. If you weren't, then I guess Chet didn't hold up his end of the bargain like he said he did. No antidote for you, sugar tits."

'Chet' exploded at Barry. "You asshole! I gave you a lap dance! You played with my tits! I even sucked your tiny little excuse for a prick!"

Sheila stepped forward. "Hmm. A clear case of 'he said / he-she said,'" she joked. "Fortunately, I have a solution," she said, pulling out a vial of liquid. "GeneX is a two-part compound, and I laced Chet's lipstick with the other half of the compound."

Before he could react, Sheila uncorked the vial and threw the contents on Barry. It tingled as it made contact with his exposed skin.

He looked up nervously. "W-well, that doesn't prove anything! That could just mean that she kissed me! She could have kissed me on the cheek, or on the hand—"

"Did I mention that the first part of the compound is only activated by coming in contact with semen?"

Barry froze. "Ooh. Well played."

((Thank you.))

"Thank you."

Everyone watched as Barry started to shudder and double over as the change came over him. As he felt his flesh being reshaped, it struck him that being remade like this—if it was even possible—should probably take days or weeks and would likely be excruciatingly painful. But as his flesh was being transformed, it was a strange, almost sensual experience. It was like invisible hands were remolding him like clay, nipping in his waist and redistributing flesh to his jutting hips and his soft, heavy breasts that were forming. By the time his long dark feminine hair spilled down around his face to obscure his vision, he found he almost enjoyed the experience.

When he looked up, the assembled women in the room gasped. Barry looked down at himself and where before he looked ridiculous in his little pleather dress, his new pornographically-proportioned feminine body looked perfectly at home. The dress clung to his curves like it had been painted on, and with his new physique, he looked like a walking invitation to fuck.

Sheila had a very self-satisfied grin on her face, and even Chet was looking quite smug. "See? I told you I sucked his cock!" he declared proudly. Then, as he realized that he'd just admitted to being a cocksucking stripper, he shut up even as his cheeks burned red in embarrassment.

Helena stalked up to Barry, furious. "You sick, knobheaded, fucked up, bottom feeding, shit faced, ass clown, slimebag, cheating, uncle fucker!" she spat.

"Okay, that was kind of impressive," Barry admitted.

((Cheers.))

He looked at his incensed fiancee. "Baby, please, you know there's never been anybody but you," he said, laying to her face.

"Why are you on the floor?" she asked, looking down at him on the ground.

((I was wondering that, myself.))

"I was laying to her face," Barry said, picking himself up and brushing his long blonde hair from his eyes. "I just—wait a second, you meant to say 'lying,' didn't you?"

((I...don't see how that's relevant.))

"Oh, my God, are you kidding me? It's bad enough I'm subject to your every passing whim, but now I'm subjected to your grammatical errors? Don't you have an editor?"

((It's just a first draft! We'll clean it up later.))

"You mean I have to go through this again?!?"

Helena pulled the engagement ring off her finger and stuffed it into his prodigious cleavage. "Don't be too sad," she taunted, "with that bod, now you'll be able to go to all the bachelor parties you can whore yourself out to!" With that, she stormed out of the room.

Barry, not sure what to do next or how to respond just stood there awkwardly as everyone gawked at him in his buxom female body. In the quiet of the room and looking at the assembled board members, he suddenly became acutely aware of his desire to suck cock, and twirled a finger around a lock of his chestnut hair suggestively. From the look of the men in the room, it looked like they'd be willing to take him up on it, too.

As Barry licked his lips, he—stopped suddenly. "Wait, where did the men come from? I thought they were all women?" he wondered.

((Err...))

The male Board members started to get out of their seats, unzipping their pants as they approached the startled transsexual, who—

"Are you mad?" Barry ranted. "What, we're going to have a gang bang right here in the middle of the board room for no reason? And I suppose all the women are secretly she-males," he said. "God, you are the worst, you know that?"

((I'm warning you...))

"Hey, here's a fun game. Without looking back, what color is my hair supposed to be?"

((Uh...))

"Oh, take a guess! You'll probably get it right, it's changed like three times already!" he snapped. "You did remember my compulsion to suck cock clearly enough, though. Kudos on that."

((Look, you'd best get with the program, sugar britches. I'm not kidding.))

"Hey, I've got a better idea," Barry suggested. "Why don't you come down here and tell me that? You strike me as the kind of asshole who'd write yourself into one of your own stories."

((Okay, that's enough.))

"Whatcha gonna do? Throw me in the volcano? You know what, go for it. I'd prefer that to being stuck in—"

Suddenly, Barry found himself in different surroundings, unable to move or speak, but he could feel that his mouth was wide open. He felt very strange, like he'd been transformed again, but since he wasn't able to see himself or look down, he wasn't sure what had happened. He could tell that he wasn't in the boardroom at his office anymore, however...he appeared to be leaning against a wall in a dirty men's room. And from the sounds of the announcements outside, it sounded like he was in a bus station.

As he tried in vain to break the paralysis that held him, he saw a guy in jeans and a T-shirt walk in. He casually strode up towards the wall where Barry stood, but the guy didn't seem to give Barry a second glance. He unzipped his fly and walked right up alongside of Barry and started to take a piss.

That's when Barry realized that he'd been turned into one of the urinals. And why his "mouth" was wide open.

In a panic, Barry tried to move or do something, but he was frozen in place. He wasn't even sure how it was that he was able to see or hear when he was an inanimate object. It was insanity.

((Since you have such a big mouth, I thought this was appropriate,)) The Author said. ((I always wanted to try writing a horror story. How am I doing?))

Barry struggled to move, or curse, or do anything, but he was unable.

The man at the urinal next to Barry finished his business and then flushed and left without washing his hands.

((There's no reason for us to be adversarial, you know. I'll be nice if you will.))

Just then, a huge, burly trucker came lumbering into the room. He was filthy and unshaven and glanced towards Barry, but paused to finish the Big Gulp that he was drinking and throw it in the trash. He belched loudly and started moving towards Barry as he fumbled with his pants.

((Tell you what. Just flush once for yes, and twice for no.))

Barry watched in horror as the trucker moved closer. Even the smell of the man was repugnant. He tried to move to get himself to "flush" somehow, but wasn't even sure what muscles he was supposed to use, or even if he had muscles. As the trucker started to unzip his fly, Barry realized where his "mouth" was, and mentally tried to make himself salivate. He was rewarded with a flushing sound and the feeling of rushing water.

((Sorry, was that a 'yes' or just the first flush of a 'no'?))

As the trucker started to pull out his member, Barry tried to close his eyes, but he couldn't even do that. He braced himself for what was coming.

"Gaaaahhh!!!" he breathed suddenly, gasping for air and able to move again. As his hand flew to his chest he encountered his big soft breasts from before, and saw that he was back in the boardroom, although this time there was nobody else present. He wasn't wild about being a woman, but it felt good to be human again.

"What the fuck was that?" he cried.

((Just reminding you who's in charge here, buttercup.))

"You almost let—some guy—!" he sputtered, unable to say the words.

((Oh, relax. I wasn't really going to go through with it! Don't be such a drama queen.))

"You turned me into a urinal!"

((Hey, you want to try being turned into a cow? Big udders flopping around, maybe we can find you a nice bull...))

"Jesus, no!"

((Come on, give us a 'moo.'))

"No."

((Ugh, you are such a drip. Where's your spirit of adventure? I meant what I said before, there's no reason we can't work together.))

"Look, I am not your—doll, or whatever—that you can use to play out your stupid fantasies—"

((Ooh! Fantasy! Great idea!))

Barry blinked and found himself in what appeared to be a tall tower in a medieval castle. As he turned he realized he was a woman again, and as he looked down he saw an impressive decolletage on display in the overly-snug bodice of his white dress. It had heavy voluminous skirts and petticoats that made it difficult to move, but as he turned, he saw his reflection in a nearby full-length mirror.

He was wearing a wedding dress.

"Oh, come on," he sighed.

With some difficulty he hefted the skirts and moved closer for a better look. He made for a stunning bride, and was wearing a spectacular gown that would have been the envy of any Disney princess. He had a thin but beautifully made up face that was framed by long raven black hair that was pulled back to highlight his beautiful pointed ears.

"I'm an Elf?" he asked, touching his ears uncertainly.

((A brave but overconfident knight, felled by a witch's curse and transformed into a beautiful Elven maid! You're to be wed to the evil Count Horatio today!))

Barry put a hand on his hip. "Horatio? Really?"

((I'll think of a better name.))

He turned back to the mirror and gestured at his reflection. "And wouldn't this story make more sense if you actually started it at the beginning, when I was still a knight?"

((I...maybe I'll do that as a flashback.))

Just then, a heavyset bearded man burst into the room, dressed as a nobleman. "Ah, my dear, you are a vision of loveliness! Our wedding will be an affair to remember! And so will our wedding night," he added lasciviously.

Barry fixed the man with a deadpan look. "I'm guessing you would be Count Horatio?"

"My darling! Do you not recognize your husband-to-be, Count," he paused, "Ignatius?"

Barry rolled his eyes and looked at the ceiling. "You aren't exactly Oscar Wilde, are you?"

((Shut up.))

Ignatius took Barry by the hand. "Come, my love, our guests await your beauty."

Barry yanked his hand back. "Uh huh. I just need a minute here, chief." He looked at the ceiling. "Look, what the hell. You're all over the place, here. This is like playing make-believe with a sugar-addicted four-year-old with attention deficit disorder."

"Who are you speaking to, my sweet?" the Count asked uncertainly.

Barry held up a finger. "One minute, Captain. Okay?" He looked back up at the ceiling. "Seriously, I'm willing to play ball here, but c'mon! You can't keep jumping around like this if you want to make a good story. It doesn't matter if it's in an office building, a medieval castle, or an outer space adventure—"

((Ooh, an outer space adventure...))

"Focus, will you?"

Count Ignatius was staring at the ceiling were Barry had been looking. "Are you...beset by demons, my love?"

Barry spun on the man, which was not an easy task in his voluminous wedding gown. "Look! Count Chocula or whatever your name is now, I am fully prepared to march downstairs in this ridiculous dress to whatever hootenanny you've got planned where we'll get married, fuck like bunnies, and after which I'll spend the rest of my life popping out your babies like a broodmare. But until then, would it be too much trouble for me to have one fucking minute?"

The Count was flabbergasted. "Of course," he mumbled.

((Fine, I'll hear you out. So, where do you want to start?))

"Where all stories start. At the beginning."

Barry blinked and saw that he was standing back in his spacious office in his company's building. He smiled at the familiar surroundings. "Okay, see how much bet—" He paused, suddenly aware of his lilting female voice, and looked down to see that he was still the beautiful Elven maid in the white wedding gown. "Really?" he sighed.

((I wasn't entirely sure where you were going with this.))

With a grunt, Barry hoisted up an armload of the skirts and made his way over to the plush couch and threw himself into it, surrounded by a mass of petticoats and crinoline. He fussed at them as he tried to organize himself.

((Comfy?))

"You're hilarious," he shot back.

((I see what you're trying to do, you know. You're just trying to get out of this.))

"Get out of what?" he challenged. "If the last couple of hours have showed me anything, it's that there's nowhere to get out to. As hard as it is to accept, I'm a character in a story—your story—and nothing is going to change that. And what's my alternative? Going to writer's oblivion? Or becoming some half-remembered little notion for a character in a story you never write?"

((Hey, I just wanted to write a fun little story. I didn't mean to get into all this.))

"Ultimate power is suddenly kind of a bitch, huh?"

((Look...what do you want?))

He laughed ruefully. "I don't know, maybe if people read this stupid story then I get to live on. So if I'm going to be trapped in a story, I guess I'd at least like it to be a good story."

((Hm.))

"What?"

((It's just...I've heard people talk about characters developing their own voice or characters that hijack the story, but I've never actually seen it happen before. I always just assumed it was a metaphor.))

"Yeah, well, maybe some metaphors are meant to be taken literally."

((Ooh, that's good, I might use that.))

"Help yourself," he said with a wave. "So, in this literary epic you're writing, who am I supposed to be, then?"

((In this story, you're the main character.))

"I like the sound of that," Barry admitted. "Beats the alternative, I guess. So, how did you describe me?"

((I, uh, said you were a jerk.))

"Oh, that's nice."

((Well, you are, kinda.))

"Be that as it may, you can't just make that the totality of how you describe someone. Am I a total jerk to everybody? That's boring. People are more complicated than that."

((Hmm...maybe now I'm seeing you more as an opportunist.))

"I can live with that," Barry said. "But you still need some conflict to move the story."

((You get turned into a woman.))

"I got that part, thanks," he said, glancing down at his impressive cleavage on display in the wedding gown. "I'm not really loving that, but I guess it's something. But what happens to me? Why do I get changed into a woman? What happens after?" He thought for a moment. "Will there be sex?"

((Usually, sure. It kind of underscores the gender change...it shows you experiencing new things as you try out the new equipment.))

Barry looked back down at himself and gave his bosom a little poke. "Doesn't sound so bad when you put it like that. Could be fun."

((Yeah, I'm definitely seeing you as an opportunist.))

Barry gave a little smirk. "Well, as long as I'm relatable. People have to care about the character, after all."

((You know, I can't promise you're going to enjoy everything that happens to you along the way.))

"Look, it doesn't always have to be titties and beer—" He hesitated and looked down at his cleavage and made a little grumble. "Well, you know what I mean. But it'd be nice if had a bit of choice in the matter, y'know? Maybe a chance of affecting the outcome from time to time?"

((I suppose you'd prefer a story where you don't end up spending the rest of your life being humiliated?))

Barry broke into a coy smile, which was a surprisingly cute gesture on his elfin features. "It's not my favorite outcome," he admitted. "But even if I'm to be 'punished for my sins,' as it were, wouldn't it be more interesting if I had some other stake in what happens?"

((Such as?))

"I don't know, maybe it could be a redemption story? Or I learn an unexpected lesson along the way? Or I go looking for revenge?"

((Eh, the revenge thing is way overdone. I want to do something different.))

"So, do something different!" he exhorted.

((Well, I do have a few ideas I've been wanting to knit together. Different genres, different times. You might get to play different people.))

"Will I get to be the hero?"

((Not always! But maybe sometimes the bad guy, maybe just a supporting role. Like an actor.))

"Huh, role-playing," he mused. "That sounds interesting. Maybe I could have some romance in there, too? Tell me more."

((Nice try! I'm not going to tell you how it ends!))

Barry snapped his fingers. "Rats, it was worth a shot," he said. "Still, I guess it could be fun finding out what happens. So, where do we start?"

((Where all stories start, at the beginning,)) The Author said. ((Although not all stories end at the ending...))

****************************************************************
STORY FOUR: Breakout from the Island of Doctor Bimbeau! (Act II)
****************************************************************

I stared at Marie in disbelief. "What do you mean, I'm inside a story?" I challenged her.

"All of this," she said, waving her arm at the jungle surrounding us. "It isn't real. Your mind is inside a computer simulation. This is...fiction."

"Computers," I repeated. "The big things with the vacuum tubes? What the hell are you talking about?"

She sighed. "They said you might be confused. You're...inside a story. It's like you're living in a dream that someone made up."

"Someone made this up?" I gaped. "Who would want to dream something like this?"

"Our son, apparently," she said with a frown. "He's on some retro horror kick." Then, seeing my confusion, she added, "It's not supposed to be this graphic or intense. He downloaded the sim from a pirate site and whoever uploaded it must have removed the safeguards. He didn't know."

I nodded slowly. I followed about a third of what she was saying, but the part I did understand I didn't like. Her story still smelled like day-old fish, but it did explain some of the strangeness, at least. "So how come I'm in this...dream? And why can't I remember any of this?"

"This story is...broken. Maybe intentionally, we don't know. And because of that, many of your own memories have been—locked away, I guess you'd call it—while this story plays out. Right now you know things because your character—the person you're playing in the game—knows them. It's like you're a playing a character in a movie. And as to why you're in here, you didn't want Peter playing these sims until you'd checked them out for yourself."

I sniffed. That much made sense, at least. But that part about being a "character" made me edgy. "So, what? You're saying I'm not a real person?"

"No, you're very real," she assured me. "They sent me in to try and guide you through this. They thought a familiar face might help."

I crossed my arms and felt them brush up against my woman's chest. I wouldn't have gone so far as to call this doll "familiar"...she was just a person I'd argued with in a half-remembered dream. But I liked her a damn sight better than the locals. And if half of what she said was true, maybe there was a chance I might walk out of this as a man, after all. Then something occurred to me. "Jake! And Janet. The people that crashed here with me. They're friends of mine and they got...changed...by that mad doctor. Can you help them, too?"

Marie made a little frown. "Alex, they're not real."

"The hell they aren't!" I shot back. "Jake and I served in WW II together, for God's sake! And I've known Janet for years!"

"I know it seems that way, but you haven't," she told me. "They're fake...just made-up characters in this story." When she saw my skeptical look, she said, "This friend of yours. Where did you meet him?"

"I told you. In the war. We served together."

"Where, specifically?"

"We—" I hesitated, trying to recall the memory. "I was—with—"

I paused in shock. "Oh, my God, it's true," I whispered.

"I'm sorry, honey, I know this is hard."

I sighed deeply, feeling the snug fit of my brassiere. I was ready for this to be over with. "Okay, so...wake me up, then."

"We can't. The simulation has taken root in your mind. They're trying to shut it down, but it's out of our control."

I rubbed my eyes with my hand. "How did I know you were going to say that?" I muttered. "Wait. If this is like a dream, can't I wake myself up? You know, fling myself off a cliff and wake up before I hit?"

"No!" she cried in alarm. "No, whatever you do, don't do that. Right now it's like you've been stung by a stingray with a barbed tail...if you just yank it out, you could do even more damage. We need you to exit the simulation normally."

"How do I do that? And how does this story end, anyway? I'm guessing not well," I said, glancing down at my new body.

Marie furrowed her brow, trying to explain. "It's not a straight-through kind of story. It's designed to be interactive."

I nodded. "So I can change things around? Affect the outcome?" That made me feel a little better, thinking I could get some control over all this. Even if I was stuck as a character in this nightmare story, maybe I could still find ways to surprise the "author."

"That's right, but only within the parameters of the story," she replied. "And we haven't found any exit paths to get you out, yet...at least, not any good ones. We've got a programmer here trying to code up an exit scenario, but for right now, you need to stay put."

"Swell."

In a blink, night fell and the jungle was plunged into darkness, apart from the pale moonlight. Before I could even say something, there was a crash of thunder and a torrential deluge started to fall. The rain didn't seem to touch Marie since her image was like a ghost or something, but I was soaking wet.

She looked around in confusion. "Wait, what just hap—"

She was gone.

I stood there for a few minutes as the rain continued, but eventually it became obvious she wasn't coming back. I looked down at my bedraggled female body, feeling at least a sliver of hope that I might be able to get out of this. That's when I heard the sound of barking dogs coming closer.

"Yep, FUBAR," I muttered.

Until I heard back from Marie I knew I had to stay on the move, and now the doctor's minions were actively on the hunt for me. I figured the rain would keep them off my scent for a while, but I couldn't count on that to last for long. While I considered my options, I removed my high heels since they were all but useless in the mud. However, the thought of making a run for it barefoot through the jungle didn't fill me with joy either, especially in this body...and God only knew what lurked out there in the shadows on this island. But I knew that by now they'd almost certainly posted guards back at the mansion in case I doubled back.

Unsure what to do, I fell back on the old standard: when in doubt, do what the enemy least expects.

They were expecting me to try and get off the island, or at least to commandeer a vehicle. So...I wouldn't do that. If I was to be trapped in this horror story, I wasn't going to be a willing participant.

Under the cover of rain and darkness I headed back to the mansion, pausing at the outdoor stables just long enough to secure a length of rope and to confirm there was now a guard posted by the door I'd used to exit earlier. They weren't going to make it easy. As quickly as I dared, I slipped around the outside of the mansion and stayed out of sight, and soon came up on the motor pool, apparently unguarded.

Ha! Not likely, I thought. No way was I falling for that old ploy.

I sneaked quietly past and on the other side of the mansion I found my destination. Up on the second floor I saw the guest rooms where we'd been staying earlier and I could see that the balcony door I'd opened earlier was still ajar. With a great deal of effort, I managed to toss the rope around a piece of stonework and secure it well enough to pull myself up. The rain wasn't helping any, nor was my utter lack of upper body strength...my former male muscles were gone, replaced by these girlish pipe stems. But with much huffing and puffing I finally managed to get myself onto the balcony. Once there I paused to catch my breath for a moment and the rain turned off suddenly like someone had turned off a spigot. And as I looked up, the clouds were immediately replaced by a clear night sky. Obviously whoever Marie was working with was still mucking about with the so-called world around me.

As I pulled the rope up, I could hear voices shouting in the jungle, and the sound of something smashing through the underbrush, something big. "She's doubled back to the house!" I heard them shout. I ducked down, thinking I'd been spotted, but they were still out of sight. How the hell did they find me so fast? I'd been careful with my tracks and in that deluge it would have been impossible for them to...

"Impossible." That word again.

I entered my former room and I suddenly realized I'd been going about it all wrong. I was looking at this as a military operation, but that's not what this was. I was trapped inside a story. A horror story. And I was the star. Those troops and creatures outside weren't tracking a transformed escapee, they were supporting characters following the main character around, exerting pressure on "her" to move the narrative forward.

But I wasn't playing that game anymore. My goal here wasn't to escape, but to buy time until Marie came back with some way out. But right now, the doctor's goons were hell-bent on capturing me and I shuddered to think what he'd do to me when that happened. But what could I do to stop them, especially in this ridiculous body? They would—

Wait a minute, I thought.

I looked down at myself, wet and bedraggled in my skimpy little nurse's "uniform," my big bosom heaving in my tight top. This really was a ridiculous body. It made no logical sense for him to have done this to me.

Then I thought about all the gorgeous, scantily-clad women on "Doctor Bimbeau's" little island.

"Sex," I whispered.

Standing where I was, I realized I was on almost the exact spot where Janet tried to seduce me earlier. But when I rebuffed her, the "story" had immediately moved on. Then I thought about my "lucky escape" from the prison cell with the amorous nurse. Sending an unarmed nurse in there alone with an unrestrained prisoner wasn't just stupid, it was preposterously boneheaded. But, I now realized, I was supposed to escape. Not because the doctor or his people wanted me to, but because whoever wrote the story wanted me to.

But they didn't just send me the nurse to give me a way out; they were also offering me yet another chance at a romantic encounter, this time as a woman. This wasn't just a horror story, I realized, it was an erotic horror story. The author had been feeding me opportunities for sex along the way to bring more thrills.

Thinking now about the lack of guards at the motor pool, I wondered if it really was bait by the doctor and his cohorts to trap me, or by the story writer to "encourage" me in that direction. For the first time in this madhouse, things were starting to make sense.

Okay, I can play this game, I thought. But I'd need to clean up first.

Ten minutes later I found myself in the shower, enjoying the sensuous feel of soaping up my breasts while I hummed a little ditty. Right on cue, I heard the hesitant sound of a woman's shoes on the hard floor outside the steamy bathroom. I'd left the hallway door slightly ajar, and one of the doctor's "assistants" had come to investigate the sound.

The bathroom door opened and one of the maids entered—chesty, leggy, and gorgeous just like all the others. Her eyes went wide when she saw me.

"Hello," I said pleasantly.

"Y-you're the one they're looking for!" she gasped.

"Well, they're obviously not looking very hard," I said with a smile, leaning back to rinse off my hair. "Plenty of room for one more?" I said invitingly as she watched me.

This was the moment of truth. Any sane woman in her place would either scream, or run for help, or both. But now I knew she wasn't a real woman, she was just a titillating character in a sex-laden horror story. I held my breath. Either this was going to work, or else I was going to go down in history as the idiot who gave new meaning to "getting caught with your pants down."

After a moment, her look of surprise faded. She gave me a sly smile, loosed her hair, and started unbuttoning her blouse. I smiled back and hummed a few bars of "Getting to Know You."

"Well, that was a novel experience," I said with a smirk afterwards, the double meaning lost on my partner. She grinned at me coquettishly despite my having tied her to the bedposts. I gave her a wink and a kiss as I secured a gag in place.

By now the sun was rising outside and—insanely in any place other than this—my pursuers never bothered to come in to investigate the amorous sounds that my new playmate and I had been making. (At one point I was about to shush her when I realized that the girlish yelps of pleasure had been coming from me!) I'd heard the search parties outside in the corridor, but apparently the story writer must have felt that it would be poor form to interrupt our lovemaking. But at least I'd managed to stall for some time.

I hoped that Marie would be charitable in understanding my infidelity—if such a thing even had any meaning in this place—but I consoled myself that at least I could say that I'd also been a woman at the time. Though curiously, as I'd fooled around with the maid, I found myself thinking a lot about Marie, even though she was still practically a total stranger to me. I wondered what our first time together had been like.

My nurse's uniform was a soiled mess so I found myself putting on the maid's uniform when Marie's image reappeared. She looked me up and down in my flirty little dress and took a gander around the room disapprovingly.

"Well, I'm glad to see that you're having a good time with all of this," she said flatly. Then, eyeing the tied-up girl on the bed, she added, "And I am learning all sorts of new things about you."

"You're a riot, doll. Tell me you have some good news."

She nodded. "They've worked out an exit for you. You need to make it back to the plane you came here in."

"It was wrecked," I reminded her. "And even if it wasn't, I don't know how to fly a plane."

"It won't matter. They tell me that as soon as you get there, it'll end on a cutscene." Seeing the confusion on my face, she shook her head and said, "Just get there." Despite the craziness of the situation she gave me a little smile as she watched me fuss with my stockings. "That's a good look on you," she smirked.

"Thanks," I said, frowning at the five inch high heels lying on the floor. Not exactly ideal for my getaway. I padded barefoot over to the door and peeked out into the corridor.

"What's your plan?" Marie asked.

"I don't know, I'm making this up as I go," I replied. I glanced over at her and saw her smiling again. "What's funny?"

She gave a little shrug. "It's just...for a minute there, you sounded like you."

I looked into the corridor again and found what I'd been looking for. A lone guard. I quietly beckoned her over and invited her into the room. After she entered, she looked at me expectantly until her eyes cut over at the bed and she saw the other girl tied to the bedposts. As she turned back to me, her eyes went wide with recognition.

"Shh," I whispered seductively, placing a finger on her full, pouting lips. "I was just...hoping for a little three-way?"

The guard looked at me suspiciously for a moment before she gave me a little smile and stared at me with bedroom eyes.

I moved in close, reaching slowly around her. Then I clobbered her on the head with a heavy ceramic vase.

"Learning all kinds of new things about you," Marie observed.

As the guard slumped to the floor I retrieved her sidearm and took her boots. I wished I had time to take her uniform as well, but I was pushing my luck as it was. I chanced a look back into the room as I slipped away, just in time to see Marie's image fading away.

"Good luck, lover," she said as she disappeared.

Despite the patrols I managed to slip through the mansion unnoticed in my disguise, although I felt ridiculous mincing around in this body and outfit. But looking outside, it looked like the doctor was pulling out all the stops. In addition to the troops there were half-human creatures on the prowl, as well. Furry cat-women with tails, some kind of boar creature, and even something that looked like a cross between a woman and a komodo dragon walking around on hind legs.

I made my way to the motor pool and managed to knock out the only guard on duty without making too much noise. If this was what the author wanted me to be doing, at least they were making it easy. I retrieved the keys to a jeep and started moving towards the vehicle when Wallace stepped out in front of me.

"Going somewhere?" he asked.

"Yeah, you wouldn't believe me if I told you, chief."

He gave me a knowing smile. "Oh, I think you'll find I can be quite imaginative when the situation calls for it. And I see that you've decided to dress yourself in a manner more suited to your new station," he teased, leering at me in my skimpy maid's uniform. "I'm glad to see that you're getting with the program."

I pointed my gun at him. "I'm changing the scene."

He laughed once, a throaty guttural sound that turned into a low, rumbling growl. As I watched, his body started to shift before my eyes, his slender and unassuming form growing and becoming more muscled as he tore out of his tailored clothes. He was almost a foot and a half taller than before, and rippling with muscle. He laughed again, a deep booming sound like thunder. "I was one of the doctor's first experiments, did you know that? Before he focused his energies on perfecting the female form, he started with the male." He tore off the remains of his pants, exposing his massive naked male body...and also the two huge erect penises down below, one on top of the other. The one on top was enormous and the lower one was somewhat elongated, obviously positioned so that he'd be able to enter both of a woman's orifices at the same time. "Tell me," he said, "before I turn you over to the doctor, is there anything you'd care to experience?"

"Ooh, tempting," I said.

Then I shot him in the head. Twice.

I tore off into the jungle in the jeep, the creatures and other servants of the doctor bounding after me as I careened down the trail, their half-human screeches and roars a chilling reminder of the fate that awaited me if I failed. I gripped the wheel in determination and accelerated as branches smashed against the front and sides of the jeep. As the landing strip came into view, I just prayed that my pursuers hadn't had the presence of mind to radio ahead. Bouncing almost out of control, I breached out of the jungle trail and onto the runway.

Right into a waiting semicircle of trucks and jeeps.

I slammed on the brakes and went into a skid, hoping I could gun it and power my way through the edge of the enemy line to get to the airplane that was now visible at the other end of the strip, tantalizingly close. But before I could react, I caught a glimpse of something huge in my peripheral vision racing right up to me. It was Gorga. In one vicious move, the hulking woman grabbed the bottom of the jeep and up-ended it, sending me flying.

"AHH!" I cried as I hit the ground hard. Pain lanced through my side. It felt like I'd broken a couple ribs, and my left arm was visibly broken, with the bone poking through the flesh.

"It's finished," I heard Doctor Bimbeau say in his mellifluous basso. Blinking through the pain I saw him start to approach me from one of the trucks, with Gorga and two of his soldiers close behind. "The running, the fighting. It's over. Now, you'll come with us. But have no fear, I'll see to it that you have a special place," he told me. "Perhaps you can rejoin your friend Jake in the dairy. We always have need of more milk."

Trembling from shock, I fumbled with the gun and pointed it at him, but my hand was shaking so badly I knew I couldn't hit the broad side of a barn. I wanted to kill him, to avenge my friends and end his hellish plans, but as I saw this evil man and his monstrous creations, I knew this place wasn't real. This dream, this nightmare, this "simulation"...whatever you'd call it.

But I knew that pain was real enough in this place. So was horror. And then I thought about Jake. I wasn't going to end up like that.

"Fuck it," I decided. I turned the gun on myself and pulled the trigger.

The last thing I heard was the doctor shout, "NO!"

My eyes flashed open as I felt cool air across my body. I felt disoriented, but the pain was gone. Trying to raise my head proved to be too much of an effort, so I lay back and took it slow, surveying my surroundings. I appeared to be lying on a couch in a sunny room, sparsely decorated but warm and welcoming.

"I made it," I sighed with relief, glad to be free of that nightmare.

"What happened?!?" I heard a man say frantically. "What the hell was that?" He and another man were poring frantically over some equipment that was scattered around near the couch.

I blinked my bleary eyes and Marie came rushing up to me. "Alex!" she cried. "Oh, God, I thought I'd lost you!" She kissed me on the lips and hugged me close as I felt her soft bosom press against my chest.

Pressed against my own breasts.

I weakly shoved her back and looked down at myself in shock. I was still in a woman's body! "What the hell is going on?" I challenged her. "Why am I a woman? Who are these people? Where am I?" Off to the side I saw a nervous looking teenager staring at me in shock. He looked familiar...was he in my dream from before? "Who are you?" I demanded.

"Mom, I'm your son," he said. "I'm Peter."

I shook my head in confusion even as I heard the men talking anxiously to Marie about things I didn't understand, like "memory engram psychosis" and how a character's personality might overwrite the user's personality. Marie looked panicky, but I was just a simple guy from the 1950s, what was all this mumbo jumbo?

As I turned my head, I saw a photograph prominently placed on a shelf that showed two women in beautiful white wedding dresses smiling at the camera. The engraving underneath read, "Marie and Alexandra, 2050." There was another picture of the two women in a desert, both wearing full combat gear. I smiled in relief as I realized I had to be living in another dream or something. Two broads serving in combat together and then getting married? That was just ridiculous.

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STORY THREE: Breaking His Spirit (Act II)
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Aidan felt ridiculous as he walked down the street wearing the elaborate showgirl costume that Ruby had put in his wardrobe. But after seeing the gruesome fates that befell the others that were being "judged," he knew he didn't want to rouse her ire and thought it best to follow her instructions. As people laughed and smirked at him as he strutted by on his high heels, he thought of Jo, the aging whore that he'd met on the street just the day before, wondering if such a fate could befall him, as well.

Even more maddening than Ruby's pronouncements had been her silence. He thought that she would instruct him in whatever it was that he had to do to avoid "judgment," but she told him that it wasn't enough to just follow her orders. Rather, he had to demonstrate his contrition and his ongoing commitment to "make his penance and then live with it."

//You have demeaned and used women, treating them as playthings,// she told him. //Now it is your turn to know what that feels like.//

"How do I do that?" he asked.

//I'm your judge, not your mentor,// she said curtly. //Change has to come from within. You tell me, what are you prepared to do? What are you prepared to live with?//

He'd started with the showgirl costume, since she'd "recommended" that he wear it earlier. When he put it on he blushed as he examined his reflection in the tight sparkly outfit with the feathered headdress and the high heels, but even so, he knew it wouldn't be enough to satisfy her. With no makeup, short hair, and a hairy body, he looked like exactly what he was...a man in bad drag. He thought of her ghostly image that he'd seen in the mirror with her busty figure and made-up face and knew he'd have to do better to satisfy her. Reluctantly, he called a few salons and boutiques downtown and made some appointments for that afternoon. Sighing deeply at what was to come, he started to remove the headdress to change into different clothes.

//When I was a performer, hundreds of people saw me dressed like that every day,// Ruby remarked.

Taking the hint, Aidan refastened the headdress. He put the top down on his convertible and drove downtown in his flashy outfit, feathers blowing in the breeze.

His first stop was a wig shop, where he found a long golden blonde wig that reminded him of Ruby's ghostly image that he'd seen in the bathroom mirror. He then spent several hours at a salon downtown where the bemused stylists "treated" him to a full-body wax, manicure and pedicure, and a glamorous and overstated makeover. As the woman brushed out his wig, Aidan watched in the reflection as he touched his thin arched eyebrows with his long red fingernails and fluttered his long eyelashes. His face burned in shame as the smiling women in the salon enjoyed his transformation.

From there he headed off to a specialty store where he purchased some very expensive fake breasts. The best prosthetic they had was actually a full chest piece that glued onto his chest with adhesive and gave him a very curvy figure, guaranteed to catch the eye. As he pulled his showgirl costume back into place over the prosthetic, he cringed as his sparkly brassiere hugged his impressive new endowments and pressed them into an eye-catching cleavage.

Now, as he walked out onto the sidewalk towards his car, many people laughed and smiled as he strutted past, and a couple even stopped him to get a picture. As he turned, he caught a glimpse of himself in the elaborate drag costume in a shop window. "Satisfied?" he said quietly.

//Very pretty. I'm sure you'll make a fine burlesque dancer in no time.//

Aidan made an annoyed grunt as he turned to get into his car. With the top down, he was still getting a lot of people gawking and staring at him. "How long do I have to do this for?" he asked.

//The better question is, how long do you intend to do this for?//

He considered that. "Well, you said I'm being judged next week."

Ruby made a disappointed little noise. //This isn't a final exam that you cram for,// she admonished. //You were already found guilty of your sins against womankind. And now, you've been given the opportunity to define your own punishment—your own penance. It's not my role to tell you what's sufficient, but ask yourself this: when I judge you, do you really think that a few days of dressing as a woman balances out your mistreatment of women for your entire adult life?//

"You're saying I have to dress like this for the rest of my life?" he asked, incredulous.

//If—if!—I thought you were serious about such a commitment, it would favorably influence my decision,// she declared. //Although I believe you'd renege at the first opportunity. And even if you didn't, this only atones for your degradation of women, not how you dominated and mistreated them.//

Aidan was aghast. "So even if—somehow—if I could convince you that I'm going dress like this for the rest of my life, you're saying it still wouldn't be enough?!? That's bull!"

Ruby said nothing.

"Look, I want to change, I do! But how can I prove it when you won't even tell me what to do?"

//But I won't always be here to guide you, will I?//

"But if you won't do it, and you don't trust me to do it, then how am I supposed to..." His voice trailed off. "Someone else," he realized. "You want me to find someone else to...direct me. Order me around. A woman, right? Someone who'll treat me the way you think I've treated women. I'm right, aren't I?"

//If you pledged yourself to such a woman, I would look upon that favorably,// she agreed.

"Who, then?"

//I've already showed you.//

"But you haven't showed me anything!" Aidan objected. "You told me to dress up in this ridiculous outfit, but you never—" He caught a glimpse of the blonde wig framing his face. "Wait a minute. When I saw you in the mirror, you didn't start off as a blonde. You were a brunette with short hair and then you changed to look like this chick with the big—" He looked down at his prominent chest. "—attitude." He peered at himself in the rear view mirror. "Who is she?"

Ruby again remained silent.

"Great. So I'm looking for a blonde with a big rack. That really narrows it down," he muttered.

Aidan thought he might head home and do some Internet searches for dommes in the area, but he realized that he was actually very close to A2 Music, where he kept an office. He never used it except to occasionally use the big leather couch to "entertain" impressionable and tone deaf twentysomething club girls who fancied themselves as future pop stars. He wasn't particularly keen on sashaying in there dressed as he was, but he figured that Ruby might look more favorably on the public exposure than hiding out at home.

To their credit, the guards working the front desk didn't even crack a smile as Aidan traipsed inside and flashed his identification, feathers fluttering. It wasn't until he was in the elevator that he heard them burst out laughing. Upstairs, he got a number of bemused looks as he walked down the hall to his office, instantly regretting the "glass doors and walls" decor that graced that side of the building. Wiggling along and feeling his tail feathers swaying behind him, he saw several meetings stop to gawk as he strutted past.

By the time he got to his office, he was blushing all the way down to his faux breasts. He sat down at his desk and put his sparkly little sequined purse next to his computer as he logged in, hoping for a miracle.

A couple hours later, he was about ready to just start aimlessly wandering the streets looking for the girl. And he was also about ready to chew off his long elegant fingernails that made typing such an incredible chore. He'd performed numerous searches for local dominatrices and mistresses in the area, but several of the listings either didn't have photos or indicated that they "weren't seeking additional subs at this time." He was skimming through the listings for escorts in the area hoping for a match and ruefully thinking that paying for sex was likely going to be the only way he was going to be getting any action in the future if he had to dress up like a tranny showgirl.

Showgirl, he thought, adjusting his headdress.

Ruby had been stingy with her direction, but nothing she'd done so far had been without purpose. Aidan had assumed she'd just chosen this outfit to humiliate him in the same manner she'd had to dress as a performer, but now her taunt about becoming a burlesque dancer stuck in his head.

Running a search for burlesque shows in the area came back with only a few hits. While studying the site for the burlesque show at "Cabaret Exotica," he noticed some pictures from one of the shows and spotted the girl! She was blonde and buxom as he remembered, and had a raw sexuality that under different circumstances he might have found quite provocative. The caption identified her as "Mistress Bella," which he found in one of the local domme listings, but unfortunately her contact information listed there was out of order. However, it looked like she frequented the club, and they had a burlesque show that very night.

"At least I'm dressed for it," he sighed.

"I guess this was inevitable," a woman's voice came from the doorway. "You got tired of chasing little blonde bimbos around and decided to cut out the middle man?"

"Antonia!" Aidan gasped in surprise, looking up to see his estranged wife giving him an overbearing smirk. "I—I'm just—" He hesitated, not sure what to say, especially with Ruby listening. "I know it doesn't look it, but I'm trying to get my life together," he said, discreetly shutting down the computer as she moved closer to get a better look at him.

She laughed as she came up next to him and gave him a sly smile as she took in his outfit. Her eyes ran from his feathered headdress down to his makeup and earrings, finally peering down at his prosthetic breasts that were pressed into a broad cleavage. "Kinky," she remarked, blowing on his feathers. "I had no idea you were into this."

"There's a lot you don't know about me," Aidan admitted. "Maybe that was part of the problem between us." He felt ridiculous sitting there dressed like that in front of her, but it had been so long since they talked that he felt compelled to say something. "Toni, I really am sorry for how things turned out. Maybe if we'd worked a little harder—"

"I don't want 'sorry,'" she snapped. "And spare me the platitudes, especially about 'hard work.' You wouldn't recognize it if you bumped into it with your falsies. There's only one kind of company I want from you, and it sure as hell isn't the kind where you're in the same room as I am."

He stood up and collected his purse. "Yeah, I know," he said. "And who knows? Before this is done, maybe at least one of us will get what they want." He left the room, unconsciously putting a little extra wiggle in his step, causing his tail feathers to swish back and forth.

Cabaret Exotica had quite a crowd when Aidan entered that evening, still dressed in his showgirl costume. He's hoped that his outfit would be at least a little less conspicuous in that scene, but a six foot drag queen in towering heels, sparkles, and feathers was bound to make a splash even in a place like that. He was the belle of the ball with people stopping him for pictures, asking when he would be performing, or playfully groping his fake breasts. Blushing furiously, Aidan put up with the shenanigans as he scanned the crowd.

After a while he noticed a familiar flash of golden blonde hair from one of the tables near the stage. He hurried over to it and saw Bella sitting there with two other women. They were all dressed in black with stark makeup and showing a good deal of skin. Bella in particular was wearing a low-cut bodice that showed off her impressive decolletage as well as an elaborate rose and thorns tattoo across her shoulder. Dressed as she was she very looked different than the vision of her that Aidan had seen in the mirror, but those haunting green eyes were unmistakable.

"Excuse me," Aidan asked her. "Are you...Bella?"

"Mistress Bella," one of the women corrected him archly.

"Sorry, Mistress Bella," Aidan amended. "Could I speak to you in private?"

All three of the women laughed. "Sorry, precious," Bella said, "I don't think so."

"It's just," Aidan looked around nervously, "I need you to be my mistress."

Bella and her companions shared a disbelieving glance. "You have no fucking idea how this works, do you?" she challenged.

Aidan shrugged helplessly. "I guess not."

She looked him over clinically. All day, lots of people had gawked and stared at Aidan in his ridiculous outfit and some had even laughingly felt him up in an overly familiar way, but when Bella scrutinized him he felt even more self-conscious. He felt like he was a farm animal being sold at auction.

"Nah," she finally decided. "I'm not seeing it. Get lost, little chicky." With that, she returned to her conversation.

Aidan stood there in shock. He was about to object, but Bella shot him a withering gaze that told him he wasn't welcome there. He stumbled back to the bar and said, "I tried my best. You saw. I tried."

//If you say so,// Ruby said.

Aidan could have screamed in frustration. He was just about to say something when he noticed the short line of people signing up for the burlesque talent show that night. "All right, fine," he decided. "We'll do it your way."

As he waited in line he inspected the binder that listed their selection of music. He didn't recognize most of it but there were some obvious classics in there like "The Stripper" or music suitable for can-can dancing...but he had something else in mind. He pulled his phone out of his purse and downloaded a song.

As he got to the front of the line, the guy sitting there gave him a once-over. "Very sexy," he laughed. "Name?"

"Ruby," Aidan said.

//Flatterer,// Ruby purred.

"And what song did you want played?" the guy asked, nodding at the binder.

Aidan held out his phone. "Play this."

The guy looked at the screen and shook his head. "We don't play that crap here."

Aidan just nodded and reached into his purse and dumped a wad of bills on the desk. "You do tonight."

"Well," the guy said, picking up the cash, "we're always happy to take special requests."

Aidan leaned over and plucked the pen from the guy's other hand saying, "Mind if I borrow this?" Then he snapped up a napkin and quickly wrote something on it before tucking it into his brassiere.

Aidan was center stage and the stage lights were off when the emcee introduced "Ruby." Aidan blinked as the spotlight highlighted him and the crowd cheered as they laid eyes on him in his elaborate showgirl costume. A hush fell as the music started and in the first five seconds there was the twinkling sound of a piano, an unmistakable and familiar run up and down the musical scales that caused several people in the crowd to groan as they realized what was coming.

Aidan, standing stock still, lip-synced along to the music. "At first I was afraid... I was petrified! Kept thinking I could never live without you by my side..." Many in the crowd now recognized the song and groaned or booed, obviously not wanting to be subjected to this debacle.

Undeterred, Aidan continued with the music. "But then I spent so many nights thinking how you did me wrong. And I grew strong! And I learned how to get along!" As the music cut into a thumping disco beat, Aidan came prancing down the runway, far more adeptly than the crowd anticipated. As the song continued, he shimmied along and worked the crowd, so that very quickly they were clapping and cheering along to his energetic moves.

Confidently, Aidan slipped down from the stage, causing the crowd to hoot and holler as he drew them into the act. In tune to the music and continuing to lip-sync to the lyrics, he sashayed over to where Bella was sitting. Her two friends were sitting still, eyeing Aidan warily, but Bella had a little sparkle in her eye as he approached her.

"Weren't you the one who tried to hurt me with goodbye?" Aidan sang to her. "Did you think I'd crumble? Did you think I'd lay down and die?" With that, he bent down close to her and surreptitiously slipped her the note that he'd written on the napkin. Then, seamlessly, he stepped back and continued, "Oh no, not I! I will survive!"

As he pranced away and kept the crowd going, Bella looked down discreetly at the note and for a moment their eyes met and he could see the look of surprise on her face. But she quickly recovered and tucked the napkin away.

After the song was done, Aidan took a bow before the cheering audience. As he went backstage, Bella was already there waiting for him.

"Obviously not your first time," she observed.

He shrugged a little as he caught his breath. "I performed in the follies in college. I'd never done drag before then, but I'd been inspired by an old friend who dressed up for this costume thing we did."

"What do you want?"

"I'm...undergoing a life change," Aidan told her. "I've been shitty to women, and I'm looking to make up for that. And I'm hoping you can help me."

"What do you want me to do?"

He smiled. "I think the better question is, what do you want me to do?" He held his arms out, presenting himself to her. "And my answer is, absolutely anything you want."

She nodded slowly. "And what else do you want?" she added cryptically, discreetly flashing the napkin he'd slipped her.

"Well," he said, moving closer to her. "I guess that's up to you."

She scrutinized him again. Unlike the first time she'd done so, she seemed to be sizing up something unexpected.

"So...when do we get started?" he asked.

She stepped right up to him, tantalizingly close. "No time like the present."

*SMACK!*

The riding crop struck Aidan's bottom as he scampered into Bella's "studio," which was outfitted with all manner of BDSM toys. She'd taken him there directly from the club and when Aidan suggested waiting to see how we'll he'd done in the talent show, he'd gotten another smack for his trouble.

"You are a fucking disgrace in those heels!" she snarled. "God, you're an embarrassment to both genders!"

She snatched away his purse and tossed it into the corner, followed closely by his headdress which she pulled off roughly. "Get over there!" she commanded, pointing in the corner where some serious-looking bondage items hung on the wall. She stalked over to the sound system and cranked up an almost deafening hard-thumping techno beat. Glowering at Aidan cowering in the corner, she strode up to him confidently.

However, as she got closer, her demeanor changed and became less threatening and more inquisitive. Finally she stood before him and raised her eyebrows expectantly.

Aidan looked around uncertainly. "Can she see us or hear us?" he asked quietly, under the sound of the music.

Bella shook her head. "I don't think so. I'm doing everything they told me I should never do. And I told them I didn't want them installing any surveillance equipment in here while I still have other clients." She held up the napkin with his note. "You mind telling me what the hell is going on?"

"I thought it was clear. I figured out that Antonia is scamming me and I know that you're in on it."

Bella sniffed. "When did you figure it out?"

"Almost right away. But I wasn't certain until that little scene in the woods with the people getting 'transformed.' They didn't come out and say it but they did a whole 'Seven Deadly Sins' shtick that was a little heavy-handed. And that 'living punching bag' transformation was just absurd. I mean really...being turned into a sentient inanimate object? Please," he scoffed. "It was a pretty cool effect, though."

Bella gave a little laugh. "They got Ambrose Faust to help out," she told him.

"The Vegas magician? No shit," Aidan said, impressed.

"But how'd you know it was Antonia?" she asked, pointing at her ear.

"Well, 'Ruby' didn't talk like someone from the 1930s, and then when she used the word 'irregardless' I knew immediately who it was." He winced. "It drives me up the wall when Antonia says that. Plus, 'Ruby' was unusually quiet when I saw Antonia face-to-face."

Bella shook her head. "So if you knew it was all a scam, why go along with it?"

"Are you kidding?" Aidan beamed. "This is awesome! I haven't had this much fun since my old role-playing game days back in college!"

She frowned slightly. "But the humiliation and the clothes..." She motioned at his outfit.

He smiled excitedly. "What a fucking turn-on!" he enthused. "Seriously, I tried for years to get Antonia into the whole femdom thing, but she never wanted to. Can you believe that? I mean, you've met her, right? I felt sure when I married her she'd be bossing me around left and right but she went and turned into this cold fish. I even took up all that astrology crap to try and get a rise out of her, but never in my wildest dreams did I think she'd come up with all this!"

Bella rubbed the bridge of her nose. "You rich people are something else, you know that?" she muttered. "So why are you telling me all this, then?"

"Well, you're the last link in the chain, right? I commit myself to you and put myself under your thumb, and then once she's convinced that you're convinced that I'm not going anywhere, she backs off, right?"

"After she makes you divorce her and give her all your money, sure."

He snorted dismissively. "Yeah, the money that she knows about. I've got plenty tucked away for a whole deluge of rainy days."

"And you're okay with me...you know." She glanced over at the bondage equipment.

"Are you serious? I finally get a full-time mistress ordering me around to do God knows what, bankrolled by a vindictive bitch of an ex-wife? Does the phrase 'dream come true' mean anything to you?"

"And you're sure this is what you want?" Bella asked skeptically. "You wouldn't believe some of the things she put on her list."

"She made a list?" Aidan exclaimed breathlessly.

Bella nodded. "Yeah, stuff she wants me to do to you. Like, she wants you to—"

"Jesus, don't tell me!" Aidan cried, his eyes wide with anticipation.

She shook her head. "I can't believe you're letting her get away with this."

"Well, there's no sense letting her spoil my fun," he said. "And sometimes I might find little ways of sticking it to her. Like 'I Will Survive.'"

"What, the song at the club? Yeah, I didn't get why you went off-script like that. We gave you way easier songs to choose from."

"Two reasons," Aidan said, holding up his fingers. "First, I actually did perform that song in the follies back in college. That part's true."

"And the second?"

Aidan smiled broadly. "Antonia fucking hates that song."

As Bella returned the grin, Aidan stepped close to her and put his arms around her waist. "Well, that's a little forward," she said coyly.

He leaned in and kissed her deeply. "How about that?" he asked.

She snuggled against him. "Oh, you're gonna pay for that later."

Aidan's eyes cut over at the instruments on the wall. "Not too much later, I hope," he said, giving her another kiss.

A few days later, Antonia was sitting behind her desk in her office rubbing her thighs together and about ready to come to orgasm from the sight in front of her.

Aidan had entered—with Mistress Bella not far behind—wearing an adorable little pink frock. With his blonde wig, big falsies, makeup and high heels he looked like a complete sissy as he came mincing forward and opened his little pink purse and presented her with the documents that would grant her a divorce, the company, everything she wanted.

"I signed 'em wiff my boy name," Aidan lisped. "They thaid that'th wegal untiw my name change goes threw," he told her. "My name'th gonna be Ruby Bottoms," he announced. He then leaned in closer to Antonia and whispered, "It's 'cauthe I'm a naughty girwl and I get thpanked a wot." He fidgeted under his skirts.

Antonia bit her lip. "That is perfect," she beamed.

"Ruby!" Bella called out. "It's time to go!"

Aidan, wide-eyed, quickly dropped into a well-practiced little curtsey and scurried over to Bella, who in turn gave Antonia a knowing little smirk as they made eye contact.

As they left the office, Devin gave Antonia a sidelong glance. "You need a minute?" he asked. "Or maybe some moist towelettes, or something?"

"I didn't know it was possible to feel this happy," she said dreamily.

"And the spirits did it all in one night!" Devin declared, heading to the door. "And we've got one more meeting before you can go home and celebrate, assuming you haven't spontaneously celebrated already. Back for a return engagement, I give you Dr. Tobias Blevins, super-genius." He opened the door and beckoned Dr. Blevins to come inside.

Blevins looked at Devin cagily, remembering his experience from the last time. He was also a bit thrown by the unusual couple who had just left the office, especially the person in the pink dress who had minced past looking almost deliriously happy. Fortunately, Antonia seemed to be in an equally good mood.

"Ah, Ms. Armstrong—" he began.

"You're fired," she sighed happily.

"I...what?"

"I'm canceling Project Earwig, or whatever we called it," she told him, casting an uncertain glance to Devin, who just shrugged. "It was fun while it lasted, though."

Dr. Blevins stepped back as he saw Devin start to come swooping in to usher him out. "B-but it has untapped potential!" he stammered.

"Onward and upward, Doctor," Antonia said. "I never look back."

"I have other projects!" Blevins said desperately.

Devin paused his approach to gauge Antonia's interest.

"Such as...?"

"W-well, we're looking into creating interactive synthetic memories!" he told her. "Just imagine being able to develop recordings or even full interactive stories that you could download into your brain! People wouldn't have to go to concerts anymore, they could just buy the memory from you! Or they could even pretend to be the person on stage!" He held his breath, worried that he'd oversold it. It was still in the prototype stages, but the initial tests looked promising.

Antonia tilted her head, intrigued. "I'm listening..."

****************************************************************
STORY TWO: Breaking Character (Act II)
****************************************************************

Jack fumbled with his svelte female body—Jakarra's body—in a panic. "Change me back!" he yelled.

**No,** Jakarra's voice replied calmly in his head.

"Jakarra, I am not fucking around!" he hissed, feeling a little stupid talking to thin air. His slender fingers grasped his soft breasts and he glanced around the alleyway anxiously to see if anyone had seen him yet. "Give me back my body right now!"

**Please relax, Jack. I need you to trust me, and to be open to where this leads. I'm doing this is for your own good,** she said calmly. **It will be...instructive.**

"Instructive?" he blurted out. "I don't need—or want!—instruction on how to be a woman!" he hissed. He frowned as he heard her soft husky voice coming out of his mouth as he spoke. It was bad enough to be a woman, but being trapped inside this walking wet dream was too much. "Screw this," he said, reaching to take the metal ring off his finger.

His hand never made it that far. It froze in place and he couldn't move it. Until it started to move on its own.

"You don't want to do that, Jack," Jakarra said aloud. He could only watch helplessly as she took control of the body and stood up straight. He felt as she ran her fingers gently across her supple curves, taking a slow inventory of her feminine attributes. "This is my body, after all. I am just allowing you to borrow it."

As if to emphasize her point she walked to the end of alley, next to the sidewalk where people were walking by. As she did so, he felt as her fingers nimbly tied the bottom of her T-shirt to bare her sexy midriff. Jakarra then swept her long hair fetchingly over one shoulder and leaned sexily against the wall, eyeing the men as they walked past. Jack watched in horror as the guys ogled her—ogled him!—lustily.

He felt as she relinquished control of the body back to him, and he started to edge back into the safety of the alley.

**No,** she warned him.

Jack stood there, far less confidently than she had. Some of the women looked at him disapprovingly or with envy. And the men! He hated the way they looked at him. Their eyes looked him up and down—face, breasts, waist, hips, ass, legs, then back to his breasts and face—and the worst part was that his female body felt aroused at the idea. If a cute guy came over and started to ravish him caveman-style, Jack wasn't sure that he wouldn't welcome it.

**What are you feeling?** Jakarra asked.

"You know what I'm feeling!" he snapped under his breath.

**That is not what I meant.**

Jack felt his face blush as everyone's eyes were on him. "I feel...stupid!" he said. "Embarrassed. Ashamed! Humiliated. I don't like the way they're looking at me."

**They looked at me the same way,** she said. **Did I strike you as being shamed by my appearance?**

"That's different. You're a woman."

**So are you, now.**

He shook his head. "No, I mean, you're...used to it."

There was a pause. **So, if I were to leave you like this long enough, you would eventually become accustomed to it, and it would cease to be humiliating, yes?**

"That's not the point! And what—oh." Jack paused as a guy walked up to him. He was about Jack's age and was wearing a T-shirt for the university and had a backpack slung over his shoulder. He had short sandy blond hair, confident eyes and a friendly smile, and his bare arms were toned and athletic.

**Ooh,** Jakarra purred. **You fetched a good one.**

"Hi," the guy said.

"H-hi," Jack squeaked out. Jakarra was tall for a woman, but this stranger was taller still and well-built. Jack felt his pulse quicken as he stood next to the bigger man. For a fleeting moment he felt an urge to throw his arms around the guy and kiss him.

"You look lost here all by yourself," the guy said. "What's your name?"

"I'm Jack—Jackie."

"Jackie," the guy repeated. "I'm Neil. You a student here, too?"

**Do not allow him to control the engagement,** Jakarra chided. **Unless you desire for him to ravish and deflower you like a timid maiden?**

"No!" Jack snapped sarcastically at her question. Then, looking at Neil, he added, "I'm...just visiting."

He nodded. "Hey, I was just going to grab some lunch. You want to join me?"

"I..." Jack hesitated.

**What are you afraid of?** Jakarra asked. **He is no threat to you! You must meet confidence with confidence. Or would you prefer to be a submissive supplicant?**

"No," he whispered.

**Then meet his gaze.**

Jack looked up at the man, straight in the eyes. He wanted more than anything to turn away in embarrassment, but he forced himself to hold his stare.

**A moment longer,** Jakarra said. Then, **Now, make your judgment.**

"No," Jack said, confidently. "Thanks. I'm meeting a friend."

The guy held eye contact for half a moment longer and then smiled. "Too bad. Well, maybe next time," he said, walking away.

Jack stumbled back into the safety of the alleyway. His hand came up to his chest and he felt his heart pounding. "What the hell was that all about?"

**You are embarrassed by being a woman because you think it something to be ashamed of,** she told him. **And you allow the opinions of others to reinforce that feeling. When those men and women looked at you and judged you, you felt demeaned.**

"Damn right, I did!"

**Why did that man approach you?**

"Because I was preening like a whore in heat!"

**And why did he leave?**

Jack stopped short. "Because I asked him to, I guess."

**So, who controlled that encounter? Who wielded the power?**

Jack paused. "I did."

**Confidence is an attractive quality, regardless of your gender,** Jakarra told him. **And it allows you to do the things you want—to live the life you choose—even when others would judge you for it and attempt to make you feel shame.**

Jack nodded. "I think I understand," he said, looking down at his female body. "Are we done with this?"

**Not nearly,** she responded. There was the hint of a smile in her voice.

"What, you're going to keep me like this forever?"

**That would not be my preference,** she admitted. **Though sometimes sacrifices must be made. But for now we must focus on the prize.**

Jakarra asked Jack to find another place to meet with Lisa, and while he had an idea it was still a little early and he decided to first stop for lunch. As he crossed the campus quad he blushed again as he felt people staring at his body, but at Jakarra's prodding he stood up straight and met their gaze confidently. After a while he started to find it a bit amusing seeing peoples' reactions, and surprised to find that it mattered to him less and less. He was, after all, just playing a role.

In the confines of the cafeteria his admirers seemed to get bolder, expressing interest in him as he was just trying to order food or find a place to sit. It was starting to get on his nerves when he spotted a younger nerdy-looking freshman sitting by himself.

"This should be hilarious," Jack said to himself as he walked up to the kid. "Excuse me," he said prettily, "Do you mind if I sit with you?"

The awestruck look on the kid's face was priceless. As Jack sat down his intent was just to dodge his suitors for a few minutes and tease the guy a little, but by the time he was done eating he found he'd had kind of an interesting conversation with his lunch companion. As he got up to leave he waved a friendly goodbye.

**Why did you do that?** Jakarra asked.

"At first I thought I'd just give him a little thrill and leave, but... then I thought of how it felt when cute girls shot me down and I didn't want to do that to him," Jack explained. "Then, after we got to talking none of that seemed to matter all that much... and it was just nice to have someone to talk to who wasn't trying to get in my pants."

**Hmm,** Jakarra said, the smile evident in her voice. **Unexpected kindness and empathy all in one afternoon? Perhaps there is hope for you yet.**

"Oh, shut up," Jack grinned, tossing his long hair over his shoulder. "It's probably just all these stupid girly hormones or something."

**Perhaps,** Jakarra said. **And now where are you going?**

Jack sighed heavily. "You wanted me to find a place to meet Lisa. Well, it's Wednesday afternoon, so there's only one place she'd be."

Jack nervously walked inside The Hero Complex, the local comic book store. Everyone was there to pick up the new books that just arrived and there were several people inside. But he didn't see Lisa so he eased his way towards the racks of new releases.

Conversations stopped as the guys got a load of him. Even on a college campus, girls were an unusual sight in the comic store. But to have a drop dead gorgeous woman like Jack come in and buy comics was about as probable as the entire cast of Star Trek: The Next Generation drop by with the New Kids on the Block and start a breakdance competition.

Feeling self-conscious, Jack focused his attention on the books and tried to ignore the whispering.

One guy picked out a Sailor Moon comic and held it out for Jack. "You might like this one," he offered.

"Yeah, I'm not so much into that," Jack said, picking up copies of The Punisher and some of the new Image Comics books. He picked up a Conan trade paperback and Red Sonja was on the cover, striking a very sexy pose.

The guy looked at the cover and then stared at Jack. "You—"

"Yeah, I get that a lot," Jack said flatly.

One obnoxious guy that Jack had seen around before sidled up and looked at Jack's choices. "Ooh, tough stuff. You like it rough, huh?"

Jack turned to look at him in annoyance and noticed that he was wearing a "Right Said Fred" T-shirt. But before he could make a sarcastic comment the guy noticed Jack's gaze and joked, "Am I too sexy for your pussy...cat?"

Jack rolled his eyes. That dumb song was obnoxious enough when he was a guy, but having to be subjected to it as a pickup line as a woman was just insulting.

"Leave her alone, she's probably just buying books for her boyfriend." The voice came from Jack's gamer buddy, Troy, who worked at the store.

Jack felt his face flush in anger. Where did Troy get off saying what books he could read? "I don't have a boyfriend!" he snapped defensively, instantly regretting it. He could feel the testosterone level rise in the room. "I mean...why shouldn't I read these books?"

Troy raised his hands in surrender. "Hey, it's a free country. Read what you like."

"You didn't answer her question," a woman's voice came. It was Lisa. "What's so strange about her reading those books?"

Troy just made a contrite face and backed away, retrieving Lisa's comics and handing them to her. "Hey, it's all good with me. I'm just glad people are reading."

However, the jerk in the "Right Said Fred" T-shirt wouldn't let it go. "C'mon, you gotta admit it's a little weird, a girl like her reading those books," he said.

"No, what's weird is a grown man wearing that stupid fucking T-shirt," Lisa shot back. She turned to Troy and said, "Put her books on my tab. I'll settle up with you next time, okay?"

He nodded. "No worries, I'll see you this weekend at the game."

With that, Lisa turned and left. Jack was standing there stunned, not quite sure what just happened.

**Are you mad? Go after her!** Jakarra scolded him.

Rushing outside, Jack caught up with Lisa. "Um, thanks for that."

She shook her head. "I'm sorry. I know you can fight your own battles, but guys like that get under my skin. I just lost my cool."

"No, no," Jack told her. "It was kinda awesome, actually."

Lisa gave him a wry smile and then looked at the books in his hand. The one on top was one of the new Image comics and on the cover all of the heroines on the team were bent over provocatively to show off their preposterously curvy physiques.

She wrinkled her nose. "You actually like those?"

Jack flashed a wide smile. "Oh, so when guys hassle me about the books I like you flip out and go all Wonder Woman, but when you do it, it's suddenly okay?"

"I'm not judging! I'm just...commenting," she smiled back. "Hey, you want to go grab a bite to eat?" she asked.

"I could definitely eat," Jack replied, not feeling even remotely hungry.

That evening Jack threw himself into his bed gleefully, hugging a pillow to his chest and for once not even caring about his female body. "That was amazing!" he enthused. "She was amazing! Oh, God, that was so much better than I'd hoped. She was smart and funny and she even got all my jokes! And I..." he loosened his grip on the pillow and looked down at himself. "I look like I should be modeling nighties in a Frederick's of Hollywood catalog." He fell back on the bed and screamed into the pillow in frustration.

"I don't want to be a woman," he said finally. "I mean, no offense, Jakarra, you're a stone fox, but I don't want this."

**I know.**

"Then why are you tormenting me?" he whined.

**Is it so terrible, being a woman?**

"It's not that. Well, okay, it is that. But this isn't easy, y'know? And I pray to whatever gods you worship that you're nowhere close to having your period," he told her. "But I can't stand being around Lisa like this."

**I thought you enjoyed yourself?**

"I did! But I want to enjoy it as me, not you! Damn it, why did she have to be into girls?" he moaned. "I hate being this close to her and knowing that I can't be with her."

**Are you not going to see her tomorrow, as you told her you would?**

Jack hesitated. "Am I still going to be a woman tomorrow?"

**Yes.**

He sighed. "Then I'll see her. I don't want to let her down, and even if this is doomed to go off the rails I want to enjoy being with her while I can."

**As you wish.**

Jack laid back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. "Jakarra, is this what being in love feels like?"

She was silent for a moment. **I think it more likely that you are simply feeling infatuation, Master Jack.**

He considered that. "Because it really sucks."

**Oh,** she amended, **then perhaps you are in love, after all.**

Jack nodded and clutched the pillow against himself. "Jakarra?"

**Yes?**

"Just so you know, I am totally going to feel you up in the shower tomorrow morning. Seriously, we're gonna be in there for as long as the hot water lasts."

**As you wish,** she responded with a smile in her voice.

The next morning Brandon complained about the lack of hot water in the shower, which was probably just as well considering how intently he'd been ogling "Jackie's" curves...Jack figured that a cold shower might do him good. Jack then left to go meet up with Lisa, and when he arrived at the fountain square he saw that she was already there. He felt a little flutter when she looked up at him and gave him a smile and a friendly wave. But as he got closer, she made a little face.

"What?" Jack asked her.

"It's nothing, I'm not judging."

He looked at her expectantly.

"It's just...you're absolutely gorgeous," she started.

"I think you're pretty, too," Jack complimented her. He wanted more than anything to kiss her just then.

She seemed surprised by that. "Oh. Well, I mean, I get the whole 'grunge' thing, but if I looked like you do I wouldn't be dressing like a homeless person. No offense."

Jack looked down at his baggy T-shirt and shorts. "Oh. Um, I'm just borrowing Jack's clothes. The airline lost my bag."

"What?" Lisa exclaimed. "Why didn't you say something? You can't run around in those smelly things. Jackie, we are getting you properly attired, toot sweet!"

Jack hated clothes shopping and dressing up in women's clothes was every bit as embarrassing as he'd feared. However, being able to ogle Jakarra's supple curves certainly had its charms. Unfortunately they were also his supple curves. But Lisa threw herself into the task with abandon and her energy was contagious. She asked how long "Jackie" would be staying in town, and Jack paused uncertainly as Jakarra remained maddeningly silent. "Let's just get me through the weekend," he said with a sigh.

In one of the first stores she walked up with an armload of clothes to try on and Jack recoiled.

"We're just shopping!" Lisa said, handing over the clothes.

Jack pulled out one of the garments, a flirty little paisley blue sundress. "Really?" he asked her skeptically.

"It's cute! You might wear it during the day, and maybe we'll hit the bars this weekend."

Jack groaned, but Lisa was grinning ear to ear. "What now?" he asked.

She gave a playful shrug. "It's kinda fun having a real-life Barbie doll to dress up," she laughed.

Jack gamely went along and even started to have a little fun. And Lisa was charming company. However, dressing his female body remained an unnerving experience, one which hit its high mark as they went to buy underwear. "I don't want anything sexy," he told Lisa, looking nervously around the store.

Lisa just snorted as she fetched a salesgirl to take Jack's measurements.

Soon, Jack found himself in the changing room, twisting and grappling with the hook-and-eye closure on a brassiere that the tag promised was the absolute pinnacle of cleavage-enhancing technology. But stuffing and squeezing his fleshy breasts this way and that proved to be far less sexy than he imagined...it was mostly just getting annoying. Exasperated, he tossed his long hair out of the way and turned to face the mirror.

"Sweet mother of God," he gasped, looking at his figure. His already sizeable breasts were pumped up to outrageous proportions, and the scant bra and panties only served to highlight his curvaceous womanly figure. If someone had shown him a picture of the woman in front of him he'd have accused them of airbrushing it to within an inch of its life. Between his slim waist, wide curving hips, and long slender legs he looked like a walking invitation for sex. As he turned and looked at his big round ass, he whimpered.

**I don't like it,** Jakarra said.

Jack sighed in relief. "I couldn't agree m—"

**Go ask that shopkeeper if this is what it is supposed to look like.**

"I'm not going out there like this!" Jack objected.

**Why not?**

Jack was almost speechless. "Women don't go running around in just a bra and panties!" he sputtered.

**Such is not the custom in my realm, either...not that you ever saw fit to garb me in anything more significant.**

"Now, that—that's hardly the—"

**Are you going, or am I?**

Jack froze in place. "Oh, you wouldn't dare."

He got his answer when Jakarra took control of the body and strode out onto the shop floor. There were mostly women shopping there, but there were also a couple of bored-looking men sitting in some chairs obviously waiting on their wives when Jakarra emerged. Their jaws almost hit the floor as she calmly paused and looked around the store, crossing over to where Lisa was looking at some panties.

"Does this look correct to you?" Jakarra asked her.

Lisa turned around and did a hilarious double-take. "I—I think it's doing exactly what it's designed to be doing, yes," she stammered in amazement.

A few moments later, a wide-eyed salesgirl walked up to them.

"Is there a problem?" Jakarra asked her.

"No, no," the young woman said. "In fact, I've just had two other women ask me what you were wearing. Do you like it?"

"It's perfect," Jakarra said. "Does it also come in different colors?" With that, she released control of the body to Jack, who was left standing there practically naked while the salesgirl showed him the different styles available.

Soon, back in the changing room, Jack was pulling on some new form-fitting jeans and a snug cami top over his new underwear. As he ran his fingers through his hair, he fretted as he looked at the beauty in the mirror. "You suck," he whispered.

Jakarra laughed gaily. **That was delightful,** she told him.

"I suppose that was also some kind of lesson about being a woman?"

**Not in the slightest,** she laughed. **No, Master Jack, the next time you march me into a town, tavern, or dungeon clad in nothing but my meager 'armor,' I would wish for you to remember that moment.**

Jack's mouth dropped in disbelief. "Why you little..." He stared at his reflection, and broke into a surprisingly girlish giggle. "Okay, maybe I had that coming," he admitted.

Over the next couple of days Jack and Lisa spent more time together, became friends, and generally enjoyed each other's company. Jack desperately wanted to get closer to Lisa but was conflicted between his attraction for her and his frustration with his new female body. The maddening thing was that he knew he could be with Lisa—in fact the idea of a lesbian encounter sounded kind of hot—but he felt like doing so would slam the door on his fantasy of being with Lisa as a man. Meanwhile, Lisa hadn't initiated any romantic moves, so Jack satisfied himself with just being "girl friends." The only casualty of this arrangement had been Jack and Brandon's hot water bill from all the long showers. And during those showers, if Jack's familiarity with her body ever bothered Jakarra, she never gave any indication.

Friday came, and Jack suggested they go see the new "Batman Returns" film with her friends. "It's got Catwoman," he said.

Lisa just groaned. "Yeah, a strong, confident woman...dressed like a dominatrix in five inch heels and a pleather catsuit." She sighed. "Pass."

Jack looked down at himself. He was starting to understand where she was coming from.

"Let's get dressed up and go dancing!" Lisa suggested.

"What?"

"C'mon, it'll be fun. I've never really had a girl friend I could do things like that with and you can wear that cute little dress and heels you bought."

"I don't know," Jack demurred. Then, seeing her hopeful face, he melted. "Okay, but you have to get dolled up, too," he told her.

"Yay!" she said, giving him a big hug. "This is gonna be fun!"

They started off at one of the local bars and in his skimpy and flirty little dress, Jack felt like he could use a drink. It started off kind of slow and they sat around and talked for a while before moving on to a louder and more crowded place that had a DJ and dancing. Out on the dance floor, as Jack watched Lisa move to the thumping beat, he thought about what it would like to get close to her, to touch her, to—

He froze up as he felt someone brush against his ass. Again.

Jack grimaced in frustration. He'd gotten so many passes and "accidental" touches that night he was thinking about making a little sign that said, "Fuck off, I'm not interested."

"You're a really good dancer!" Lisa shouted over the music.

"Thanks! You, too!" he called back as someone's hand brushed up his skirt. He balled his fists in frustration and gestured to Lisa that he was going to sit down for a minute. He sidled up to the bar and a drunken guy in a baseball cap fondle his breast in a familiar way.

Jack turned and scowled at the guy, swatting his hand away. "Paws off the merchandise," he snapped.

The guy just grinned at him like an idiot. "Hey, don't be that way! You got all dressed up, don't tell me you don't want to play," he said, starting to lift the hem of Jack's skirt.

Jack flushed with anger. He grabbed a drink off the bar and threw it in the guy's face. "Game's been called on account of rain, dickhead."

Jack was practically trembling with fear and anger and went outside into the nighttime air to cool off. A few moments later, Lisa ran up beside him. "What is it? What happened?"

He shook his head and walked into the parking lot as she followed. "Guys are such assholes."

She put her hand on his arm supportively. "Don't let them get to you, they're just—"

"There's the little prick tease," a man's voice came from behind them. They turned to see the jerk in the baseball cap there with another drunk friend of his. They were big guys, Jack suddenly realized. And he didn't see anyone else nearby in the parking lot. He thought maybe he could scream for help, but it infuriated him to succumb to their intimidation tactics.

"Get lost, you losers!" he said confidently, facing them down.

The guys laughed at his pronouncement. "Uppity bitch," the other one sneered.

Jakarra made a small noise. **Your bravery is admirable, Master Jack, but unfortunately I believe this is a threat you have not faced before.**

"You think we should run?" he whispered in response. He didn't think he or Lisa would get very far on their high heels.

"Run where?" Lisa whispered back as the guys moved closer.

**Allow me.**

In a heartbeat, the guy in the cap lashed out at Jack with his fist and Jack felt himself reduced to a helpless observer as Jakarra seized control of the body. She spun out of the way of the unbalanced attack and used the guy's momentum to slam him headfirst into a parked car and then roughly down to the ground. The second guy grabbed her from behind, wrapping his arms around her waist and pinning her arms. Jack could smell the liquor on his breath even as he snuggled closer, giving Jakarra's hair a little sniff.

"Foolish," she muttered, jamming her stiletto heel fiercely into his foot, penetrating both the shoe and his flesh. His howl of pain was cut short as she slammed her head backwards against his face, causing him to reflexively release her. Jakarra quickly followed up with a vicious elbow strike to his nose, sending blood gushing down his face.

As the first guy staggered to his feet, Jakarra entered a fighting stance, positioning herself between Lisa and their attackers. Her hair was loose and leonine and her teeth were bared like a wildcat protecting her cubs. The two guys, quickly realizing they were in for more of a fight than they'd bargained for, took off through the parking lot.

Jack caught his breath as Jakarra returned control of the body to him. He turned to Lisa who was staring at him wide-eyed.

"Are you okay?" he asked her. She was visibly trembling and looked like she was still in shock. "It's okay, they're gone," he told her, touching her arm gently.

She looked at him in awe. "Now who's Wonder Woman?" she said in amazement.

The two of them, more than a little tipsy and still riding an adrenaline high from their encounter, stumbled into Lisa's small one-bedroom apartment.

"Thanks for letting me walk you home," Jack said.

"Yeah, well, if I'd known you were Bruce Lee in drag I'd have let you do it every night." She tossed her purse on the end table and started to turn back around to face Jack. "So, can I get you someth—oh." She turned around and Jack was very close to her, less than an arm's length away.

"I'm good, thanks," Jack said, looking her right in her eyes. Those unbelievable blue eyes that had been driving him crazy all week. He edged slightly closer.

**Jack...** Jakarra's voice came tentatively.

Lisa looked down nervously, then back up at him. "You sure I can't get you anyth—"

In one fluid move, Jack embraced her, pressing his lips against hers. He almost could have cried from the emotional release as he finally kissed her the way he'd been wanting to, for as long as he could remember. He felt her soft lips, the warmth of her body, the smell of her perfume, the taste her lipstick. For a fleeting moment he felt his bosom press up against her own and he wondered how much of those sensations were coming from his own feminine body, but he didn't care. Lisa was all he wanted.

After a long moment they broke off the kiss and made eye contact. Jack started to move in for another kiss, but she put her hands on his shoulders and pushed him gently away.

"I—I'm sorry," she said.

"For what?"

"I'm not...like that," she said. "I'm sorry, Jackie, I like you as a friend and all, but—"

Jack stared at her. "Are you kidding?"

She shook her head. "Um, no. Look, it's nothing personal, I promise. I'm sorry if I led you on or anything..."

Jack laughed out loud.

Lisa looked at him nervously. "Maybe...maybe you should leave..."

He looked at her. "No! No, this is perfect, don't you see?" Excited, he grabbed her hands and sat her down on the couch. "I've got something to tell you—it's going to seem impossible at first, but just hear me out, okay? You trust me, right?"

"I guess," Lisa responded nervously.

**Jack, don't do this.** Jakarra warned.

"Please...don't try to stop me," Jack said.

"Okay," Lisa said, even more nervous.

**Very well.**

Jack stood before Lisa and with a deep breath closed his eyes and pulled the metallic ring off his finger. As before, he could feel the writhing of something across his skin and when the feeling finally passed he could feel that he was a man again. Even as he felt the soft touch of something soft swish against his thighs. He looked down in puzzlement to see that he was still wearing the same blue sundress and heels, and he felt his earrings swinging from his ears even as he tasted his lipstick.

"Shit. Well, okay, that wasn't exactly how I'd imagined that in my head..."

Lisa jumped backwards on the couch, staring at him in shock. Her eyes narrowed in recognition. "Jack?!?" she gasped. "That was— how did— where's—" she sputtered. "You're Jackie? But...I saw you two together!"

From behind Jack, Jakarra stepped into view. She was dressed in her gleaming scale mail armored bikini and thigh-high boots.

"Jackie?" Lisa asked.

"I am Jakarra."

Lisa gripped her head, trying to process what was going on. "Jakarra—she's your character?" she asked Jack. "So who the hell is Jackie?"

Jack raised his hand. "That was me. Mostly. I was in her body," he said, motioning to Jakarra. "It's kind of like a time share dealie..."

"Get the fuck out."

"No, it's true! There's this magic—"

"No. I mean you. Get the fuck out of my apartment."

Jack was speechless for a moment. "Look, Lisa. I know it's a lot to take in—"

Lisa shook her head. "No, I think I've got it. You tricked me. You spent the week parading around in some bimbo's body—" She turned to Jakarra. "No offense."

"None taken. Please, continue."

"Thank you. You spent the week playing at being a hot chick and tricked me into making friends with you so you could get me back here and then try and have sex with me in some perverted male-fantasy lesbian role-play scene!"

Jack's eyes darted around nervously. "Okay, I admit you've got the gist of it, but some of the details are really—"

"GET! OUT!" she shrieked. "Both of you! Whatever the hell you are!"

Jakarra moved to the door and stepped outside, but Jack remained where he was. "I wasn't trying to seduce you, I swear! I just...I wanted to be with you! I liked being with you! Is that so wrong?"

Lisa stared at him, incredulous. "Yes!" she exclaimed. "Obviously! When you're...whatever the hell you're supposed to be!" she cried, gesturing at his short little dress and heels. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. "Just get out. Go."

Jack, wounded, stepped out onto the front porch with Jakarra as Lisa slammed the door shut. They stood there in silence.

"I am sorry, Jack," she said.

He just stood there for a moment before taking a step towards the street. As he did so, a few guys walking by laughed as they saw them. "Whoa! Someone having a costume party? Not sure which one of you has sexier legs!"

As they walked off laughing, Jakarra started to say something when Jack jammed the ring back on his finger. She disappeared as he felt the change come over him and he stalked off down the street in her body.

"Fucking chicks, man," Jack swore, sitting on the couch next to Brandon in their apartment. Brandon fished two more beers out of the cooler and handed one to his friend.

Of course, Brandon didn't actually know it was his friend. After leaving Lisa's place Jack had gone to a liquor store and by the time he got home he was feeling no pain...and in fact might not have made it home at all were it not for Jakarra's impressive constitution for alcohol. So, when a drunken "Jackie" came barging in and plopped herself on the couch next to Brandon and started complaining about women, Brandon didn't argue. He just grabbed some beers.

"Bitches, the lot of 'em," Jack declared, taking a drink.

"Cheers to that," Brandon said.

Jack looked at him in awe. "Yes. Yes. Cheers to that," he said, raising his beer in salute and taking another drink. "Fucking chicks," he repeated. "They get in your head, y'know? I mean literally! In your head!" he warned, tapping at his temple.

"I know exactly what you mean," Brandon said.

"And then just try to show them the smallest bit of kindness, and they're all like, 'Oh, you're all fake, you shapeshifting freak!'"

Brandon shook his head. "If I had a nickel for every time that happened."

"I know, right?" Jack looked at his roommate. "I am not a bad guy! There are lots of guys out there who would have taken advantage, but I didn't. Okay, sure, I felt myself up a couple times, but Jesus, who wouldn't? I mean, just look at these things!" He looked down at his breasts and gave them a grope.

Jack looked back up and noticed that Brandon was staring at him intently. For a long moment the two just wordlessly held eye contact before simultaneously pouncing into each other's arms, kissing feverishly.

The next morning, Jack awoke slowly, nursing an impressive hangover. By inches he realized that he was sleeping on the couch under a blanket, that he was still a woman, and that—he peered under the blanket—he was totally naked.

"Uh, oh," he whispered.

He sat up slowly, fighting his pounding headache. Last night was fuzzy, but he remembered the scene at Lisa's house, and then coming home, and then...

"Good morning, sunshine!" Brandon beamed, walking in with a coffee mug and wearing nothing but his boxer shorts. He handed the mug to Jack, who was staring back at his friend, numb with shock.

"Did...did we..."

"Did we ever!" Brandon bragged. "And I just gotta say, you were incredible. Seriously. And imaginative! Just...wow. Were you like a gymnast in high school or something?"

Jack closed his eyes as the events of the night before started to come back to him. "Oh, Gooodddd..."

"Yeah, you were screaming that a lot last night," Brandon said with a grin.

There was a knock at the front door and he went over to answer it.

Jack muttered under his breath, "Please, please, tell me that was you in control last night."

**Oh, no, Master Jack,** Jakarra said. **Your actions were your own, though I would hesitate to say that you were 'in control,'** she teased. **You were obviously working off a great deal of pent-up frustrations! I nearly feared for Master Brandon's safety.**

"Ohhh, man," Jack groaned.

Brandon opened the door. "Hi, is Jackie here? Or...Jack? I need to talk to them," Lisa said.

Jack looked up in surprise just as Brandon opened the door enough for Lisa to spot him sitting on the couch. At first Lisa looked puzzled, but on seeing Jack's bed head and guilty expression she turned back to Brandon in his boxer shorts and made the connection.

"Ooooh!" she shouted in disgust, spinning around and stalking away.

Jack was up off the couch like a shot, pausing for a moment when he realized he was completely naked. He grabbed the blanket off the couch and wrapped it around himself as he shoved past Brandon and ran to catch up with Lisa.

"Lisa! Please! Let me explain!"

She spun on him. "Oh, is this the part where you tell me that it isn't what it looks like?"

"Believe me, I wish to God that it wasn't," he told her. "I was just drunk, and angry, and stupid..."

"Gosh, those are such attractive qualities," she taunted. "So, in your grief and anger you turned yourself back into a lingerie model and jumped into bed with literally the first guy you found. Brandon! Your friend! Does he know who you really are?"

"No! God, please, don't tell him," Jack begged. "I don't think he could handle it if he knew it was me."

Lisa sniffed indignantly. "That's funny. For a second there, it almost sounded like you gave a damn about somebody other than yourself."

"Lisa. I know you're never going to speak to me again. I get that. So I'm not going to explain myself or excuse myself, there's no point. But...please, just know I never wanted to lie to you or hurt you. But I did. And I'm truly, truly sorry for that."

Lisa shook her head. "That's just it, Jack. You didn't hurt me. You just lived up to my expectations of you." With that, she turned and walked away, back to her car.

Jack slumped down on the front steps as he watched Lisa drive away and held his head in his hands. "Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!" he said. "I am such an idiot."

**I will not contest that point,** Jakarra said.

Jack removed the ring from his finger and felt as he shifted back into a man, still naked under the blanket. After a moment, Jakarra appeared next to him wearing her fantasy armor. She took the ring from him and slipped it on her finger, giving him a supportive little smile as she sat on the steps next to him. "What will you do now?" she asked.

"Well, first I'm going to take the mother of all showers and try to scrub off the memory of what I did last night," he said. "Why didn't you at least try and stop me?"

She raised an eyebrow. "For the same reason you didn't stop, I expect. I rather enjoyed it." She looked over her shoulder at the house. "Master Brandon may be a 'tool' as you put it, but he does remind me a bit of Riffin."

Jack gaped at her in disbelief. "You let me screw my friend because he reminds you of a guy you like?"

She shrugged. "Under your direction, I have seduced less desirable men for far more meager reasons."

"Ouch," he winced. "Okay, I'll give you that one." He looked at her sheepishly. "So, we even?"

She eyed him haughtily. "Far less desirable men. For far more meager reasons," she told him. "On numerous occasions."

"Okay, okay, I'll make it up to you," he said.

"Was it truly such an ordeal?" she asked.

He regarded her carefully. "It had its moments," he admitted. Then he groaned. "Ugh, why did Lisa have to see me like that?"

"Tell me," Jakarra said. "The night we met. Why did you not make love to me? Did you find me unattractive?"

He turned to face her. Even in the morning light with no makeup and looking like the morning after, she was still the most beautiful woman he'd ever laid eyes on. "You know that's not it," he replied. "You're shit hot and you know it. And you also know how to fish for a compliment."

She smiled warmly. "I am what my maker made me," she replied. "Why, then?"

He sighed and looked down the street where Lisa had driven off. "I guess you weren't the woman I wanted to be with."

"Then you should tell her that."

"She doesn't want anything to do with me. Or you. She wouldn't let me within a hundred yards of her."

Jakarra stood up, placing her hand on his shoulder as she rose. "It's ironic," she said. "After all of my adventures, all of the endless battles, all of the fighting, I would not have expected my creator to give up on a fight so easily when so much is at stake." She turned to go inside.

Jack turned to look at her. "What? I'm supposed to tie her down and make her listen to me?"

She opened the door and paused at the threshold. "A true warrior knows the importance of choosing the proper battleground. If she will not listen to you, then you must find a place where she has no choice but to listen."

It was a beautiful sunny day at the park and there were a few dozen people there in costume for the LARP fest. Cardboard signs were attached to a nearby gazebo identifying the various locations from Frayfalls to the Plains of Agzarar and there were a number of tents set up nearby. Things were already in full swing by the time Jack drove up, and several passersby had stopped to gawk at the goings-on.

"This is the dumbest idea I've ever had," Jack said as he got out of the car. He turned to Jakarra, who was getting out on the passenger side. "Which, by definition, means it's also the dumbest idea you've ever had."

"Fortune favors the bold," she reminded him, fighting back a smile.

Jack tugged at his panties, feeling unbelievably self-conscious in the replica of Jakarra's skimpy little scale mail bikini. With her assistance and after raising the limit on his credit card, he'd put together a reasonable facsimile of her costume, down to the thigh-high boots and gloves, as well as the long auburn wig that blew into his eyes.

"How do you fight like this?" Jack wondered.

Jakarra brushed the hair out of his face, showing off the elaborate makeup job she'd helped him with. "My raiments are magical, although I admit it would be easier were I—properly—attired," she hinted.

"Duly noted," Jack conceded sheepishly. "How do I look?"

She laughed merrily. It had a musical ring to it. "It is like looking into a mirror," she smiled.

Jack looked over at his gaming group, who were running around in their costumes. Rob was dressed as Queen Sybeth in a flowing black gown and was casting a "magic spell" of some sort on the party. Jack could see Lisa on one side, carrying her prop "Maidensword."

"Do you think I have a shot?" he asked.

Jakarra was watching the goings-on with some interest, obviously recognizing some familiar players in the scene. "Nothing is certain in matters of love and war," she told him. "But your cause is just. You have a chance. I am certain you will acquit yourself in a manner becoming a warrior maiden of Vala."

Jack smiled. "I won't dishonor you," he said.

"See that you do not," she warned him, raising an eyebrow.

"Looks like I need to get in there," Jack said, watching the scene. "Sure you won't come along?"

Jakarra shook her head. "I am needed elsewhere," she said. "Fare thee well, Master Jack." She removed her ring and placed it on the bottom of the figurine, and placed it in a small pouch on his belt. She gave him a kiss on the cheek as she faded away.

"Thank you," he whispered.

He took a deep breath and jogged over to the group, feeling embarrassed as the cool afternoon breeze brushed his bare skin and blew his wig into his face. The action stopped as the others saw him, and a great cheer and laugh arose from his friends as they stopped the game to come over and greet him and get a better look at his costume.

As the others gathered around, Lisa held back slightly and Jack made eye contact with her. At first she looked at him reproachfully, but he gave her an awkward little smile and tossed his hair girlishly. Lisa rolled her eyes and came up to join the others.

"Sorry I'm late," Jack said to the others. "How can I help?"

Aidan was dressed as his character, Gidral. "You're here in the nick of time. Queen Sybeth is making her final play and it's not going so well. This would be a really great time for a last-minute save."

"Yeah, it would," Jack agreed, giving a sidelong glance to Lisa.

After getting Jack caught up, the players all took their places again. Jack jumped in front of Rob, dressed as the evil queen.

"Stand aside, daughter of Vala!" Rob said. "I fight for all women! And there are no true women who oppose me today," he said, sneering at Lisa. Rob lifted his arms as though to cast another spell.

Jack paused and edged out of the way. Aidan and the others scoffed, obviously used to the self-serving behavior.

"You will be rewarded, child," Rob said, casting his gaze on Lisa and taking out a small piece of weighted fabric to indicate the spell being cast. "And now let us end this charade...FIREB—"

Jack stepped between them. "I interpose myself!"

"The spell is cast! Fireball!" He threw the fabric, hitting Jack. Per the rules, Jakarra took the brunt of the damage, but "Queen Sybeth" was close enough to be injured as well, and fell back as even Jack fell to the ground at Lisa's feet.

"Jakarra," Lisa asked, staying in character, "why did you do that?" She'd never known Jack to put his favorite character in harm's way like that.

"Because...Queen Sybeth...she's right. There's so much more to being a woman than what's on the outside. There's confidence, independence, compassion, empathy, humor, even love. But you have those qualities, too, Wynn. I just didn't see it. I was so fixated on what was on the outside that I never appreciated those other qualities. But they are what define you, not how you look. Love will come from someone who can see those qualities in you, because then...they see you. And you are an extraordinary woman. You don't need to be a warrior, you just need to be true to yourself."

Lisa gulped hard. "I think maybe you've changed, too."

"Sometimes we need the outer change to help the inner transformation along. A friend helped teach me that," he said with a smile. And then he slumped over.

"Queen Sybeth, you will pay for the blood you have spilled this day!" Lisa cried.

After the game was over, Lisa walked alongside Jack back to the parking lot.

She gave him a sidelong glance. "I still think you're kind of a jerk," she said with a hint of a smile.

"That's not fair," he told her. "I'm pretty sure I'm a complete jerk. But I am working on it! Give a girl some points for effort, at least!" he said, tossing his hair.

"I have to admit, that's a good look on you," she teased.

"Well, I do still have the ring," he said. "We could still do a girls' night."

"Oh, can I borrow it?" Lisa asked.

Jack looked at her uncertainly. "What, let you play my character? I dunno, that's a pretty big step."

"Maybe I'll turn into my character," she countered.

"What, Wynn?" Jack made a face.

Lisa smiled. "I'm thinking of calling her Wynna. You know, cute little Half-Elven maiden..." She raised her eyebrows and gave him a provocative look.

"I am digging the pointy ears," Jack said, running his finger along her hair. As their eyes met, he tenderly said, "Thanks for giving me a second chance."

"You are on at least your third chance," she laughed. "But this girl I know vouched for you and I trust her, so..." She gave a playful little shrug.

"She sounds like a woman after my own heart," he said as they kissed and dreamed of adventures yet to come.

****************************************************************
STORY ONE: The Ballad of the Broken Blade (Act II)
****************************************************************

The four adventurers, battered and bloody, took refuge inside the temple. After some searching they found an apothecary that contained some spell components for healing spells which they used to treat the worst of their wounds. And with their immediate survival needs taken care of, they headed to the library and began to discuss their dire circumstances.

"We shouldn't have left her," Wynn said.

"We shouldn't have done a lot of things," Gidral added, staring accusingly at Riffin.

"But we did," Riffin shot back. "And we're alive for it. And Jakarra's alive. She'll survive, that's what she does."

"Better than us," Throg said. "Buried alive."

Riffin turned to the hulking man. "Oh, I wouldn't worry about that, my friend. I'm quite certain they'll dig us out."

Gidral was perplexed. "Why? It seems like a lot of trouble just to have the pleasure of killing us."

Riffin turned to Wynn, who looked slightly nervous. "Go on, show them."

Wynn unwrapped her cloak and the two broken pieces of the Maidensword went clattering to the floor. "I couldn't just leave it there," she said, picking them up.

Gidral sighed heavily. "But it's broken. Useless. Wynn couldn't beat Sybeth even when it was whole. Why would she bother coming after it? The shield already amplifies her magical powers to let her raise her demon army," he said. "What, is she worried we might use it as a dagger to cut the shield from her arm?" he said sarcastically.

"Do you really think there's any possibility that she would even take that risk?" Riffin asked. "No, my friends, she will be coming for us."

"Ah, that's much better," Throg decided. "Eaten by demons."

"How long do you think we have?" Wynn wondered.

Riffin shook his head. "Hours? I don't imagine demons need much rest."

She nodded. "So, what's the plan?"

Riffin laughed ruefully. "Being eaten by demons isn't a plan?"

Wynn slammed her hand down on the desk. "I am not giving up! We've come so far, we've done so much. Riffin! You are the shiftiest, craftiest person I know. You were the one who broke out of the prison of Edhellon using nothing but a deck of playing cards and a length of twine. And Gidral!" she said, moving up to the cleric, "Your faith has carried the day through more undead cemeteries and vampiric crypts than I can remember." She turned to the barbarian. "And Throg! You hit things! Very, very hard!"

"It's true," Throg admitted.

"So you're with me?" Wynn asked.

Riffin gave her a sly smile. "What sort of a scoundrel would I be to refuse the cry of a damsel in distress?" he teased.

Wynn blushed slightly. "Especially when you're in distress alongside the damsel?"

"It does help motivate one," Riffin admitted. "So, milady. What's the plan?"

Wynn was a little thrown at being called to task, as usually this was Riffin's responsibility. "I don't know. I don't know tactics, or fighting. I don't even know all that much magic," she said. "Jakarra was right. I'm not a warrior."

Throg sniffed in agreement.

"Well, then," Gidral said, "let us hope that perhaps a warrior is not what is needed."

Wynn gave him a little smile. "All right," she said. "Well, what about the runes on the sword, here?" she asked, putting the pieces of the blade on the table. "Can you read them?"

"Of course, but I don't have to," Gidral responded. "The prophecy of the two sisters is well known throughout my order. Here," he said, moving to one of the bookcases. He retrieved a tome and put it on the table next to the sword, opening it to the page about the prophecy. The runes were identical.

"What does the prophecy say, exactly?" Riffin asked.

Gidral ran his finger along the symbols. "It tells the tale of two sisters, both of whom were acolytes of the goddess Lythia. To celebrate the goddess, they created these two artifacts—the Maidensword and Maidenshield—and gifted them with magical powers."

"What kinds of powers?"

"It doesn't say, but legend tells that the shield is ironically the more powerful of the two items, being strong with magic. The sword was a counterbalance against the power of the shield. The prophecy tells of how the sister with the Maidenshield grew powerful and dared to challenge even the will of the goddess herself. But the sister wielding the Maidensword, in a—" He hesitated, his finger hovering above the rune.

"What is it?"

The Gnome shook his head. "This is an archaic rune, difficult to translate since it has several meanings. In this context, the nearest translation would be 'conflict.' During the conflict between the two sisters, the one wielding the Maidensword was victorious. The items were then separated until the day came when the two 'sisters' would be reunited."

"Today."

"Indeed."

"No offense to our young bard, but I don't believe the sword emerged victorious today," Riffin said.

Wynn sighed and examined the blade more closely. "There has to be something else here." She put the blade down. "Before she died, the priestess who gave me the sword said that the Maidensword and Maidenshield aren't what they seem. She said they were symbols of your faith."

"Yes, of course," Gidral said. "Their symbology runs throughout our faith. The symbols of the sword and shield are obvious, but it can also be used metaphorically. Courage and temperance, for example. Attack and defense. Even male and female."

"Riddles," Throg scoffed. "I hate riddles. That idiot priestess dies and the last words on her lips are a riddle. Just say what you mean."

"Opposites," Riffin said to himself.

"What was that?"

"Just thinking aloud," he said. "Those were opposites. Perhaps that has something to do with it?"

He and Wynn each picked up a piece of the blade to examine, flipping the pieces over as they compared one side and the other.

"Anything?" Riffin asked.

"No, I...wait. What are these raised markings? They're different on both sides." As she looked more closely, hidden inside the runes were little marks like dots that ran down the length of the blade.

Gidral looked at the marks. "I don't know. These runes are well known in my order, but I've never seen these marks before."

"I see them, too," Riffin said, looking at his piece. "It's curious. Look, they line up in rows along the blade. Could it be a cipher?"

"Gods above," Wynn whispered. She ran to retrieve parchment and ink from a nearby stand and began madly scribbling on the paper. As she looked more closely, she could see that the little raised markings came in slightly different shapes.

Riffin looked over Wynn's shoulder at her transcription of the marks and shook his head. "Is it meant to be a picture? I don't think I've seen anything quite like it."

Wynn looked up at them, excited. "I have. I see this all the time." She drew a series of parallel lines on the paper. Some of the dots were on the lines, between them, below them. She held up the parchment.

"Musical notes," Gidral whispered.

Some time later, Riffin and Throg returned to the library, looking grim. "We don't have much time," Riffin reported.

Gidral put down a tome that he'd been studying. "I've been reading about the history of the temple," he told them. "Many years ago, they successfully managed to fend off an attack of undead by use of a protective ward spell. It took all of the acolytes working together to do it, but I think I can raise it, as well. But with just me doing it," he hesitated, "I don't think it will last for very long."

Riffin nodded. "If we can set it up in the main entrance hall by the door, that might buy us time to do whatever it is that we're going to do. After that, the best we can do is lead them on a running fight through the temple and try to stay ahead of them." He turned to Wynn. "Please tell me you have good news."

"It took me longer than I thought to translate," she told him. "It was hard to figure out the key and the tempo—"

"But do you have it?" Riffin insisted.

Wynn looked at them nervously and took a deep breath. She sang the melody, her female voice sounding strange to her ears. The tune was beautiful and sad, filled with hope and longing. As she sang, she could feel the breath in her lungs, the beating of her heart beneath her breast. It was a song of life and love.

As the song ended, the three men stood there, transfixed. They were silent for a long moment afterward.

"Thank you for that," Throg whispered.

Gidral took a breath, not even aware he'd been holding it. "It's very likely we are the first men to hear that melody in over four hundred years," he said. "That was a privilege."

Riffin was silent for a moment. He was clearly moved by the music as well, but whatever personal connection it made he kept to himself. "Right, let's get downstairs. I hope to the gods above that those demons are fond of music."

By the time they got to the main entryway, they could see shafts of light streaming in from outside that were starting to penetrate the gloom, and they were getting brighter by the second as the pounding outside continued. Gidral laid out his spell components on the floor and began to chant, a low guttural drone that was nearly drowned out by the noises outside. But as the door burst open off its hinges, the protective barrier arose through the middle of the chamber.

Queen Sybeth stepped through the doorway, flanked by a dozen demon soldiers. She smiled as she saw the four of them across the room and paused at the edge of the barrier. She slowly raked her obsidian blade across the flickering wall of magical energy, watching as it threw a bright shower of sparks.

"Clever," she admitted. "Futile, of course, but clever."

She took several steps back and cast a spell, launching a fireball at the barrier, which flickered and wavered, but held. She then nodded to the soldier demons, who began attacking the obstruction in earnest.

Hesitantly, Wynn stepped forward, coming right up to the edge of the barrier. Sybeth strode up to meet her so that they were standing within an arm's reach of each other, with the flickering wall of energy the only thing separating them.

"Any last words?" Sybeth taunted.

"Yes, actually," Wynn responded.

Taking a trembling breath, she launched into the lost melody of the two sisters. At first she thought the sounds of the demons' assault might drown her out but her dulcet notes reverberated throughout the entry hall. As before, the song was beautiful and sad but became hopeful and full of love at the same time. Fearful of being distracted by Sybeth's presence, Wynn closed her eyes and sang the lost paean with all her heart, knowing that she was singing for the lives of all of her companions.

As the last note echoed throughout the chamber, Wynn opened her eyes.

As before, Queen Sybeth was still standing before her but the dark sorceress had a curious look on her face.

"That was lovely," the Queen said. "Rather an odd choice for a funeral dirge, though."

Wynn gaped at her wordlessly, perplexed by the lack of response. "But... but it..."

Riffin came up from behind Wynn and grabbed her by the arm, pulling her back to the others. "We have to leave."

"That should have worked," Wynn said weakly.

"Yes, it should have," Riffin agreed. "And now, we're leaving."

"Oh, please don't go now!" Sybeth called with a smile. "And here I even brought you something special!"

Wynn's eyes turned towards the entrance as another figure entered the temple from outside. The person was surrounded by a bright halo of light from the sun shining behind them but as Wynn's eyes adjusted she could make out who it was.

"Jakarra!" she cried desperately. "Don't worry, we'll rescue you," she said, even as Jakarra strode up to Queen Sybeth and stood beside her.

Riffin regarded the amazon warrior. "Wynn...she doesn't need rescuing."

Wynn looked between them, confused. "But..."

"What did she promise you, Jakarra?" Riffin asked. "A share of her kingdom? Wealth? Magical artifacts?"

"All of that, and more, actually," Sybeth purred. "Your only hope was the Maidensword, and it is lost. And there are no real women among you to wield it, anyway," she taunted, looking at Wynn.

"Nor are there any real warriors," Jakarra added, staring intently at the young bard.

Wynn gazed at Jakarra, trying to read her face. Sybeth hadn't picked up on the subtext but Wynn could tell that Jakarra hadn't said it as a taunt.

"Then let us hope a warrior isn't what's needed," she whispered to herself.

Queen Sybeth looked at the magical barrier which was starting to develop holes that opened and closed as it was on the verge of collapse. "I'm going to do what I should have done from the beginning," she said to Wynn. "I am going to kill you. I am going to kill your friends. And I am going to melt that accursed sword down into slag with hellfire."

Wynn stared at her, wide-eyed. "That's it," she whispered.

She rushed over to Throg, who was standing with his sword at the ready and studying the horde of demons that stood poised to attack them, picking out the ones he would kill first.

"Throg!" she said in a hushed whisper, trying to get his attention. "Why would a sword break?"

He looked at her, annoyed. "It was badly made."

Wynn nodded emphatically. "Yes, but what other reasons?"

He shook his head, wondering why they were having this conversation. "Overuse. Metal fatigue..."

Wynn leaned in close. "What if had been reforged?"

The barbarian turned to look at the young bard. "Yes. Perhaps." A sharp cracking sound caught his attention as a flight of hellfire arrows rebounded off of the barrier. The holes were shifting around, but they were getting bigger. The wall was on the verge of imminent collapse.

Wynn rushed over to Gidral, who was concentrating with all his might on maintaining the wall.

"I'm a little busy, now, lass!"

"Gidral," she said, ignoring him. "The rune you had trouble translating. You said it had many meanings. You said it meant 'conflict.' Could it also mean 'clash'?"

Gidral looked perplexed. "Yes...that's one interpretation. But how did you—"

Riffin grabbed Wynn's wrist. "We leave. Or we die."

Wynn looked at him in joy and relief. "Riffin! I know what it means! It's not a riddle at all! It's—!"

Just then, another flight of hellfire arrows came sailing through one of the now-gaping holes in the barrier. They came within a hair of hitting Wynn and she gave a nervous smile to Riffin at her good fortune when she saw the haunted expression on his face. She spun around and saw three of the arrows buried deep in Gidral's chest.

"No!" she cried, throwing herself on the ground next to her dying friend. "Just...just lie still," she told him desperately. "I know a little healing magic..."

Gidral smiled at that. "I'm well past that, lass," he coughed. He got a faraway look in his eyes. "It was a privilege...to fight alongside the Champion of Lady Lythia herself," he told her. "I... still have... faith..."

He slumped over in Wynn's arms and the magical barrier fell.

"Finally," Queen Sybeth snarled. Wynn expected her to order her forces to attack, but instead the Queen readied a magic spell, her face that of grim determination and hate. Eldritch fire licked up her arms to her hands and she loosed the deadly fireball on the helpless heroes.

Then, at the last moment, Jakarra threw herself in the way of the blast.

There was a tremendous explosion and as Wynn's vision cleared she was startled that she was still alive. Jakarra had borne the brunt of the attack, although when it went off Queen Sybeth had been blasted back, herself. An eerie silence fell over the smoke-filled room as the demons paused their attack to tend to their dazed and wounded mistress.

Wynn crawled over to Jakarra's body on the floor. The amazon had been badly injured and Wynn held her close. The two women whispered something inaudible to each other and as Jakarra slumped over, Wynn stood up and blinked back tears.

"Queen Sybeth, you will pay for the blood you have spilled this day!" she cried defiantly.

Suddenly, Riffin came up from behind her and grabbed her. "We're leaving. Now."

"Riffin, I know what it means!"

"Excellent," he said, nodding. "We're still leaving. Throg!"

As the trio raced down the corridor they could hear Queen Sybeth yell, "Kill them, you fools!" and a legion of demons started to give chase.

Soon they reached an intersection and Wynn paused and grabbed Riffin's arm. "Wait! This way!" she cried.

Riffin peered down the darkened corridor. "No! That's wrong. We need to go down towards the—"

"Please! You have to trust me!"

The dark-haired Elf paused to face the insistent-looking young bard. His every instinct told him they had to run and hide, but as he looked at Wynn's determined face he didn't see the countenance of a terrified and dewy-eyed young maiden, but rather the wide-eyed resolve of a warrior. One who was confident and sure of herself.

"There they are!" Sybeth's voice came from back down the corridor. She and her forces were dangerously close and the mass of demons filled the entire hallway.

Stepping forward, Riffin cast a mirroring spell and images of the three of them filled the intersection and they took off in all directions. Amid the confusion, the trio hurried down the corridor that Wynn had chosen.

"This is a dead end," he told her as they ran down the hallway. "We won't be able to get out of there."

"I don't care, it doesn't matter," she responded breathlessly.

"I care," Throg offered.

Wynn stopped in her tracks, glancing back to see if they were being followed. "Throg, you were right!" she told him. "The priestess didn't use her dying words to give me a riddle, she was speaking literally. I just misunderstood her."

"What are you talking about?" Riffin asked.

"The Maidensword and the Maidenshield...that's not what they really are. Or at least, it's not what they used to be. The metal was reforged to turn them into what they are now, but they used to be musical instruments! That was the clue of the musical notes."

Riffin shook his head. "Great. So we have to melt it down into a flute? There's no forge down that way, Wynn!"

"It's not a flute, Riffin," she said. "The sword and shield—the two 'sisters' that met in conflict—they're not metaphorical symbols of their faith. They're literally cymbals!" she explained, clapping her hands together. "That's what the dying priestess was trying to tell me. It's not about a battle of arms or a conflict of symbology, it's about a literal clash of cymbals!"

Riffin's eyes narrowed as he looked to Throg, but the barbarian just shrugged. Slowly, the wizard nodded. "When you fought Sybeth, the only time you managed to injure her was when your sword met with her shield," he recalled. "You believe it wasn't the blow that hurt her, but it was the sound they made."

"Exactly!"

"And now that the sword is broken, do you think it will still work?"

Wynn shook her head. "I don't know. It may not have the same resonance and it will be harder for me to get close," she admitted. "But I think that's why I have to fight her here."

They came to the end of the corridor and paused at the entrance to the large dome-shaped room. The Hall of Echoes.

Riffin looked over his shoulder. "How do you know that Sybeth will come down this way rather than just sending her demons?"

Wynn looked at the Maidensword in her hand, now little more than a dagger with half its length gone. "She'll come."

"All right," he sighed. "Throg and I will try and keep her demons at bay but Sybeth will be all yours. Are you prepared for that?"

Wynn nodded confidently.

"Good. Because once we get started in here, we're going to make quite a commotion. We might as well be ringing the dinner bell."

From deeper in the temple, Queen Sybeth led a contingent of her demons down the looming hallways. She winced as she nursed her wounds that she'd sustained from her own fireball and glowered as the demons ransacked the rooms, one at a time.

"Idiots!" she snapped. "Find them! They can't have gotten—"

She stopped and touched her brow in discomfort as she heard an annoying, high-pitched tone ringing in her ears. After a moment it stopped, and then sounded again, even louder than before. She grit her teeth and searched for the source of the noise, listening to it as it echoed down the halls of the temple.

"You!" she said, pointing to a small group of demons. "Come with me. The rest of you, keep searching in case this is another one of their tricks."

Standing in the middle of the Hall of Echoes, Wynn clanged the two pieces of the Maidensword together again. The pure metallic sound reverberated loudly through the room.

Riffin walked up to her side, having finished magically lighting the last of the torches in room. "Demons can see in darkness," he informed her. "And we'll be fighting at enough of a disadvantage."

Wynn struck the pieces of the sword together again and Riffin looked towards the entrance to the room skeptically. "You really think this will draw her out?" he asked.

"It's irritating me," Throg growled.

They hushed up as they heard footsteps approaching. Unlike the mad charge of the demon horde from before, this was a deliberate and measured approach. A few tense moments later, Queen Sybeth entered the room, flanked by a half dozen demon warriors.

Throg sized them up, brandishing his huge two-handed sword. He then paused to glance down at Riffin who was holding his much smaller sword. "The five on the left are mine," the barbarian grinned.

"Thank you for coming, your majesty," Wynn said.

"Think nothing of it, my dear. Where you choose to die is your own decision." She then turned to her demons. "Kill the men. The hermaphrodite is mine."

With a roar the demons broke ranks and charged. Riffin, with a final magical gesture, loosed the spell he'd been preparing and launched a volley of magic missiles into the chests of two of the attackers, who fell down and roared in pain.

"Showoff," Throg said, charging in to the fray and meeting the hellish creatures with a barbarian howl that resonated throughout the room.

"Good hunting," Riffin said to Wynn. As the demons charged up to him he was barely able to get off his mirroring spell, causing illusory duplicates of himself to confuse his attackers.

As the battle broke out around her, Queen Sybeth strode confidently towards Wynn, who was brandishing the broken Maidensword. The sorceress scoffed at the picture. "I admit to being unfamiliar with this brand of idiocy. Tell me, girl, what is your profession? I believe we've established that you are no warrior."

"I'm a bard."

"Ahh, that explains it," Sybeth said knowingly. "A storyteller. You believe you are living out one of your epic tales of heroism and sacrifice. That if you only fight hard enough, evil will be defeated, is that it?"

"No," Wynn replied. "Though I've heard enough stories of overconfident, power-hungry despots to know how your tale will end."

"Insolent, but courageous," Sybeth observed. "I wonder which of those qualities you had before fate saw fit to turn you into a woman," she taunted. "No matter. I'll finish you properly this time. You've earned a quick death."

Sybeth began to cast a spell and once again the cold fire began to form in her hands. Wynn, desperate, broke into a run and charged right at her, but knew that there was no way that she could close the distance in time.

"Riffin!" she shouted. "Help!"

From off to the side Riffin appeared literally out of nowhere as he dropped his spell of invisibility. His concentration shattered, his illusory decoys faded away as he needed his full attention for what he was about to do. The demons spotted him and raced towards him, but not before he threw the blade he was carrying through the air. It was the top half of the Maidensword.

The blade was clumsy and ill-suited for throwing but his attack wasn't meant to wound. It hit its mark square in the middle of the Maidenshield and the clarion noise it made echoed resoundingly throughout the chamber.

"AAAHHH!" Sybeth cried out in agony, her spell ruined. Wynn was on top of her in heartbeat, swinging her half of the sword and again making contact with the shield. The clear and shrill metallic noise was met with Sybeth's screams of pain.

"What witchcraft is this?" she cried, backhanding Wynn and causing the bard to stagger back just long enough for Sybeth to unsheathe her own sword.

Wynn moved around for another pass at the shield but Sybeth now realized the determined girl's plan and refused to give her the opportunity. She expertly parried Wynn's thrusts, but now it was the dark queen that was on the defensive. Still wounded from her earlier fireball and off-balance as she desperately tried to prevent Wynn from again striking the shield, Sybeth reeled from the incoming attacks.

"Enough!" she cried. Summoning her demonically-enhanced strength, she surprised Wynn by swinging her shield arm around and hitting the bard with the Maidenshield full force, knocking her back ten feet back and slamming into a stone column. Stunned and off-balance, Wynn wasn't able to respond in time as Sybeth charged up to her and used her obsidian blade to knock the Maidensword out of Wynn's grasp and send it flying.

Queen Sybeth, grimacing in pain and breathing heavily, held her blade to Wynn's throat. The young bard stared at her levelly even as she felt around on the ground for the thing she'd noticed lying there a moment ago.

"This ends now, girl," Sybeth declared.

Sybeth raised her blade for the killing stroke, but with a sudden thrust, Wynn lanced out with her right hand and plunged the top half of the Maidensword like a dagger deep into the Queen's side, sliding it between the plates of her armor. Critically wounded, Sybeth staggered back. She lunged at Wynn, but the attack was clumsy and uncoordinated, giving Wynn the chance to roll out of the way.

Blood ran down Wynn's hand from where she'd gripped the sharp end of the Maidensword and she clutched her side where she felt that Sybeth had broken one of her ribs. Battered and exhausted, she bent down to retrieve the bottom half of the sword off the ground and stalked towards the disoriented Queen with dire intent.

"I told you that you would pay for the blood you spilled this day," Wynn warned.

Sybeth raised her sword in an awkward parry but Wynn struck it viciously out of her hands and knocked the sorceress to the ground. She pounced and struck the Maidenshield again. And again. And again.

Tears streamed down her face as she saw the faces of her fallen comrades as she struck blow after blow against the shield. She was hardly aware of her surroundings anymore, being only vaguely aware of a sound like church bells ringing.

Without warning, a hand grabbed her firmly about the wrist. She turned in confusion to confront her attacker, but it was Riffin, who gazed at her gently. Slowly she became aware of her surroundings, seeing both Riffin and Throg, both bloody but still alive. And as the last echo faded from the clarion ringing, silence fell about the room and she realized that the demons were gone.

Then she looked down at Queen Sybeth, dead.

As Riffin helped her to her feet, Wynn wiped the tears from her face and looked around the room, the shadows dancing in the warm torchlight. The walls and floor were in shambles with signs of combat everywhere, but with all signs of the demons gone it almost seemed like something that might have happened long ago in one of her tales or stories.

For the first time in her life, the young bard had no words to express herself so she just smiled and nodded in silence to her two friends. And they made their way home.

Back in The Rose and Thorn tavern, all of the patrons were silent as Wynna finished her ballad, singing,

As she finished strumming her lute, there was a long quiet pause as the melody lingered. Eventually, as if snapping out of a trance, one of the patrons began to applaud, soon followed by the rest of the crowd.

"Thank you," Wynna said. "You're too kind."

A few people came by their table to thank her again or offer another coin or token, which she politely accepted.

Riffin looked at the coins skeptically. "Don't tell me you've spent your share of the reward already."

Wynna smiled as she put the put the coins in her pouch. "It's a gesture of gratitude. It would be rude not to take them," she explained. "Usually I just give them away as alms."

Riffin looked at her aghast, as though she'd said something morally repugnant. "Out of respect, I'm going to forget you said that." He shook his head. "Ugh, women."

A serving girl brought them another round of drinks and as Riffin went to take a sip, Throg stopped him.

"We haven't made our toast," the warrior said, nodding to the two empty chairs.

As they raised their drinks, a woman carrying a sleeping infant glided up behind Riffin.

"What did I miss?" Jakarra said, sitting down in her seat and snuggling close to the Elf. She was holding their infant son, who had small pointed ears and raven black hair like his father.

Throg grunted. "You missed everything. As usual."

Riffin passed her a tankard. "Not everything. You managed to be here for the most important part." He shot her an impish grin. "As usual."

He held up his tankard. "To absent friends," he toasted.

"To absent friends," the group replied, looking at Gidral's empty chair.

As they lowered their drinks, Wynna turned to Jakarra. "Your husband was just mocking me for being a woman."

Riffin sat up and raised his finger defensively. "Untrue. I was mocking you for being a soft-hearted patsy."

"Woman," Throg sniggered, cut short when he saw the warning look from Jakarra.

"Besides," Riffin noted, "technically, I fought Queen Sybeth with a piece of the Maidensword, too. I might have been turned into a woman."

Jakarra made a pouty little face. "That would have been a shame," she teased. "Though you might have made a comely little raven-haired Elven maid." She playfully tugged back on the hood of his cloak. "You should show more of your pretty face," she smiled, giving him a kiss.

Riffin tugged his cloak back into place. "Please, I have an image to maintain."

As the companions bantered with each other, a Dwarvish cleric entered the tavern. With nary a moment's hesitation he strode back to their table and regarded them all carefully. None of the party had ever laid eyes on this fellow before but he had a strangely familiar bearing and despite his outwardly rough exterior, they recognized him instantly as a kindred spirit and fellow adventurer. The new cleric sat down familiarly in Gidral's vacant chair at the table.

"What say you, friend?" Riffin asked pleasantly.

"Name's Rindal," the Dwarf introduced himself. "And I understand you fine folks might be the types to be looking for an adventure..."

The End

AUTHOR'S NOTES:
If you made it this far, congratulations! I hope you enjoyed it! And for your efforts, I have one last present for you. If you liked the story—or maybe are just confused—here is the infographic that I created that visually shows how everything in the story fits together, so you can see the many relationships between all the stories and characters! (Click for a larger version)

I got the notion for this story from reading Cloud Atlas, with the idea of souls crossing multiple time periods, interconnected stories, and—most obviously—the "Russian nesting doll" story structure. I hadn't intended to be quite that explicit, but once I came up with the "broken echo" concept it made sense that the echoes would reflect back so that you ended at the beginning.

Essentially, the main concept is that the pivotal challenge being faced in one story becomes the premise of the next story. So when a story finishes, its "lesson to be learned" feeds back into the story that preceded it. In other words, a story will get "stuck" at a pivotal point; it "shouts out" to the next story to explore the concept more deeply; that new story resolves the problem and "echoes back" the solution; and so on back up the chain! That's also why the stories get progressively more meta and self-referential the deeper you go.

That the five stories were so different thematically was mostly just because it was more fun to write that way. I know it was kind of a jerk move to drop in a horror story in the number four slot (by which point you're kind of committed as a reader), but I really wanted to try writing a little horror, so...sorry! However, I tried to keep it campy and not to go too far overboard so as to not squick out causal readers, but the bizarre transformations were nice to set the stage for the "Duck Amuck" story that shatters the fourth wall, where quite literally anything goes. (Which was really, really fun to write.) :-)

Thanks for reading!

After he runs afoul of a sinister body swapper, a world-weary detective with a shady past finds himself trapped in the body of a beautiful and brazen stripper. But as his mind starts to fade and hers begins to take over, he soon realizes that he only has 24 hours left to live before he fades away entirely. 24 hours to solve his own murder and bring his killer to justice. (A tale of Faraday City.)

Author’s Note: In openness, I don't like most stories that deal with identity death. And I'm not often a big fan of body swapping stories. Sooo, you may be wondering what's going on here? :) Basically, I wanted to try to challenge myself to incorporate those themes into a story that I could genuinely enjoy and be proud of. So, to everybody who's reading this despite seeing those tags, thank you for giving it a try—this one's for you!

The concept is loosely based on the old noir film "D.O.A.," where a guy is poisoned and only has a couple days to live, and he spends his last hours solving his own murder. For fun, I leaned in on the noir aspects, so you're getting the full ride—a hardboiled detective, a leggy femme fatale, a twisty mystery, seedy characters with schemes of their own, shadowy settings, and more deadpan snark than you can shake a stick at, doll. There are also some nods to "Fallen," a supernatural neo-noir thriller that shares some DNA.

This is set in my Faraday City universe, and in fact chronologically this follows hot on the heels of "Identity Crisis: Adventures In Babysitting," but it's a completely standalone story with a very different tone. So, if this is your first time joining us, welcome! No extra homework is required, just sit back and enjoy. But unlike my other Faraday City stories, which are more superhero-related, this one is more "superhero adjacent." I wanted to give a peek into the lives of the ordinary people who make Faraday City their home and show how they deal with the strangeness. Which also provides a splash of urban fantasy to go along with the neo-noir murder mystery. I hope you like it!

Charade

By Jenny North
Cover art by Fraylim

It was a strange thing, knowing I only had moments to live. Unfortunately, I wasn't in a mood to savor the nuances of the experience because I was too busy grasping at straws, desperately clinging on to any fleeting hope by my metaphorical fingernails. If I hadn't been so distracted, I'd probably have laughed out loud at the irony. I'd always hated my life, but now, here at the end, I clung to it the way a drowning man clings to a piece of driftwood in a stormy sea.

They say that your life flashes before your eyes when you die, but for me, my last thoughts were of my job. Which was especially rich, considering how much I hated my job. It was a little galling that my last thoughts on this good Earth would be about actuarial tables. Though of the various ways I thought I'd end up checking out, the way it actually went down wasn't even near the top of my list.

I was in reasonably good health for a guy staring down the dark side of middle-age, so a good old-fashioned heart attack had always seemed most likely to do me in. Statistically, cancer would normally be in the solid number two slot, but living in Faraday City and considering what I did for a living, I always figured I'd meet my end by violence. Shot dead by an irate customer or caught in the crossfire of some bullshit metahuman fight between superheroes and supervillains. You know what I'm talking about...eaten by rogue cybernetic land sharks, or maybe gravitational spaghettification from a supervillain's portable black hole gun. Something like that.

No? I guess you're not from around here. Lucky you.

They billed Faraday City as a "city of dreams," a shining metropolis of the future. And if you believe that, I've got a terrific bridge to sell you. I mean, my God, they built the freaking thing in New Jersey. That tells you everything you need to know, right there. "Come for the superheroes, stay for the smell," that's the bumper sticker they should sell, not that anybody asked my opinion.

Even the city of dreams has a squalid and seedy underbelly. That's my domain. Or it was.

Let me paint you a picture. It's a moonlit night in the bustling city, in what the locals might call an unsavory part of town. This is where you'd find yourself if you were either seriously lost or on the hunt for some excitement. The rain from earlier that evening had failed to cleanse the filth, leaving grimy streets adorned with shimmering puddles that reflected the vibrant glow of gaudy neon lights. The scattered neon illuminates the surroundings, but its feeble radiance can't hope to penetrate the creeping shadows that stick to everything like wet tar. In the distance, towering ultramodern skyscrapers glisten, and maybe from down here you can even catch a glimpse of the apex of The Spire if you squint hard enough.

That towering silver monument was supposed to symbolize the city's resilience and collective pursuit of progress, or at least that's what it says on the dedication plaque. It's a pretty sentiment. Though you can sure as shit bet that all those people living in paradise can't see us down here. Rich folks who live like royalty in their shining towers don't think about the peasants scrabbling away in the dirt.

But me, I liked it down here. It's real. The people are real. It's not pretty, but at least people don't play at being anything more than they are. It's not some fabricated superhero nonsense that plays at being some high-flying moral authority.

Now into our picture, let's paint in a young woman. She's in her early 20s...old enough to know better and young enough to do it anyway, but burdened with a worldliness that shows she grew up too fast. She's blonde and stacked with a body that's built for sin, and she wears her brazen sexuality like a badge. With her heavy makeup and tousled hair, it's a sure sign that she's a working girl, to say nothing of her short black miniskirt and a racy red blouse that's cut so low as to leave nothing to the imagination. Her face is still surprisingly fresh, a silent indicator that the city has only started to get its hooks into her. Nevertheless, she fits in perfectly with her seedy surroundings. You could easily imagine her working the streets. Or more likely, walking in the back door of one of the strip clubs a few blocks away before starting her shift.

The only thing a bit peculiar about our young lady here is her demeanor. Something's got her spooked. Badly. Her skin is flushed and her eyes are wide, and she's taking quick shallow breaths as she looks around in a visible panic as though she's searching for something. Across the street, she spots a couple cops flirting with some of the working girls, and she rushes towards them, not even seeming to notice as a car narrowly swerves to avoid hitting her. She stumbles in her high heels from the muscle tremors that are causing her body to shake and tremble.

You getting a sense of the scene, here? If it helps, maybe imagine it like one of those old Hollywood movies with the long shadows and Dutch angles. I'm the one telling the story, so I can tell it how I want. Humor me. Think of it as a dying man's last request.

The cops look up as she approaches, their attention drawn to the sound of the squealing tires and the angry blare of the horn from the car. They don't make a move towards her, they just stand their ground. Quiet. Dispassionate. Sizing her up, in more ways than one.

The frightened girl runs right up to the closer cop, a barrel-chested guy with a mustache and a receding hairline. She practically throws herself against him, her slender fingers with the long red nails up pressed against his muscular chest as she looks desperately up into his eyes.

"Please..." she whispers. The way she says it, it sounds more like a prayer than a plea.

The cop maintains his professional facade as he carefully takes in her frantic eyes, feels the trembling of her hands. His face practically shows the mental checklist he's running through. Rape? Seems unlikely given her unsullied makeup and outfit. Maybe a junkie coming down off a bad high?

"What seems to be the problem, miss?" he asks, all business. Though, like his partner, he treats himself to a stolen glance down at her exposed cleavage. It's hard to miss. And it's pretty fantastic.

Her slender fingers paw numbly against his chest as she peers up at him in a dawning horror. Her expression is that of someone who realizes too late that they're doomed, and who has belatedly come to the terrifying realization that there's nobody who can help her.

"Oh, God... He's killed me..." she whispers. But of course, the cop doesn't understand. How could he? Even in a place like Faraday City, this is stuff they never trained him for.

I should probably back up.

Maybe I'm not being clear. That girl? That was me.

She was also a stripper I knew named Jessie.

Only a day earlier, my spirit got trapped in her body. But now Jessie's mind was taking control, slipping back into the driver's seat. And there wasn't room in her pretty blonde head for any passengers.

Jessie. I'd tried to do right by her, but I'd managed to screw that up, too, just like everything else in my life. But here at the end, I'd made it right. At least she'd be safe.

I'd always suspected that girl would be the death of me, but I'd never imagined I'd be going out like this...

24 HOURS EARLIER

Let's get one thing straight, right up front: this story may take place in Faraday City, but it's not a story about superheroes.

Notice I didn't say metahumans, or supers, or "enhanced individuals," or whatever the term du jour currently is. Faraday City was lousy with those. Hell, they (and the destruction that followed in their wake) were responsible for my livelihood.

No, I said superheroes. I can say that they definitely aren't part of this because superheroes don't exist. Oh, they may walk among us like the mythological Greek gods of old, but take away their flashy powers and they're still people. And at the end of the day, people are out for themselves. So, if you honestly think that those privileged few are out there selflessly risking their lives to save total strangers with nothing in it for them...well, I already mentioned that terrific bridge, didn't I? It's priced to move.

C'mon, just look at some of them. Tinsel is basically a walking billboard for herself, selling technology to the highest bidder. She even started a line of high-end (read: massively overpriced) makeup products for impressionable girls trying to emulate a celebrity superhero. AGON Technologies sells nonlethal weapons to law enforcement, but you can bet they're not losing money on those choice government contracts. But then they put that washed-up has-been of a sidekick Marty Maddox as their front man, and suddenly everybody is falling over themselves to call him a humanitarian.

And Promethean? That supposed paragon of virtue? You wouldn't believe half of the stuff I've heard about him.

Supers are all over the place. But superheroes? I've lived here my whole life, and I've never seen one.

Don't believe me? I should know. I am, after all, the single most hated man in Faraday City. I can't say I'm especially proud of that, but I guess you take the accolades where you can get them. But that distinction is really saying something when you consider the number of power-crazed supervillains who have tried to terrorize, enslave, destroy, transmogrify or otherwise threaten the populace.

I mean, no disrespect to the impressive amount of work that Doctor Malevolence has put in vying for the title, but let's be frank. He spends most of his time brooding in the Manichean Dimension thoughtfully steepling his tentacles as he comes up with his next big plan for world domination, but at best he trots out a good one maybe once or twice a year. Me, I'm out there earning that title every single day.

How do I do it, you ask? I'm an insurance fraud investigator.

Oh, on a good day, I fancy myself a "freelance private investigator," but even I have to admit that's pretty much bullshit. After all, I've really only got two paying clients, and the one that pays the bills is Faraday Insurance.

Once again, allow me to paint you a little picture.

Take a moment and imagine you've just had the worst day of your entire life:

Demons from the netherworld have emerged from a hell gate in your backyard and destroyed your home. Maybe they've enslaved your loved ones in some kind of malign demonic pact, to boot.

Meanwhile, the Liberty Squadron's pitched battle with Grimdark has reduced your small family-owned business to a pile of smoldering rubble.

And just to make things fun, let's say that earlier that same day, your pet goldfish gained both sentience and an acute case of megalomania, and he tried to take over the city from the comfort of his fishbowl. This naturally set in motion a catastrophic chain of events that ended with Brobdingnagian stepping on your car. Maybe also your dog, because why the hell not?

Here, at your lowest point, at your absolute fucking nadir, is where I breezily make my entrance into your life. I'm the guy who takes a look around to figure out how your insurance—the insurance you've been diligent in paying—somehow doesn't actually cover any of this.

I'm actually not the guy who's supposed to break you the bad news. Me, I'm only poking around and asking questions. But you know what? People can always tell when things aren't going to go their way, and they are only too happy to vent their frustrations on me. I am not a well-loved man.

Still, you wouldn't believe the number of opportunistic assholes out there who act like they just won the lotto jackpot because their SUV's paint got scratched by one of Pinball Wizard's technospheres. (Go ahead and feel free to insert your own Powerball joke here.) People say I'm a cynic, but I prefer to think of myself as an optimist. I wake up every day hoping to meet an honest man.

Of course, it was the damn raccoon business that pretty much turned the rest of the city against me. That didn't help. But for most people who hated me, it was because of the job. That's where I really shine.

I pulled up in front of the site I was currently investigating. The small building had once been a very particular kind of secondhand store, but it had been completely destroyed, leaving nothing but charred rubble. It was dumb luck that the neighboring buildings had been empty, or it could have been a lot worse. The fire had been intense—not surprisingly, given the source—and you could hardly make out any details of what the place originally was. All that was left was some fused glass from what might have once been a display case, a bit of twisted metal that might have been a stand. There was literally nothing left.

There never was, in these situations.

As I got out of my car, I scratched at my beard and gave my threadbare trench coat a shake. It was too warm for such things, but the forecast was calling for rain again, and I didn't want to get my one halfway decent suit messed up. I'd been informed that the clients were considered to be minor celebrities in the metahuman world, so I figured I should dress up. Not that "dressing up" by my standards meant all that much. I was half past giving a shit when it came to such matters.

Still, it seemed to put the clients more at ease when I treated the loss of their loved ones and the destruction of their most cherished possessions as something more than a personal nuisance. I was a nice guy like that.

I noticed that the police tape around the scene had come down, although I wasn't sure if that was an official decision, or the work of some of the locals. I knew the police considered the matter closed, but it wouldn't be the first time that Faraday's boys in blue and I had been on opposing sides of a problem.

And it was also clear that I wasn't alone here.

"Dude, what are we even looking for?" one voice came. Young. Maybe not even a teenager yet.

There were three of them scrabbling through the debris, all boys. Or at least, I thought so. The skinny one had such long mop of blond hair I couldn't tell. They were just kids, but old enough to know better. Tweens or teens.

The biggest one, maybe a year or two older than the others, called back, "This place sold superhero stuff! Maybe we find somethin' and get powers!"

Ugh, kids. Not that the adults tended to be a whole lot smarter in these situations.

"Hey, look!" one of them called out. He was a chunky and scruffy-looking kid who probably got teased for his weight. He held up a puffy circular ring and slid it up his arm. "Check it out! It's like an armband!"

"That's not an armband," I said as they all spun around to look at me. "That's a rubber gasket from a toilet."

The chunky one did a double-take and then peeled the gasket off in a disgusted fashion. But his two friends stood their ground as they sized me up.

"You a cop or somethin'?" the little blond one asked.

"He's not a cop, or he'd have said so," the older one said, obviously the leader. "You gonna tell us we shouldn't be here?" he challenged.

"I shouldn't have to. But I'm just the insurance guy. I'm only here to take some pictures for my investigation."

With that, I fished my phone out of my pocket and held it up. The shutter noise clicked as I pushed the button once.

"That should do it," I declared, barely glancing at the blurry image before I returned the phone to my pocket. "You guys have fun. I wouldn't stick around too long if I were you."

I turned to leave, but I hadn't taken three steps before the little one called after me. "Why? What's wrong?" he asked, the concern obvious in his reedy voice.

I gave him a shrug as I eyed the destruction. "I mean, c'mon, you guys know how this city works. Even if you found a power ring or blaster pistol in all this, it's gonna be damaged. You want to risk that?"

They didn't seem particularly convinced, so I pressed the point.

"Don't kid yourselves. Guys like us don't get powers. We're the cautionary tales of what happens when you mess around with things you don't understand. Like that one guy who found that magic bracelet and got turned into a puddle of living slime. Remember him? Or that one dark hero that got stuck in the fairy princess dress that he couldn't take off. You ready to march into school like that? I'll pass."

The three of them fell silent. They were trying to look confident in front of each other, but they were giving each other nervous looks, especially the two younger ones.

"I mean, just look at this place. Something blasted it to hell. Is it gone? I dunno. I sure as cuss don't want to be around if it goes off again."

I turned my back to them and fully expected to hear the sounds of their fast retreat through the wreckage. But to my surprise, it was quiet apart from my own footsteps, crunching through the remains of the store.

"You're just tryin' to scare us. We ain't afraid, old man," came the voice of the leader. His words were confident, but his voice had a little quaver to it, like a faint question mark at the end.

I turned slowly to look at him. His two friends were ready to bolt, but he needed a push.

I locked eyes on him and moved closer.

Slowly. Deliberately.

Then I stopped and broke into a smile and waved my hand dismissively.

"Ah, what am I talking about? You're probably right. It's easy for an old guy like me to get negative after cleaning up after dozens and dozens of superhero fights. All that destruction, all those shattered lives, all that death." I wagged my finger at the leader knowingly. "But you...you'll probably beat the odds, unlike all those others. I mean, someone died right here, right on the spot you're standing on, but you're not the least bit afraid, are you?"

With my foot, I prodded a lump of something charred and sooty that was totally unrecognizable. They shifted uneasily as they watched and then glanced around at the destruction.

"Ah, to be young again. I admire your nerve. Being a hero, that'd be something, wouldn't it? Risking your life for people you've never even met. And just think about all those people you'll impress! Maybe even a certain someone? Ah, putting yourself in mortal danger, risking life and limb just so a girl will notice you. Now that's romantic! Love makes fools of us all, doesn't it? I'm sure The Atomic Slime thought so too before he picked up that accursed bracelet, but what am I bringing him up for? A smart and savvy dude like you will certainly make out better than he did."

I edged closer, so that I was practically standing over the three of them. An eerie quiet had fallen over the space, and I leaned down like I was sharing a secret, my voice taking on a low, confidential tone. I was still speaking directly to the older one, but in a tone of voice loud enough for the other two to overhear.

"Just think. This might be your very own superhero origin story, right here! For all three of you! Imagine all of you flying off to fight vicious killer supervillains. A regular little powerpuff team. Because when the chips are down and your life is in danger—and it will be—you just know that your friends won't hesitate to selflessly risk their own lives to save yours. The exact same way you'd do for them. What a rare and special bond you must share."

I clapped my hands together exuberantly, and at the sharp and sudden noise, all three of them visibly jumped.

"Well! I'll let you guys get back to it. Me, I'm getting out of here before I accidentally touch something that makes my dick fall off. Good luck!"

This time when I turned my back to them, I was rewarded with the scrabbling sounds of their rapid retreat through the debris.

I shook my head. All of my problems should be that easy to solve. Still, it was good they were gone. I wasn't entirely bluffing about the thing that caused the explosion maybe not being gone. I had a pretty good idea what it was, but I needed to test my theory. Unfortunately, the only way to do that was to risk setting it off again.

My hand slipped into my coat, and I nervously thumbed the cold metallic lighter in my pocket. If I did trigger another explosion, I doubted it would survive the fireball any more than I would. Still, if it did, it might be something fun for the next kids to discover as they were sifting through the debris.

A woman's hacking cough sounded behind me, followed by the tentative crunching sound of her footsteps as she tiptoed daintily through the debris. I didn't bother to turn to look.

"Mr. Chase?" she called from behind me. "It is Mr. Chase, isn't it?"

"You shouldn't be here, Mrs. Fox," I said as I rubbed my tired eyes. I already knew exactly how this was going to go. Now, we just had to go through the motions.

She stopped behind me, and I finally turned to look at her. I had to admit, she made quite the picture.

The old lady was in her 80s, but she had a sense of style that seemed to be taken from an era that could only be called vintage. A simpler bygone era of silver screen starlets and Hollywood glamor. The fastidious old dame was all done up in a fitted dark green dress that was modest but still showed off her figure, which a few decades ago I'm sure would have turned quite a few heads. Her jewelry was flashy almost to the point of gaudy without quite crossing the line, and she wore her silver-white hair up with a silk scarf. As I watched, she primly removed her oversized sunglasses with the cat-eye frames to reveal her meticulously made-up eyes that she'd accentuated with winged eyeliner.

A put-together lady like that, looking the way she did, at first you might not even have noticed the big insect-like antennae that rose from her forehead, or her sweeping gossamer fairy wings that glittered in the afternoon light.

This city, I tell ya.

Standing next to her in my worn trench coat, ill-fitting suit, and scuffed shoes, I'm sure we made quite the pair.

"I know it's against the rules," she acknowledged in the offhand tone of the idle rich who believed the rules didn't apply to them. She then paused to glance around at the devastated surroundings with a forlorn expression, and she sighed heavily. "It's just...this store was all that Lennie and I had. And to lose both it and him at the same time...it's almost more than I can bear."

I gave her a curt nod. "You and your husband were supervillains, weren't you?"

Mrs. Fox scoffed and flitted her manicured fingers in a dismissive gesture, as though she was shooing away the notion like it was a nettlesome housefly.

"Oh my goodness, not in ages. That was well before you were born, before this new modern heroic age."

"'Flame and Fortune,'" I said. Their chosen names.

Mrs. Fox smiled politely. "Oh, it sounds ridiculous, I know. When we first came to this dimension, we were a regular Bonnie and Clyde. But we settled down, and we served our time. These days, Lennie and I had been enjoying our retirement."

A rustling movement came from her purse, which was an oversized black bag made of a heavy material. The top was closed, but she ran her hand gently along the outside and made a shushing noise.

"Hush now," she said. She then turned to me. "I'm sorry, you'll have to forgive Precious. She's not used to all this commotion, and I didn't have the heart to leave her at home all alone."

I ignored her and moved over to what had been the center point of the fire. The intensity of the heat had practically fused the surroundings into glass.

"This is where it happened," I said.

She sniffled, which set off another round of rough-sounding coughs. She took a moment to compose herself.

"Poor Lennie. I still can't believe he's gone. The people who sent us those gems had no idea they were Inferno Crystals. The residual magic from the items in the display case must have ignited them somehow. He never had a chance. I suppose it was a kindness that at least he didn't suffer."

"Mrs. Fox—" I began.

"Eunice," she interrupted.

"Right. Did your store regularly carry dangerous metahuman objects?"

"Oh, heavens, no. As I told the police, we weren't even licensed for dangerous or exotic items. We sold memorabilia. A scrap of Promethean's cape, a mission patch from the original Starfall Headquarters, that sort of thing."

"Which was all lost in the fire," I said, bending down to touch the dark sooty mess.

"It's not even about the money," she said wistfully. "The things we had gathered were irreplaceable. Priceless items we'd spent a lifetime collect—"

As she was talking, I examined the dark soot on my fingers, touched it to my tongue, and spit it out.

Mrs. Fox stopped short and regarded me with a pinched expression. "Mr. Chase, I should very much appreciate it if you wouldn't spit on my husband's ashes."

I stood up and brushed off my hands casually. "It's weird he was killed at all, isn't it? I thought he was immortal."

She seemed nonplussed. "That was a common misconception. His people are extremely long-lived, but he could be killed as easily as you or I."

"Funny the two of you getting together at all, huh? With him living all that time, your life span would be like a blip to him. Like falling in love with a fruit fly."

"I'm sure he treasured the time we shared together," she said flatly.

I kicked at a sooty bit of debris with my shoe. "Yeah. I guess you lucked out here, huh? Him kicking the bucket before you. That's one way to blow out a birthday candle."

"Excuse me?" she practically shouted before quickly composing herself again. She took a calming breath and practically clenched her teeth as she glared at me. "Mr. Chase, I appreciate that you have a job to do, but... Tell me again, why are you here? I was under the impression that the police and fire department had determined to their satisfaction that this was all accidental."

I shrugged. "Yeah. No signs of accelerants, nothing like that. Sure seems like it went down how you said."

"There you are, then."

"Still, I'm gonna have to call this one arson. I'll let the police know to reopen your husband's death as a possible homicide. Don't worry, we'll get whoever did this."

"What?" she screeched. "Listen, you little shit, we've lost everything here! Do you understand? Everything! And I'm not gonna stand here while you make a mockery out of—"

She cut off abruptly as there was another rustling from inside her bag, and she started coughing heavily again.

I watched with a detached indifference as she hacked away. "That sounds nasty," I offered.

"It is," she shot back.

"Yep. Probably fatal. Gal your age, I give you a couple weeks, tops. Very 'Romeo and Juliet.' Husband goes up like a matchstick, and the wife dies of a broken heart right after. My advice? Try to go with something classy, like dying in your sleep and not keeling over face-first into a plate of rigatoni at a restaurant. That's never a good look."

The old lady took a step closer, and for a second, I thought she might even take a swing at me. "I'm warning you, you little—" she began. There was another rustling movement in her purse, and she cut herself short.

"Riiight," I said slowly. "Sorry. I wouldn't want you to lose your temper on me. 'Flame,' that was your handle, wasn't it? I mean, who knows, you might accidentally set me on fire, or something." Then I paused to consider that. "'Course, from what I read, you always had pretty tight control over emotions, didn't you? Your husband was the one with the temper."

She straightened up, struggling to regain her composure. "Even I have my limits, Mr. Chase. And you are testing them."

"Yeah, I do that," I conceded.

I reached under my trench coat and pulled my gun out of its holster and aimed it directly at her. It wasn't one of those new-fangled nonlethal stun pistols or taser blasters, just a good old-fashioned gun. Made by my boys, Smith & Wesson. I grant that it lacked some of the specialized nuance of the more modern high-tech weaponry, but it had a way of making a point.

"Have you lost your mind?" she exclaimed.

"That's a handsome broach. Your husband give that to you?" I asked conversationally, noting the gaudy item on her dress. "Not really your style. Let me guess, you wear it to remind yourself of him?"

She was caught off-guard at my question. Understandable, with her eyes still riveted on the gun I had pointed at her.

"Yes, as a matter of fact."

"I've been looking at pictures. You've been wearing that broach ever since he died in the fire. Funny, though, I went back and looked. You never seemed to wear it before he died."

"It's a recent—"

"Take it off. Now."

She looked aghast. "You're robbing me? Here? On the very spot where my husband d—"

I very pointedly and deliberately shifted my aim so that the gun was no longer pointing directly at her. It was aimed directly at her purse.

She turned deathly pale.

"You don't want to do that," she said in a husky whisper.

"Kinda do. Really hate those yappy little dogs."

"You'll kill all of us!"

"An exploding toy poodle, that's a new one. Now take off the broach, Mrs. Fox, or Precious gets it."

The old woman gave me a defiant glare, clearly weighing her options against the conviction that was etched into my face. Slowly, hesitantly, she reached up and removed the glittering gold broach from her dress. Then, I gestured downwards with the gun, and she tossed it on the ground.

The moment it left her fingers, she instantly transformed before my eyes. Gone was the old woman, and in her place was her husband, still wearing her clothes. He was a young-looking man, small and slight of frame with black hair and jet-black eyes, and visibly pointed ears.

"Back from the dead, it's a miracle. Now, the purse," I said, again gesturing with the gun.

For a moment, he looked like he was going to object, but by now, he clearly realized the jig was up. He gently placed the oversized purse on the ground and stepped away. Artfully balanced on his high heels, I noticed.

"Must be a drag wearing your wife's clothes," I teased. "Especially since you can't wear that 'good luck' ring of yours without drawing attention, 'Fortune.'"

He didn't react to my mocking use of his former villain name, but I edged over and carefully kicked open the top flap of the purse with my foot. It was surprisingly heavy, revealing the inside to be made of a reinforced, fire-resistant material. A ruddy glow came from inside, and with the top now open, I could feel the intense heat coming at me in waves. I peered inside to see a small fairy, glowing red hot. She was a tiny thing, young and pretty, and not wearing any clothes. And as she glowered upwards at me, she very visibly gave me the finger.

"In a town filled with masks, everybody's got something to hide," I said.

As much as I bitched about my Faraday Insurance gig, I had to admit it had its uses. For one thing, it helped pay the bills. Mostly. Once upon a time, the work they used to toss my way was enough to make ends meet, but in recent months, the workload I'd gotten from them had been dropping off. I didn't think it was because there were fewer superhero fights.

At this rate, I'd have to put in some actual work for my only other paying client beyond just cashing their checks. I'd strung them along as long as I could, but they were getting antsy. It wasn't my habit to dodge work like that, but given how things went down on the Procyon case, I was having second thoughts.

As a result, when I got summoned to the Faraday Insurance headquarters, I was on my guard.

"There he is! Chase, the man of the hour!"

The heavily affected praise was joined by the slow but steady applause from one Ethan Foster. Foster was my point of contact at Faraday Insurance and the head of the Fraud Investigations unit. He fancied himself my boss, but every time I had to meet with him, it only reminded me why I chose to remain an independent contractor. With his blue striped dress shirt with the white collar, paisley silk tie, and rolled-up sleeves, he was the epitome of the corporate douchebag. He was also at least 20 years younger than me.

I hated this building. Every time I came here, I felt like it cost me a piece of my soul. Everything was so...beige.

Foster approached me, still clapping, although nobody else nearby joined in. Not that there were many people standing about. Most of them had already retreated to their desks and cubicles, but the few who were still around gave me the stink eye. I was used to it.

Foster gave me a hearty clap on the shoulder. "What, no fedora today? Love the fedora! So old school!" he exhorted. "Sorry you missed the pizza party. We like to have fun here," he said, gesturing to a stack of pizza boxes as he led me down the hallway.

We entered his office, and he gestured for me to sit down as he closed the door behind us. He then casually plopped himself into the plush, high-backed chair behind his desk.

"Dude. I'm in awe. Seriously, how do you do it? The husband was an old lady, and the old lady was like a unicorn fairy or something? My mind is seriously blown."

"A phoenix," I corrected him. "They're magic-based metahumans. That's how the two of them stayed together for centuries. He actually lived that long, but every so often, she'd 'die' and be reborn in the fire. He was gonna impersonate her long enough to get the insurance payout, and after that, he'd fake his own death. Or rather, her death. Then, they'd disappear and start over."

"With our money! Though they didn't count on my man, Chase! Ugh, together for centuries, can you imagine? I've been with my lady for two years, and it already seems like centuries." He shook his head and then smiled. "But get you, thinking all romantic and seeing through their scam. And now, instead of the life insurance and property insurance, our payout is a big round goose egg! Meanwhile, they get charged with arson and...I don't know, impersonating an old lady? I don't care. God, man, I could hug you. I could use ten more just like you."

"Thanks."

He leaned forward, putting his elbows on his desk as he looked at me, affecting a more serious tone. "So. Given any more thought to my offer? A man with your skills, you could make a name for yourself here. You'd have to come in to the office twice a week and maybe get yourself a better suit, but you look like you're way overdue on that score, anyway."

I scoffed. I'd sooner cut off my own head, even despite the dire financial straits it would plunge me into. "Yeah, tempting. Still a pass, though."

Foster slipped into an exaggerated combination of a groan and a sigh that was completely phony. "Mmm. Yeah, see, that there's gonna be a problem, my man. Understand, my bosses—it's not me, I got zero control over this—they're really clamping down on this whole 'independent contractor' thing. They need investigators they can, ah—"

"Control."

He pounded his fist on the desk and pointed a knowing finger at me. "Damn, man, that's what I love about you. No bullshit. But you see the bind I'm in."

"Yeah, that's a tough situation for you," I said.

"Glad you understand," he said, oblivious to the sarcasm. "We'll pay you for this last case, but...well, if anything changes, we'll be in touch."

I let myself out. On my way to the elevators, I grabbed a pizza. All they had left was plain cheese. My version of a gold watch for retirement.

The rain had started up while I was inside getting fired. So, my luck being what it was, by the time I reached the lobby, it had turned into a full-on deluge. Since I was wearing my trench coat, I might not have minded so much if I'd had my hat, but...wearing that had become problematic lately. I ran for my car as I held the pizza box over my head for cover, but the cheap cardboard practically turned to mush as I dashed through the puddles of water.

It never ceased to amaze me how this city could get rain like this and yet it never managed to clean away the grime. For a while there, I'd taken to watching the skies to see if there was a pissed-off super with weather control powers following me around and putting a rain cloud over my head.

Fortunately, my car was easy to spot. Not because I'd gotten a good parking spot, but because it was the shittiest car in the lot. It, like its owner, had seen some mileage. A relic of better days. The sedan had originally been a nondescript gray color, but now the paint was faded and peeling, marred by rust and dents.

I clambered inside and tossed the water-sodden pizza box onto the passenger seat, glad at least to have some temporary shelter from the weather as I tried to shake off the rain. A hopeless cause.

The interior of the car was what I tended to view as a rolling struggle between the forces of order and chaos, a silent testament to my life. The dash was cluttered with old coffee cups and a collection of half-filled notebooks from previous cases, and the driver's seat was practically worn down to the springs in places and was covered with a threadbare blanket that provided little comfort during those long nights doing surveillance work. Meanwhile, the broken glove compartment hung perpetually ajar and spilled over with papers, a few loose bullets, and a pair of binoculars that had seen better days.

I put the key in the ignition and what passed for air conditioning kicked on, treating me to the faint tang of stale smoke and cheap cologne that had seeped into every surface. At the smell, I looked down and noticed a crumpled pack of smokes on the dash. Empty, of course. I'd actually quit a while ago.

Then I froze as my hand drifted downward to my coat pocket. What I knew I'd find there. Because it was always there. I slipped my hand inside and held my breath as I pulled back the unopened pack of cigarettes. A little crumpled, but otherwise okay. It had even somehow managed to stay dry, unlike the rest of me. I slowly traced a finger along the top edge as I stared at it. Then I shook my head and unceremoniously jammed it back into my coat pocket.

"Fuck it," I muttered. I reached over and opened up the soggy pizza box and pulled out a cold slice of cheese pizza. I took a bite as I turned on the windshield wipers and drove into the city.

The rain continued to pour as I made my way downtown. Not the "downtown" that was the famous silvered glass utopia of towering skyscrapers and glistening monuments to long-dead heroes, but the grittier, seedier part. The one the locals liked to dare to come to at night when they were hitting the clubs and feeling adventurous or drunk. This was my city. I'd love to say that these were also my people, but circumstances being what they were, I didn't have people. So, when I made an impulsive decision to stop for coffee, well...I honestly don't know what the hell I was thinking.

I pulled into an open parking place down the block from a coffee shop I knew but hadn't been to in ages. Outside it was still raining buckets, so I raised the collar of my trench coat, pretending as though that'd help, and I hurried down the street, wishing I had my hat.

And when I say "hurried," I really mean more like, "lumbered." Hard living and middle age had caught up to me, and my knees weren't what they used to be. Oh, I was in decent shape, all things considered—handy in my line of work if things got rough, which they sometimes did—but I was no spring chicken.

I reached the door at the same time as a middle-aged woman who was also hurrying in from the rain, and I paused to hold the door to allow her to go in ahead of me. She flashed me a friendly smile of gratitude as she entered, one which was quickly tempered with what looked like a quizzical look as she saw my face. In my rush to get in out of the rain, I wrote it off as nothing.

My first mistake.

I was pretty well soaked as I entered the store, and I practically got a caffeine high from the pungent smell of coffee that assaulted my nostrils. However, the moment I saw the crowd of people standing around inside, it immediately triggered a fight-or-flight response. Most of them already had their coffee and were standing around waiting for a break in the rain to go outside. And while a few people casually glanced my way to check out the bedraggled newcomer, so far, nobody was paying me much attention.

Not yet.

All of a sudden, I was glad I wasn't wearing the hat.

I slicked back my hair and got in the short line to order. But before I'd even gotten to the front, I knew I'd been recognized. That didn't take long. Fortunately, the cashier was oblivious, and she took my order without a hitch, but as I waited for my coffee, I picked up on the whispers and the increasingly obvious glances in my direction. I saw a woman hand her friend her phone to show her something on it. I only caught a glimpse, but I immediately recognized the well-circulated photo of me wearing the trench coat and fedora.

The woman who I'd let cut in front of me shot me an accusatory glance. I flashed my eyebrows politely and glanced away as I tried to pretend everything was normal. I just had to wait it out until—

"Order for Raccoon Fucker!" the young female barista loudly proclaimed as she practically slammed my cup on the counter. Which, in fairness, was indeed the name that had been scrawled on the side of the cup in bold black marker.

As I picked up my coffee, the mood in the place took a dark turn. People were now openly glaring at me, and the few who weren't had their friends and colleagues whispering in their ears, no doubt explaining the situation. Even the polite and smiling young cashier was now giving me a look as though she'd stepped in gum.

The barista who'd called me out locked eyes on me challengingly, hardly blinking. I suddenly realized that she was waiting for me to take a sip of the coffee.

I sighed and dropped the cup in the trash. I'd no idea what she'd done to it, but whatever it was, I was sure I didn't want to know. I then retreated outside, back into the pouring rain.

My fucking people.

As I made for my car, I took one step off the curb and stepped smack into a rain-filled pothole that soaked my foot past the ankle.

I took a moment to collect myself and curse my luck. I figured I could be forgiven for not noticing the figure in the dark cape who was shadowing me.

By the time I made it back to my car, I was pretty much ready to find a liquor store and then head back to my place and call it a night. The way things were going, a cold cheese pizza and a bottle of bourbon was a regular party pack.

Then I remembered I was supposed to see Jessie in a few hours. I didn't think she'd appreciate my showing up shitfaced drunk.

As I debated the merits of that decision, my thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a very distinctive chirp from my phone. That got my attention.

I opened the HeroTracker app and checked my recent notifications. HeroTracker was a useful tool for both finding and avoiding metahuman activity in Faraday City. For the hero groupies, it was a social media tool that allowed people to find out what their favorite heroes were up to. For the rest of us, it was a handy way of avoiding superhero-related hot spots. (You think your evening commute is bad? Try doing it while also dodging schools of walking cybernetic man-eating fish because Battlecrab decided he wants a rematch.)

I'd set up a number of personalized alerts, and it turned out that there was a scuffle going on not too far away that involved Darkmancer. That name sounded familiar, so I fumbled to grab one of my paper notebooks and skimmed through my notes. For not the first time, I wished that I could maintain my notes electronically, but given the number of high-tech CEOs and metahumans on my list, I didn't want to risk getting hacked. In this city, even a thumb drive wasn't safe when there were people walking around who could control computers with their minds. The only way to be sure that I wasn't drawing attention was to keep things old school, on paper. Using tools like HeroTracker was risky enough.

The notes I kept on hand were necessarily sketchy, but I confirmed that Darkmancer was on my list. I just needed to verify some information.

Ooh, yeah. This could be the one.

Apparently, whatever dust-up he was involved with seemed to be dying down already, but I figured I could make it if I hurried. I quick tucked my little paper notebook into my coat pocket and then started the car.

With any luck, today might finally be my payday.

Of course, for that to happen, my luck would have to change.

I raced for the hot spot indicated on my phone. It had only been a few minutes, but metahumans—villains or heroes—tended not to stick around too long after the action died down. But my drive out there gave me the chance to work out some of the details in my head. Because the problem with this little caper was that it put me at cross purposes with my last paying client.

My only remaining paying gig was for a mysterious benefactor who was the best kind of client—the kind who paid his bills on time and never bothered to check in. He'd had me running around doing background research on Faraday's movers and shakers. He wouldn't tell me who he was, and he was extremely cagey as to why he was interested in the information, but I'd had him pegged as either a journalist looking for dirt or a social climber looking for ways to ingratiate himself to the in crowd.

I actually didn't much care either way, so long as the money was good. It wasn't enough to pay the bills, but it was decent pocket money. Of course, with my Faraday Insurance work now dried up, "decent pocket money" wasn't going to cut it anymore. I needed a windfall, and I needed it soon. And I only knew one way to get it.

My mysterious benefactor had been impressed with the speed with which I'd been able to put together my dossiers, but the truth was that I'd had a big head start even before he'd engaged my services. The genius of this situation was that I was getting paid for work I was already doing for my own benefit. But the significant downside was that since I wasn't sure about my client's intentions regarding the information, I didn't dare release the bulk of it to him until after I was done with it, because I wanted the first bite at the apple. I'd strung him along with some samples and empty promises, but he was getting impatient.

Worse, I'd been putting this off for weeks. Which I suppose wasn't surprising, considering how disastrously my first attempt went. What should have been an easy, low-risk payday turned the whole damn city against me. It was bad enough that the Procyon business had put me under a microscope, but given how it had all gone down, I'd be lying if I said it didn't leave a bad taste in my mouth.

But I was out of time.

By the time I arrived on the scene, things were winding down. The damaged cars and buildings were a sure sign of a recent metahuman battle, but apparently a fairly perfunctory one. As I approached, I could clearly make out the flashing red and blue lights of a pair of FCPD police drones hovering nearby. But so far, I didn't see any human cops or metahuman incarceration transports.

Good. That meant I probably still had a few minutes.

By now, the rain had turned into a light drizzle, and a group of umbrellas bunched together off to one side signaled a crowd of onlookers. They were standing right at the edge of the police cordon that had been dutifully been established by one of the police drones, and the crowd was eager to get a look.

A look, or maybe a souvenir.

People tended to romanticize Faraday's heroes, but many more were equally quick to make a profit off of them. And the aftermath of a superhero fight might leave behind all sorts of valuable goodies. A strand of hair off Promethean's head or a scale off of Power Piranha might have DNA valuable to the right people. Even a strand of synthetic hair might be a clue to someone trying to crack a superheroine's secret identity if they knew she wore a wig. And of course some people like Flame and Fortune fancied themselves as collectors of memorabilia that they could turn around and sell for a profit. Among the rest of us mere mortals, there were many who would pay a tidy sum for a shot at owning a piece of history in the making.

At the moment, my interest was more prosaic. I made my way to the front of the crowd with my trusty camera in my hands. Apart from my gun, it was probably my one good piece of equipment. It certainly cost as much. The telephoto lens proved to be a handy tool in my line of work. It'd taken some top-notch pics of cheating spouses over the years that had paid the bills.

I panned the camera across the area where the fight had occurred and started taking pictures. I saw an expanse of barbed tanglevines that signaled the Hemlocks were involved. Yep, that tracked. I spotted a half-dozen of them, all either bound or unconscious. And over there were the police drones. And then there, off to the side was—

Well, it sure as hell wasn't Darkmancer, that was for goddamn sure. Darkmancer was a hero in a dark armored costume with a hooded cloak. This was not him. Not by a longshot.

She was a superheroine, obviously, and one not at all shy about showing off her body. Skimpy costumes were one thing, but this chick looked like she thought she was in a Miami Beach swimsuit competition. She was incredibly stacked with big fake stripper tits and long blonde hair that fell down to a seriously curvaceous rear end, one which was basically bare in the thong-back one-piece black bathing suit she wore. She had long black gloves and thigh-high dark pink boots, but her scant top was cut down to her belly button in front and showed a preposterous amount of skin on the sides and in the back.

She wasn't wearing a mask, not that she seemed to be especially preoccupied with concealing her identity. Or anything else, for that matter. And her costume had weird bondage elements to it, like a spiked dog collar and a "belt" made of chains that included a padlock that teasingly dangled right above a sensitive part of her anatomy. Though from the look of her, I was pretty confident that no guy had ever required lockpicking skills to get access.

Who the hell was she?

I took a few photos, noticing that a couple of the leering guys next to me were doing the same. Also for "research purposes," no doubt.

Puzzled, I pulled out my phone and consulted HeroTracker. This was the right location. And it wasn't showing any other heroes tagged here except Darkmancer. Weird. I pulled up his file picture, but there were no surprises there. Where was he?

"Hey," I said to the guy next to me. "Who's the bimbo?"

Before he could answer, the guy next to him turned to look at me with a big shit-eating grin. "That's Darkmancer."

I stifled a groan as I realized what must have happened. "Let me guess. He died, and she took over the name?" That wasn't all that uncommon in Faraday City, especially since the Hero Registration System had made halfway-decent names harder to come by. Of course, that didn't do me any favors. Dead, he was no use to me. Though I was annoyed with myself that I'd somehow managed to miss something this big in my research. I'd had Darkmancer pegged as a loner, so for him to have a partner—especially a partner who looked like that—would have been a pretty huge miss on my part.

"No," the guy said, laughing. "That's him! Some villainess transformed him into that! Can you believe it?"

I stared at the stacked blonde superheroine, then looked down at the camera in my hands.

"God dammit," I swore. This was no help to me. Dead would have almost been better. This fucking city.

His friend cackled as he took another photo. "Oh, my God. You think he has a wife or girlfriend? He's not hiding that body from her when he gets home!"

"Or anybody else," I muttered as I lowered my camera and tucked it away.

Just then, the second guy started to give me a look of dawning recognition that I recognized only too well.

"Hey, wait a minute," he said. "Aren't you...?"

"No, I get that all the time. I just look like him. Fuck that guy," I said as I turned and walked off.

I distinctly heard the word "raccoon" being murmured behind me, so I decided it was time to make my exit. Especially once it became obvious this wasn't going to be the big payoff that I'd been hoping for. Ugh, I finally track down one of the people on my list to verify some details, and before I can do anything with it, the guy goes and gets himself turned into a blonde bimbo. Unreal. And he's still out there in the public eye looking like that? Man, I'd hide under a rock.

My eyes drifted back towards the small crowd of onlookers. A few were still looking in my direction, but there was one in particular who caught my eye.

How did that old kids' nursery song go? One of these things is not like the others...one of these things doesn't belong...

Instead of walking back towards my car, I deliberately headed in the opposite direction to test my theory.

I was just paranoid enough to be wary of any figure in a dark cloak taking interest in me, especially in this city. Normally, a cloak would suggest a metahuman, but with the rise of superheroes, they'd become a fashion accessory amongst the public, especially for protection from rain and drizzle, as it was doing right now.

And since the cloak only came down to the figure's knees, I didn't need any keen powers of observation to notice the extremely attractive pair of feminine legs and high heels visible beneath.

Still, Mama Chase's oldest boy didn't survive this long by getting distracted by a nice set of gams, no matter how shapely they were.

I paused for a moment and pretended to check my phone and surreptitiously turned on the front-facing camera to sneak a peek over my shoulder. On the screen, I could see that my shadow paused as well, pretending to check her hair and makeup in the dim reflection of a store window. But she was too far away for me to make out details, and with her hood up, I still couldn't see her face.

I put my phone away and resumed walking at an unhurried pace. But as I rounded the next corner and broke line of sight, I immediately rushed to hide behind a pickup truck parked by the sidewalk. A few seconds later, the woman rounded the corner and froze as she saw that I'd disappeared. As I broke cover and sneaked up behind her, I couldn't see her confused expression, but her startled body language told me everything I needed to know.

She turned to look for me, and before she could react, I grabbed both of her wrists and forced her back up against the metal pole of a street lamp.

The struggle she put up was perfunctory, almost to the point of being performative. She wasn't carrying a weapon, but as she looked up at me, her hood fell back and I got my first good look at her.

I don't know what I'd expected, but it wasn't this. She was drop dead gorgeous with flawless makeup and perfectly coiffed hair so black that it practically absorbed the light coming off the dingy neon signs. As her cloak parted, I could see she was dressed in a black evening dress with sleek lines, a plunging neckline, and a side slit that showed so much leg it looked like it was in danger of showing off a lot more. Between that and her black elbow-length gloves, she looked like a socialite on her way to the opera...or a sultry torch singer stolen from another era entirely.

We made eye contact with each other, and at first her eyes went wide and her dark crimson painted lips formed an 'O' of surprise, and she breathed a sharp intake of air that caused her bosom to heave in her revealing dress. But as she peered up at me, her expression shifted as she read my face and saw that I wasn't going to buy her act.

Her face fell. "Well...shit," she muttered. "Do you mind?" she asked. When she spoke, it was with an air of detached confidence. But her voice was a husky whisper, rich with innuendo.

I released her wrists and took a half step back. Close enough to loom over her a little. She took a moment to compose herself as she closed her cloak over her revealing outfit, and as I watched, she gave me a little flick of a perfectly arched eyebrow that signaled that she wasn't intimidated or impressed.

She pressed her perfect lips into a disgruntled moue. "I can't believe I fell for that. That was the oldest trick in the book."

"Honey, that dress is the oldest trick in the book," I countered. "What do you want? I don't give autographs."

She looked puzzled. "Why would I...? It doesn't matter. Look, I'm taking a big risk by coming to you, but I need your help. Does the name Xenos mean anything to you?"

"No. Should it?"

"What about Cleveland Dunne?"

"Who's that?"

"He's my husband. He works for Xenos. They—"

I cut her off. "Is that what this is about? Listen, I don't do matrimonial stuff anymore. Find yourself a good divorce lawyer."

"I don't need a divorce lawyer. My husband is dead. He was coming to meet with you."

I could usually get a good read on women, but this one was a mystery. She was desperate, but not hysterical. But with that outfit and those looks, it was dead certain she came from money. No doubt she was used to getting her way when she flashed her platinum card or batted those pretty eyes. Unfortunately for her, I'd heard that song before. And I wasn't falling for it twice.

"Sorry, beautiful, I never heard of the guy. But if he was looking for me, it's a sure bet he figured you were cheating on him, and he wanted incriminating photos before he handed you your walking papers. So, if he's dead, that means you dodged a bullet. Take the win and go have some celebratory sex with your boyfriend."

I turned away from her and walked away, back into the flickering lights of the street.

"Whatever he's promised you, it's not worth it!" she yelled after me. "He can't be trusted! He'll betray you at the first opportunity!"

I jammed my hands into the pockets of my coat as the rain started to pick up again.

"Why are the hot ones always crazy?" I muttered to myself.

As I walked back to my car, my phone beeped with a text message. At first I'd hoped that it was Jessie contacting me to confirm our date tonight. Or maybe Foster, having second thoughts about terminating our business arrangement. However, I'd evidently forgotten how bad my luck was.

"Son of a bitch," I muttered as I settled back into the driver's seat as I read and then re-read the text message. It was the sound of the other shoe dropping. My mystery client was closing out their account and wanted their files immediately. Timing is fucking everything.

I thought about what to message back.

Files aren't ready. Need another month. Maybe two, I texted back.

There was barely a pause before the response came back.

I'll take whatever you've got. I'll send someone over tomorrow. I'll be in touch.

"Shit." I checked the time. No sense worrying about it now. I'd have to make copies tomorrow morning and hope that his interest in the information wasn't the same as mine. 'Cause if he was looking for the same thing I was looking for, I could forget about that big payday.

I considered heading back to my place, but there wasn't much to check on. So, with no better place to go, I headed over to my next "appointment." This one was one I was looking forward to, however. I checked the time again. Showing up this early would make me look sad and desperate, but what the hell...the shoe fit. And I needed a drink.

By now, night had fallen and the flashy neon lights shone brilliantly on the darkened streets. The garish signage was a signal to the unwary that they'd just entered the sketchy part of town as the various adult establishments hawked their licentious wares with their provocative messages, trying to snag the attention of prospective customers. Traffic was still busy at this hour, and my headlights cut through the gloom as I peered through the streaky windshield.

This was that overlap time between the daytime and nighttime crowds that created a mix of curiosity and urgency. The nighttimers drove slow to take in the sights and sample the bawdier amusements that the city had to offer, while the daytimers were looking to get the hell out. The lurid neon signs became a clear signal that this part of the city was now catering to a different clientele.

Pretty soon the rain had slowed to a light drizzle, and as it did, the working girls began to venture out from the cover of doorways, all dolled up in their skin-tight outfits and thigh-high boots as they tried to catch the eye of the passing drivers. Hookers dressed up as heroines. ("Whoreoines," some called them.) This was a side of Faraday City they don't mention in the tourist books.

One girl with bright red hair in a skimpy red halter swimsuit waved at me as I drove past and sparkling fireworks popped from her fingers. It might have been fake—some of the girls used sparklers or flash powder, or other cheap stage magician's tricks—but there was a good chance she was the real deal. Not a real superheroine, of course, but a girl who was lucky enough to be an ascended meta...but not lucky enough to get real powers.

That's the other thing they don't tell you. Not every ascended metahuman tosses on a costume, because plenty of them end up with barely enough power to light a cigarette, much less pick a fight with other metahumans. Being able to light the barbecue with force of will alone is a fun parlor trick at a Fourth of July picnic, but you won't be planning any armored car heists anytime soon.

"Triflings," people called them.

That's one of the hidden stories of Faraday City. You can get superpowers and still end up as a hooker working the streets. Just one with a better gimmick than most.

My dismissiveness might strike some as ironic, given my destination. I prefer to think of it as enlightened.

The brightly lit sign for Unmasked practically lit up the street, advertising the "gentlemen's club" with a trio of sexy superheroines all done up in neon lights. Desmond Marcks had opened up the place a few years back. He was coy about his "venture capitalists," but it was rumored he was in bed with the Marchetti crime family. I sometimes wondered which city councilman Marcks had to have one of his girls blow in order to land that location and waive the ordinance to get approval for that signage. Even in a city where people ran around wearing tights in bright primary colors, it was a long way from subtle.

I parked in back and went inside. I nodded to the off-duty cop watching the front door. He wasn't the usual guy, but one who I'd seen around before.

"Where's Keyes? Figured he'd be working tonight," I said in a calculatedly neutral tone as I paused to shake the rain off my coat. I didn't give a shit, of course, but I also knew that Detective Keyes was trouble. He and I had locked horns over the Procyon thing and things had gotten a little physical. He struck me as the kind of guy to hold a grudge. Plus, there was the rumor that Marcks had something on him. Cops, I could handle. Dirty cops were...unpredictable.

"Better plans. Fuck all if I know."

Always a pleasure dealing with Faraday's finest.

As strip clubs went, Unmasked was fairly upscale, its high quality interior a stark contrast to the gritty streets outside. Their gimmick was that the dancers and waitresses were all dressed up like supers, both heroines and villainesses. The gag wasn't all that much different from those streetwalkers I'd spotted, but I had to admit the execution was a damn sight better. Not only were their "costumes" much higher quality—what little there were of them, anyway—but most of the dancers really were dead ringers for their real-life counterparts. Sometimes, enough to fool people.

A fun example of that was when HeroVerse News came down here looking to run an expose about how Ephemeral from the Liberty Squadron had evidently started moonlighting as a stripper. Some suspected that Marcks was the one to plant the article in the first place, looking to drum up press for his club. Not that anyone could prove it, of course. Though after that, Unmasked became one of the hottest gentlemen's clubs in the city.

It didn't hurt his side hustle any, either. I had it on good authority that Marcks had been pimping out his girls to Faraday City's rich and famous. Bored and horny rich guys who were all too eager to bang girls who looked exactly like their favorite superheroines.

Not that anybody could prove that, either.

It was on the early side, so the crowd was fairly light. I glanced over and saw that Tia was working the bar tonight. I wasn't really in the mood to deal with her, so I grabbed a table near the back that had a view of the main stage. The dancer working the pole didn't look familiar, but she must have just started her set since she was still mostly wearing her skimpy costume. She was dressed as Plutonium Blonde, and was twirling on the pole to "Armageddon It" by Def Leppard. I had to admit, I liked when they played the 80s tracks...I didn't have much use for the modern stuff.

The dancer was actually pretty talented, and she knew her share of pole tricks. Though I wish I could have said that the waitresses were as competent. The girls were all easy to spot as they worked the room in their various colorful costumes, but even after I'd been sitting there for a while, none of them had bothered to come to take my order.

Tink. Clack. Tink. Clack.

At first, I wasn't even aware that I had my lighter in my hands. I'd been fooling with the gold Zippo lighter half-consciously, opening and closing it. I hadn't lit it, so there was no flame...it was just a nervous tic that I'd picked up. I fussed at it as I glanced around at the waitresses who were ignoring me.

Tink. Clack.

The stripper was halfway through "Shoot to Thrill" by AC/DC when the last neuron finally connected in my brain, and I finally tumbled to the fact that my getting "overlooked" wasn't accidental.

One of the girls who was dressed up as Glitterati in her metallic "battle bikini" walked past, and I tried to get her attention.

"Hey, honey—"

"Fuck off, raccoon fucker," she sniped, not even breaking stride.

I sighed heavily. I could complain. Marcks and I were hardly best buds, but he ran a tight ship, and he wouldn't look kindly on the girls sassing the customers. Even me. But I was here to see Jessie, and I knew she'd get pissed with me if she found out I'd gotten one of her friends in trouble.

Clack. I snapped the lighter closed again and collected my coat before I made my way over to the bar.

"What, no hat?" Tia asked from behind the bar as I approached. She was probably a couple years younger than me, but old enough for me to be grateful that bartenders didn't wear the scant costumes like the rest of the girls. Tia was a competent enough bartender, but she was a few years past her prime, and a few pounds. Though judging from the boyish cut of her short black hair, I was pretty sure I wasn't her target demographic either.

"Bourbon, neat," I said as I grabbed a stool and tossed down my coat.

She nodded and then turned and stepped around a young tow-haired delivery guy who was working behind the bar. I'd seen him around, and he smiled as we made eye contact. Emmet, I think his name was. He was loading some liquor boxes into a storage area behind the bar. Weird time for him to be doing that, but with this club, I'd learned it was healthier not to ask questions. Or at least not to be seen asking questions.

There was a television behind the bar, and I saw that the game had been interrupted by some news report that featured a blonde bimbo superheroine that I recognized as Darkmancer. Her jugs were practically spilling out of the sexy black one-piece swimsuit that constituted her "costume." The audio was turned down, so I couldn't hear what she was saying to the reporter, but she looked ridiculous. Like she was genuinely trying to be taken seriously when she looked like she'd be more at home up on stage here in the club, working a stripper pole.

I scoffed and shook my head. First, the guy goes and pisses off the wrong villain and gets himself turned into a skanky little sex bunny. But then his very first thought is to stuff his new tits into a barely-there one-piece and hooker boots, and then march out the door that way and keep playing at being a hero? What's the angle?

Tink. Clack. Tink. Clack.

Tia put my drink in front of me. She made a face as her eyes cut up towards the TV and then back at me.

"I don't get you, Chase," she said as I took a drink. "You hate superheroes, but you make your living cleaning up after them. Then you hang out here, of all places."

I put the glass on the bar. "Was there a question in there?"

"Sorry, I figured the question was implied. It was, 'What are you, an idiot?'"

Emmet chuckled at her joke. Then, at a glare from me, he went back to moving boxes.

"What exactly was it that made you decide to go into bartending?" I wondered.

"I'm a people person," Tia countered flatly. She shook her head. "Damn, Chase, what'd the world do to you?"

"A dame did me wrong," I said as I took another drink.

"Let me guess. She loved you and left you?"

"Worse. She did the worst thing you can do to a man—she showed me my true nature." I glanced at the waitress in the Glitterati costume as she walked past. She sneered at me again. "'Sides, I like superheroes just fine. Superheroines, anyway. Always running around in those tight clothes."

Tia had noticed the sour look the girl had given me. She cocked a grin. "You fuck one raccoon and they never let you live it down, huh?"

Emmet looked between us, confused. "Dude, you fucked a raccoon?"

Tink. Clack. Tink. Clack.

"Figuratively," I muttered, gritting my teeth.

Tia's eyes lit up as she turned to the young man, obviously pleased to have found the last person in all of Faraday City who hadn't heard the story. "Kid, you are in the presence of a genuine celebrity. You know what a procyon is?"

He shrugged. "Is it like a Pokemon?"

"It's another name for a raccoon," I interjected, desperate to hurry this along.

Emmet snapped his fingers. "Oh, right. The dude that died. The hero. Procyon. Man, that guy was the best! One time he came to my high school to talk about staying in school. He set up college scholarships for everyone in my class who graduated. Dude was always doing stuff like that. Huh. A procyon is a raccoon? I always wondered what the story was with his bandit mask. Also, the fluffy tail."

"I guess he figured Procyon sounded cooler than Raccoon Man," Tia said. "Anyway, there's this big superhero fight, and this one chick on the sidelines gets killed. So, Chase here gets called in by the insurance company to look into it. But then Chase susses out that she was actually Procyon Lass, one of the dude's sidekicks. Meaning now there's no big insurance payout because she was involved in high-risk activities, secretly being a superhero."

Emmet shrugged. "Sucks, I guess. Whatever."

"Yeah. Except, to do this, Chase blows her secret identity wide open. And from there, it's no big deal to figure out who Procyon and Kid Procyon are. Oh, man, Kid Procyon was pissed. He was all over HeroVerse News, openly accusing Chase of trying to blackmail them to keep it under wraps. Can you imagine? Then meanwhile, one of the bad guys goes after Procyon in his secret identity, and kills him!"

Emmet gave me a look of disgust. "Dude. You fucked over the raccoon guy? He was paying for me to go to college! Do I even still get that money?"

I held my hand out helplessly. "Kid, I was just doing my job."

It was a lie, of course, but one I'd told countless times. I figured if I repeated it enough times, I might even start to believe it myself.

Though I don't know why I bothered to try to explain myself. I'd already multiplied this conversation by a thousand. Once the news released that picture of me in my fedora and trench coat, I couldn't set foot outside without getting an earful of all the good things Procyon had supposedly done for the city. And what a douchebag I was for outing him and his sidekicks.

"That dude was like beloved, or something! How was it your job to get him killed? Plus, how'd you even figure out who he was in the first place?"

"Out of the mouths of babes," a man's voice came from behind me. Deep, mellifluous, and enunciated with an almost mathematical precision. I didn't even have to look. Especially after Tia and Emmet immediately snapped to attention and began to look busy at their respective jobs.

"Des," I said over my shoulder in an offhanded manner of greeting before taking another drink from my glass.

Desmond Marcks sidled up alongside of me at the bar at a distance that was perfectly calculated to look casual without seeming familiar.

Marcks was a walking enigma. A big black man with a shaved head and a mustache, he might have been an enforcer in another life, especially given his taut muscular physique that was only barely concealed by the dark designer suit he wore. A suit that was worth more than I made in a month. But his wire-rimmed glasses and smooth, soft-spoken demeanor gave him a perceptive air that always seemed to have a threatening undercurrent to it. A couple guys I knew had a running bet that Marcks was secretly a metahuman on one side of the law or the other, but I wasn't so sure. I'd recognize that voice anywhere.

I watched as he paused a moment to peer at the bar and bar stool. They were already so clean that you could probably perform open heart surgery on them, but he nonetheless took out a handkerchief and gave them a quick but fastidious wipe before sitting down and leaning against the bar. He was a neat freak, that one.

"Chase," he replied, giving me a mirthless grin as he tucked his handkerchief back into his jacket. He was too composed to show his annoyance, but I knew he hated it when I acted chummy with him. I'd done a job or two for him over the years. Nothing strictly illegal, but I usually felt like I needed a shower afterwards.

"Our young friend raises an interesting question, doesn't he?" Marcks opined, referring to Emmet's earlier query. His tone remained smooth and casual, but his eyes were locked on my face as I continued to look straight ahead over the bar. "The news reports went on about how you broke Procyon's secret identity by figuring out the dead girl's dual identity. Though I don't recall ever hearing how you managed to crack that particular nut."

I took another sip from my glass and turned my head slightly to give him a sideways look. "Just lucky, I guess."

"Modesty ill becomes you, Chase. Though I daresay you've always impressed me as a man of persistence and resolve. But one does have to admire your optimism, always waiting for that big score to come in, when it never ever does."

One of the costumed waitresses paused to pick up an order from the bar and gave me the stink eye as she passed. She was subtle about it, obviously not wanting to be seen antagonizing one of the customers with Marcks sitting right beside me, but I'd developed a pretty keen radar for it. I took a drink from my glass.

Marcks gave me a shrewd look. "What is it with you, Chase? You're always playing the pariah. I swear, it's like you enjoy being the most hated man in the city. I hope you're not going respectable on me. It's a little late in the game to be developing a conscience."

"We talking about me, or we talking about you?"

He scoffed slightly and then regarded me more seriously. "You know, I could use a man with your skills in my organization."

I chuckled.

"Have I said something funny?"

"You're the second guy today to make me that offer. The other guy tried to sweeten the deal with free pizza every other Friday. Any chance you can do better?"

"Most assuredly."

I turned around in my seat to take in the club. It was starting to get busy, and I recognized more than a few of the faces. Many were VIPs, mixed in with just enough of the local gangsters and lowlifes to give the place some color. The gangsters got off on being around the celebrities, and the uptown crowd got a thrill from brushing elbows with the wrong element. It was like Casablanca, but with naked tits.

Tink. Clack. The sound of the lighter in my hand as I fussed at it.

"I dunno, Des. I doubt I'm polished enough for a joint like this."

Now it was Marcks' turn to chuckle. He glanced down at my rumpled suit. "Truer words were never spoken." Then he gave a minute shrug of his shoulders. "Still, you have the right temperament for it. What is it that you like to say? Oh, that's right. 'In a town filled with masks, everyone has something to hide.'"

I scratched my beard and took another drink from my glass. "Doesn't sound like me."

The dancer dressed as Plutonium Blonde finished her set, and I watched across the club as she climbed down off the stage and snuggled up against a guy I recognized as a city councilman—a married city councilman—who then escorted her to a more private part of the club. As all this went down, it seemed like Marcks had been looking in another direction entirely, distracted as he gave some subtle nonverbal cue to the DJ. But as he turned back to face me, it was obvious that he'd witnessed the same exchange that I had. What's more, he saw that I'd noticed it, too.

"Chase, you and I are in the same business. Information. I grant that you're adept at collecting it, but you don't know how to use it."

I felt a surge of adrenaline rush through me, and I tried not to let my nervousness show. Did he know about my other client? If somehow he'd clued in to what I was up to, that could be trouble. Or was he just fishing?

I played it cool as I polished off my drink. "I suppose you do?"

He broke into a slow but toothy smile. "Again...most assuredly." He lifted his own glass and took a drink, which caused me to do a little double-take. Tia had been working the bar a discreet distance from us, and I hadn't even noticed her bring his glass. That she'd brought it with none of her customary sass was silent testimony to how Marcks ran things here.

Tink.... Clack. I grimaced inwardly at the sound. My affectation was quickly turning into a tell. I placed the lighter down on the bar next to my empty glass with as much forced casualness as I could muster.

"I'll give it some thought," I said.

"Do that. It seemed only sporting to give you the chance. After all, it would be quite unfortunate if our independent lines of inquiry were to bring us to cross purposes."

His smug delivery sent a chill up my spine. I was about to challenge him on it, but he cut me off before I could say anything.

"I understand you're meeting Jessie tonight," he said. It wasn't a question.

"There a problem with that?" I said, bristling. "What, you got her lined up to go on a date with the mayor or something?"

"I seem to have touched a nerve. But you seem to have mistaken my role in this. Ms. Harber is free to see whomever she likes. My girls are dancers, not prostitutes."

Bullshit, they weren't. Although calling him out on his lie was only going to show him how easily he was able to get under my skin. I had no intention of giving him the satisfaction.

"Jessie is a talented girl," he observed in a cool, dispassionate tone. The tone of a bored rich guy talking about one of his latest acquisitions. "Not the brightest, of course, but her skills lie...elsewhere. But then, of course, I don't have to tell you that."

"Des, when I brought her here, I told you that she—"

"Chase," he chided in a patronizing tone, "I'm grateful. She's grateful. She's fitting in marvelously. A genuine diamond in the rough, that one. You found her on the streets, and you brought her to me. I'm deeply flattered. Now, what she sees in you, I have no earthly idea..."

For once, Marcks and I were in total agreement. I'd met Jessie some months back while on a case. She was working the streets back then, an angel with a dirty face. She was no innocent flower—hell, I'd sampled those goods myself—but living as she did, it didn't take much imagination to realize that it was only going to be a matter of time before she got herself killed.

Jessie was a good kid, but she was too trusting and didn't have either the book smarts or street smarts to play the game and win, at least not for very long. After my case was finished, I'd introduced her to Marcks. That was back when I thought this was simply a fancy strip club. Now, I worried that I'd helped her to trade her one job hooking for another. I tried to console myself that at least she had a roof over her head.

I'd checked in on her once or twice, but I figured that'd be the end of it. But to my surprise, she reached out to me. It wasn't like we were dating or anything, but I'd seen her a few times. And she wasn't the least bit shy about demonstrating her gratitude in very intimate ways. A better man than I would probably have felt guilty about taking advantage. To say nothing of our age difference. But as it was... Yeah.

Still, it kind of pissed me off to hear Marcks saying as much. But before I could jump to her defense, the lighting suddenly changed, and the DJ made an announcement.

"Okay, everybody, put your hands together! Unmasked welcomes to the stage our newest addition: DOLLFACE!"

Marcks gave me another tight smile as his dark discerning eyes cut over towards the stage. It gave me a chill.

I didn't know much about the real Dollface except that she was a criminal who ran with a posse of thugs who were at her beck and call. It was rumored that she had some metahuman abilities—rapid healing, maybe—but her real claims to fame were the ridiculous "little girl" outfits that she wore, all pinks and petticoats, but still flaunting her decidedly feminine curves. It was a moronic choice for a supervillain costume—as most of them were, I suppose—although as a distraction, I had to concede it worked pretty well.

Plus, any guy who got his ass kicked by a girl dressed like that would have a hard time living it down.

Most of the female heroes and villains who learned that there were strippers running around dressing up like them were less than flattered. A few heroines threatened legal action. Others not so subtly suggested their payback might be of a more vigilante nature. Even so, I had to wonder if the real Dollface might actually appreciate the nod. Hell, I wouldn't have put it past Marcks to convince her to come out one evening to shake her stuff and swish her petticoats for the drooling guys.

The dancer on stage was a credible imitation. All of Marcks' girls were. I'd never much gone in for the "little girl look," but this girl had me thinking twice about that.

She hadn't started to take off her clothes yet, so she was still fully dressed in a frilly pink dress with a bunch of ribbons and bows that gave her a faux innocent look. An image that was reinforced by the froth of scant petticoats that swished girlishly about her long sexy legs, to say nothing of the little lace ruffled ankle socks that graced her feet. A look belied by the decidedly more adult platform heels that she expertly twirled on as she swung her hips and strutted across the stage. Her dress was cut low in front to show off her impressive bosom, which was pressed into a pretty stupendous cleavage. But what really sold the look were her face and hair. Her long blonde locks had been styled into a pair of low twintails that were swept down in front to frame her boobs, and in front, she wore her hair in cute and bouncy bangs that stopped just short of her eyebrows that framed her heavily made-up face. It made her already big and expressive eyes appear huge.

As she bent over to give the guys a view of her cleavage, she was grinning like a kid that—

That—

"There it is," Marcks purred as he saw the look on my face. "The mousy brown hair had to go, of course, but I have to say, Jessie threw herself into this role with particular abandon. Daddy issues, I suspect."

I ignored his smug comments as I stared at Jessie as she traipsed about on the stage. She had a killer body and knew how to use it, but seeing her in this oversexed faux innocent look was messing with my mind, big time.

She was in the middle of doing a little one-woman skit on stage, which was kind of weird. Most dancers would have strutted right on up to the pole and been shedding their clothes by now, but Jessie was doing a bit with a couple of male mannequins up on stage that were dressed as cops, and she was cavorting around them teasingly. She wasn't directly playing to the audience, but as she bounced about, she would "accidentally" flash her panties or her cleavage to her audience.

But there was something else going on.

Jessie pulled out a pair of pink toy guns and pointed them at the "cops," and as she pretended to shoot, there was a Bang! Bang! from the club's sound system that was thumping out a hard-driving beat as accompaniment. Then, a split second later, the mannequins' pants fell down to reveal tiny briefs that said "Doll" and "Face" on them.

The crowd laughed, but I straightened up in my seat. I thought I saw...something. It could simply have been a stupid special effect, but the timing had been weird. Did Jessie just...?

In the edge of my peripheral vision, I could see that Marcks was still looking directly at me, although he was keeping half an eye on Jessie's routine. However, my own attention remained riveted on the stage.

Jessie planted a kiss on one of the mannequin's cheeks as she reached out her hand, and the cop's hat from the second mannequin flew right into her waiting fingers.

Again, the crowd laughed and cheered as she impishly put the hat on her head, looking for all the world like a naughty little girl playing dress-up. But now I was more certain than ever about what I'd seen.

Jessie turned and reached behind her back to unzip her dress, but she fussed at it like it was stuck, much to the groaning disappointment of the men in the audience. One guy laughingly volunteered to come up and help her with it. But then, quite unexpectedly, there was a strange distortion effect around her back, and as she held her hands out to the sides, the zipper began to come down on its own. Slowly, but very deliberately.

She did a quick pirouette to face the crowd, a move that caused her skirts and petticoats to swish and bounce back into place. Jessie's hands were pressed against her breasts, which were now the only things holding up her lacy dress. So, as she dramatically moved her hands aside to take a bow, the dress cascaded down to her feet, revealing her stunningly curvaceous figure and her extremely skimpy pink lingerie underneath.

Jessie then skipped over towards the stripper pole as the crowd erupted in cheers, but I was still in shock.

"You didn't know," Marcks crowed. "Chase, I'm disappointed. I credited a man of your reputation to be more observant."

She was a Trifling. I tried to remind myself that it didn't really change anything, but it stuck in my craw. Whatever powers of telekinesis she possessed—or whatever I'd just seen—were minor, to be sure. Hardly a game changer. But Marcks was right. I should have known. I knew Jessie. I'd dated her a few times. I'd helped to get her off the streets. Hell, I'd had sex with her more than once. Sure, I might have been briefly taken in by the makeup and a new hairdo, but this had slipped past me entirely.

I wasn't sure what pissed me off more. That I'd missed it, or that Marcks had evidently picked up on it immediately and had even worked it into her act.

Marcks gazed out at her as she smiled and struck a pose for the cheering guys.

"When she was out on the street turning tricks, she didn't even use her abilities, since she couldn't figure out a way to make them useful. Isn't that precious?" he teased. "Still, it puts the 'exotic' into 'exotic dancer,' no?"

Jessie did a twirl on the pole, and the lighting changed again to spotlight her lithe form on the stage. A music track started as she began her dance routine, slowly at first. I didn't recognize the music, but it was some modern pop song with a breathy female vocalist. It started off with some teasingly feminine sighs, and as it played, Jessie sensually wrapped her leg around the pole and ground up against it as she wriggled in girlish delight. She made eye contact with the guys in the crowd, flashing her eyes at them.

The music then shifted into a thumping pop beat that thrummed through the club's expensive sound system, and the tone of the song changed into a teasingly dark pop song of dangerous feminine beauty.

"Oh, don't I look nice? Batting my eyes... Isn't it pure perfection? Cute, think I'm polite, stereotype... Got your full attention. Think that you can play with me? You better watch your back... The last thing that you'll hear will be my laugh..."

As the song went on, Jessie launched into her routine in earnest, performing a stunning gravity-defying spin. The crowd cheered, but she didn't react as she twirled and coiled around the pole, and then shimmied and wiggled about on the stage. She had a satisfied smirk on her face, but now she wasn't paying attention to the men in the audience at all. Her practiced disinterest made her even more fascinating, like she was doing this dance for herself, and all the guys here were merely lucky enough to have been present to see her do it.

Jessie's limber body moved sinuously in time to the thumping beat of the music, and as she did so, her every slightest movement was captured by the lights. Her toned body, her flawless creamy skin, her perfect curves in those skimpy pink underthings. Her pigtails and bangs were a teasing reminder of Dollface, the incongruously girlish elements mixed into a decidedly un-girlish presentation as the music reinforced the motif.

"'Cause, baby, dolls kill. Don't provoke us, or we will. Push you downhill... Might be pretty, but we're still... Bitter as much as we're sweet... Knife hidden under the sheets... Baby, dolls kill. Don't provoke us, or we will."

I hardly took a breath as I watched her dance. It was no secret that she knew how to use her sexuality, but I had no idea she was capable of this kind of seduction. The guys closer to the stage hooted and hollered as she twisted around the pole again, sensually running her fingers over it with fleeting touches as she twirled about it gracefully. Effortlessly.

By the time the song ended, the crowd was fully worked up, especially as Jessie broke into a winning smile as she finally seemed to acknowledge their presence. At that moment, I suddenly became aware that she was topless, having removed her bra at some point in her routine. She was so casual about it that it didn't even sink in until now.

The music then shifted into a hard-thumping 80s track by Don Henley, "All She Wants to Do Is Dance." I'm pretty sure I was the one who introduced her to that song. The energy changed completely as she shifted into a more high-energy dance routine and played directly to the guys in the front row. I don't think it was my imagination that she gave a wink in my direction as she started.

I set my jaw as I watched the guys all falling over each other to give her bills as she bent over and flashed her boobs and waggled her ass. They didn't understand her at all.

By the time Jessie finished her set, I realized that at some point Marcks had made a discreet exit. I'm not even sure when. I felt my ticker flutter as she waved to the crowd, half expecting that she was going to hop right off the stage and bound right over to me, but of course she disappeared backstage first.

Tia brought me another bourbon, and I nursed it through the next dancers' act, and then the next. I wasn't even looking at the girls. My eyes drifted around the room, taking in the clientele. I traveled in different social circles than the rich and famous of Faraday City, but I knew enough of them by face and reputation to see that Marcks was doing well for himself. When he'd set up this place in a sketchier, not-yet-gentrified part of the city, people thought he was insane, but they'd underestimated the desire for rich people to go slumming for an evening and see how the rest of us poor slobs lived before they returned to their ivory towers.

I checked my watch again. Where the hell was Jessie? I was starting to get antsy. I figured she went in back to change before our "date," but even by a fussy broad's standards, she was taking a while. Given my reputation, I figured that flagging down one of the waitresses so I could ask them to go check on her was a non-starter, and I didn't want to seem that desperate, anyway.

I'd just turned to look over at the television again when a familiar high-pitched squeal came from right behind me, accompanied by skinny arms that draped about my back in a hug from behind. Even through my suit jacket, I recognized the feel of a nice set of breasts pressed against my back.

"Chase!" Jessie cried out as I turned to meet her.

Her face was lit up like a kid on Christmas, a bright beaming elfin smile that was irrepressibly earnest. I didn't get a lot of that in my life. Before I could react, she threw her arms around me properly and planted a long kiss on my lips. But as we separated, I made a face as I saw how she was dressed. She was wearing the outfit she'd worn on stage, albeit the less skimpy version she'd worn at the beginning of her act. Street legal, but hardly what I expected her to wear on our "date."

"Looking good, Dollface," I said.

Her eyes widened almost comedically as her jaw dropped open in shock. She looked at me like I'd done a magic trick.

"Shut up. That's the girl I'm dressed up as!" she declared in amazement. "How'd you know?"

Yeah, not one of the world's great thinkers, this one.

"Lucky guess," I said. "That's a cute outfit."

"Ain't it great? I totally feel like a super all dressed up like this," she enthused as she plucked at her skirt and bounced into a sexy little half-curtsey. "I really like it here. Mr. Marcks is great, and all'a the girls have been super nice."

"I'm glad," I said, still distracted by the sight of her in that outfit. I had to admit I was more comfortable with the dirty-faced street kid than this sex kitten. "Though I thought we were going to go out for our date tonight."

"Oh," she said, glancing down at her little pink dress with the ruffles and bows. "I could change...?" she offered.

"No," I said, a bit too hurriedly. She'd taken so long already that I wasn't inclined to stretch things out further.

"Oh, okay," she said, wrinkling her nose as she clearly tried to remember something. "Well, Mr. Marcks said we could use one of his private rooms. If you wanna."

"How uncharacteristically generous of him."

"Uh huh!" Jessie responded, obliviously. "He's always doin' nice stuff. Plus, he said we could have it all night."

"Yeah, I bet," I said, practically snorting in derision. I scanned around the room, but Marcks was nowhere to be seen. Though I had no intention of taking him up on his offer. Marcks' "private rooms" no doubt had more hidden cameras than a Vegas casino, and while I didn't think he could use footage of me and Jessie in a sexual encounter to blackmail me, I wasn't about to hand him the opportunity to find out.

"Let's you and me get out of here," I told her. "We can go back to my place. Order in. Have some fun. Then after, I can show you that Bogart film."

Jessie's eyes widened, and she stiffened up at my suggestion. That was weird. We'd had sex at my place before, and if she was nervous about being seen in that getup, she'd hardly be out in public except to get to and from my car. It wasn't like her to be bashful.

"I, uh, think maybe we should stay here," Jessie suggested.

That's when the penny dropped. Marcks. It had to be. Jessie, bless her heart, wasn't near clever enough to be this manipulative, but I could see his fingerprints all over this encounter. I didn't know what was going on, but Jessie wouldn't set me up willingly. Even so, we couldn't talk freely here.

"Tell you what," I told her, "let's just go out to my car. We can figure out what to do from there."

Jessie pursed her lips and furrowed her brow like she was trying to do long division in her head. "O-okay," she said haltingly.

I grabbed my stuff and had started to usher her towards the exit before she figured out that my suggestion meant that she would be leaving the club in her babyish Dollface costume. Even in Faraday City, that kind of outfit would turn heads, especially with her figure filling it out. But right now, I wanted to get her away from Marcks' prying eyes and figure out what the hell was going on.

We got as far as the front door when that off-duty cop working security gave me a warning look as he saw me heading towards the door with Jessie. Customers hassling the girls was a strict no-no, and the fact that I was "escorting" her while she was still in costume was enough to get him up off his ass and in my face.

"We got a problem here?" he challenged me. He was younger than me, and in much better shape. I wasn't impressed.

"We don't. But you're gonna, if you don't get outta my way," I growled.

"It's okay, Mikey," Jessie quickly said to him, seeing where this was headed. "We're just...going out to the parking lot."

'Mikey' didn't seem to know what to make of that. The girls having sex with the customers in the private rooms was one thing, but popping out for a quickie in the parking lot wasn't the kind of image that Marcks would have wanted for his place.

I used his momentary indecision to shove past him with Jessie in tow, careful to make it clear that I wasn't forcing her to do anything she didn't want to do.

"Yeah, Mikey, don't worry about it. I'll have her back before curfew."

The two of us stepped out onto the sidewalk beneath the awning, highlighted in the glow of the club's neon sign. A couple guys hanging around out there got an eyeful of Jessie all done up in her sexy juvenile Dollface costume and hooted in appreciation. She flashed them a quick smile.

Jessie didn't seem at all phased to be seen like that, but as I started to move towards the parking lot, she froze when she noticed that the rain was still misting. She shot me a plaintive look that made her look all the more like a precocious little girl...or at least an oversexed stripper's bawdy interpretation of one.

Tired of the delays, I handed her my trench coat and Jessie chirped out a "thanks" as she slipped it on. As she did, I fleetingly thought it was a shame I hadn't brought my fedora...she probably would have looked sexy as hell in it.

We hurried out to my car, and I opened up the passenger-side door for her.

"Such a gentleman," she said without even a whisper of irony as she slipped inside the beat-up old rust bucket. As she did so, the trench coat fell open in front, providing me with a stunning view of her long sexy legs...to say nothing of her impressive cleavage.

I shut the door behind her and got in on the driver's side. I was embarrassed by all the clutter, but Jessie didn't seem to mind, or even notice. Her full attention was fixed on me. Those big green eyes, the fluttering eyelashes, the glossy lips pressed into a come-hither pout. She casually brushed one of her long blonde pigtails over her shoulder, showing off her fulsome breasts in her low-cut outfit trimmed in lace. A teasing expression of girlish femininity for someone who was most definitely not a girl.

My mouth felt suddenly dry, and I cleared my throat as I tried to get my bearings.

"What's going on, Jessie?" I said, trying to affect a commanding tone.

"Hmm?" she responded blithely. Her expression changed to one of wide-eyed innocence as her perfectly plucked eyebrows raised and disappeared under the wisps of her blonde bangs.

"It's Marcks, isn't it? Jessie, I swear, if he's threatened you, you just tell me, and I'll—"

"Chase!" she said, breaking into a big smile. "It ain't like that. He's...nice."

I resisted the urge to scoff. Marcks was nothing of the sort, but as long as she was useful to him, it was possible she hadn't seen his darker side yet. Although Jessie wasn't smart enough to play dumb. Something was going on, and I was going to get to the bottom of it. Just not here.

I reached into my pants pocket and pulled out my car keys. I put the key into the ignition, but I hadn't even started the car before Jessie sat up quickly.

"Wait! I, uh, wanna show you my trick," she said, placing her hand on mine.

I wasn't really in the mood for games, but her touch was...distracting. Her dainty hand with the perfect skin and the salon manicure was a sharp contrast against my big, rough hand. She took it and caressed it gently as she turned in her seat to fully face me, opening up the trench coat to give me an unobstructed view of her perfect body. Even in that ridiculous costume—or maybe because of it, I was starting to see the attraction—she had an almost feral sexuality to her.

As she crept closer, I gave her a cocky half-smile. "Not that I'm complaining, but I'm pretty sure I've already seen this trick."

God, she was so close. I could smell her perfume, practically feel the warmth of her. With a clearer head, I would have turned on the ignition and driven us back to my place to continue this encounter, but that wasn't the organ that was doing the thinking right at that moment.

Jessie made a vapid giggle and then leaned in for a kiss. I could feel her soft tits brush up against my arm as she did so. She kissed me again and again, energetically...almost forcefully. Jessie wasn't the brightest girl, but in this department, she was practically a savant.

She stopped and pulled away, and I found myself leaning in to follow after her, missing her touch. And what I had going on south of the border was definitely craving her touch even more. So, it took me a moment to realize what the holdup was.

I sat back, and with a little grumble, I reached into my jacket pocket to retrieve my wallet.

"Oh!" Jessie squeaked. "Oh, no," she said by way of apology. "I-I mean, y'don't have to do that right now..."

She took my wallet and put it up on the dash. "Just...wait," she said, furrowing her brow as she looked down at my crotch.

I glanced nervously out the windows around the parking lot, but nobody was around. However, given the circumstances, I wasn't overly concerned about being seen like this. Any residual self-respect I still possessed paled in comparison.

That's when I felt it. Something brushed against my crotch.

It took me a second to do a quick inventory of where both of Jessie's hands were located, and to confirm that neither of them had been anywhere close to the area. Although whatever intellectual curiosity I had was placing a distant second to the rapidly growing erotic sensations that had matured from kindling to a full-on blaze.

My eyes darted up to Jessie, whose face was scrunched up into a mask of over-affected concentration, her lips pressed into a decidedly kissable pout. A moment later, I felt as the button on my pants came loose, quickly followed by a strange ghostly sensation as the zipper on my fly went down, seemingly by itself.

Jessie's face lit up like a little girl, beaming with pride.

"I ain't so good with belts yet," she said as she reached over and unbuckled my belt in a trice. "And for this part, guys like when I do it the usual way."

Before I could say anything, Jessie moved her head into my lap with practiced familiarity.

I sat back in my seat as I felt her go to work, her long blonde pigtails draping down into my lap as she pleasured me. And not just with her mouth. I felt her lithe and dexterous fingers even as her lips and tongue played me like a virtuoso. I lost track of time as she brought me to the brink, only to back off and tease me again.

If this girl ever had a thought in her head, it'd die of loneliness. But dear God, she knew how to fuck.

I opened my eyes as I felt the climax building. We'd fogged up the windows like teenagers on prom night, and I almost laughed. Through the windows, the lights in the parking lot were blurred and hazy, and the gaudy neon lights of the district had become smeared and indistinct.

Wait, who the hell was that?

Even through the fogged windows and my pleasure-addled brain, I could make out a figure in the parking lot. A man, it looked like, and moving right towards our car. A flash of paranoia raced through me as I wondered if it might have been one of Marcks' men, but it looked like the guy was moving unevenly, staggering as he approached. My fucking luck I'd get a homeless guy looking for a handout right at this moment.

"Fuck off," I growled with an angry wave of my hand as the guy shambled towards us.

"Mmm?" Jessie murmured.

"Not you. You keep doing what you're do—ooooh," I gasped as the pleasure hit a crescendo. I threw my head back against the headrest of the seat as I came.

As I gasped in pleasure, I turned and saw the figure standing right outside the door.

"Fuck!"

Instinctively, I pulled my gun out of my holster, even as a bewildered Jessie looked up from my lap. I couldn't make the guy out clearly, but he didn't look like a homeless guy. Through the fogged glass I caught a glimpse of silver-gray hair, mussed but not unkempt. The intruder was focused intently on me, but out of the corner of my eye, another stray bit of movement caught my attention.

It was a second person, farther off, visible under a light close to the building. A woman. Holy shit, it was the brunette knockout in the black cloak again! Had she been following me this whole time? Still, whatever her interest, she was too far away to be a concern at the moment.

Jessie screamed as she saw the guy, her ear-piercing shriek echoing all the louder in the confines of the car. She jerked her head up suddenly, and it smacked against my hand with the gun.

Everything seemed to happen all at once.

There was a deafening sound as the gun went off, followed by the sound of breaking glass.

The world suddenly went dark. I felt cold and alone. I couldn't speak. Couldn't move. A sensation like death.

Jessie was screaming. No, wait. I was screaming. Why was I screaming?

My head felt like it was exploding.

Darkness took me.

I awoke with a start. Or at least, I tried to. My head was pounding, and I could barely open my eyes. I could tell that I was lying on my back, but that was about it. Getting knocked unconscious isn't like in the movies. You get hit hard enough to bounce your brain against the inside of your skull, there's a good chance you have a concussion, maybe even brain damage.

My last girlfriend used to joke that I didn't have enough brain cells to risk losing any like that.

Huh. S'funny I should have thought about her just then.

I brought my hand to my head and groaned as I forced my eyes open. There was a twinkling explosion of color as I did so, and for a second I thought I was seeing stars. My vision focused, and I saw...clothes. Women's clothes? No. Well, yes. Costumes.

Right. That would explain the thumping club music I could hear. That wasn't only my pounding head.

I'd never been backstage at Unmasked, but as I grimaced and looked up at the rack of skimpy and colorful superheroine costumes, I knew that's where I was. Against the other wall was a long countertop of brightly lit makeup tables in front of a huge mirror where the girls got ready to go onstage. I didn't see anybody else around at first, but I was moving so slowly it was hard to be sure.

Damn, those lights at the makeup mirrors were bright. I groaned again as I squinted at the dazzling display.

Wait. Was that Jessie? I could have sworn I heard her just then. Then I detected a whiff of her perfume, and I breathed a sigh of relief.

That was good. I wasn't sure what had gone down, but at least we were here together.

I brought my hand to my head. Weird. It didn't hurt nearly as much as I would have thought. Maybe I didn't have a concussion after all. But...

Was I wearing a wig?

I practically laughed at the idea as I felt a strange pile of hair on my head. Even in my rebellious teen years a few decades earlier, I'd never worn my hair long.

I forced myself up onto my elbow, fighting a wave of disorientation even as I got tangled up in the folds of my trench coat. That was familiar.

What was decidedly unfamiliar was the sensation of a strange weight shifting on my chest. A pair of soft, fleshy counterbalances that gently repositioned themselves in response to my movement.

I looked down to see breasts. Big ones. Coming out of my chest. Long blonde hair cascaded down around them, and I reached down to sweep it out of the way and get an unobscured view. The tits were impressive. They did not belong on me. Nor did the pretty and lacy pink dress that I was wearing which put them on such a fetching display.

In a split second, my disorientation vanished and was immediately replaced with a tsunami of adrenaline and a feeling of raw, unqualified panic.

I grabbed at my clothes and pawed at my changed body, trying to put the lie to what my senses were screaming at me. But my lithe little hands with the pretty manicured nails only reinforced what I refused to believe.

I jumped up to my feet and rushed over to the bank of mirrors. I knew what I was going to find, but I had to see.

As I did, I wriggled out of my trench coat, which was practically falling off of me, anyway. Like a little girl dressed up in her daddy's clothes.

I flung myself desperately against the counter to find Jessie staring wide-eyed back at me. Her prettily made up green eyes were as wide as saucers, and her mouth was open in total shock. Her eyebrows were so high they were practically hidden beneath the wisps of her girlish blonde bangs. My eyes followed the fall of her twin pigtails downwards to where they bracketed an impressive cleft of cleavage that was bordered by the lacy pink fringe of the distinctly juvenile dress she wore.

Or rather, I now wore.

"What the fuck?" I gasped, surprised by the high-pitched vocalization.

My hand flew up to my face, again surprised by the touch of the baby soft skin. I ran my hand up my forehead and into my blonde bangs. It was bad enough that I was a woman—I was Jessie!—without having to look like a "daddy's little girl" fuck doll.

I felt lightheaded, like I was going to faint, and I plopped myself down in the makeup chair. It felt unusually padded, and my mind flashed back to the sight of Jessie's beautifully rounded ass in some tight jeans she'd worn the night I'd first met her. I tried not to think about it. I looked around in a panic. Jesus, I was tiny. Everything seemed huge. I hadn't been this short since before I hit puberty.

Jessie's name was written in a feminine script on a card that was taped to the mirror in front of me, and I suddenly realized that I was sitting at her makeup station. The drawer in front of me was slightly ajar, and I pulled it open. In amongst all the makeup and hair products was a pink purse that I recognized as Jessie's.

Numbly, I pulled it out and opened it. It wasn't very large, but it felt strangely natural in my hands. There wasn't much inside. A wallet. A pink cell phone. A key ring with a few keys and a rabbit's foot. A lipstick. Half a container of Tic-Tacs.

A tampon.

My hand leaped to my mouth as I stared at it and the implication for my current situation sunk in. Though I noticed that my hair was kind of a mess, so I picked up a brush and brushed out my pigtails a little. Then I picked up the lipstick and unscrewed the top, pulling out the wand. I looked at my reflection and leaned forward, moving the wand to my lips to—

To—

What the hell was I doing? Not exactly my number one concern at the moment!

I put the lipstick back on the table. Though as my eyes rested on the Tic-Tacs, I became aware of an odd, stale taste in my mouth.

That's when I remembered the last thing that had been in this mouth.

Just in time, I spotted a plastic trash can, and I bent over and retched into it, trying not to get puke in my long hair that spilled down around my face. I wiped my mouth and grabbed the Tic-Tacs and emptied the container into my mouth.

I plopped myself back down in the chair, still staring at my reflection in horrified disbelief. It was so strange seeing Jessie like that. I wanted to reach out and comfort her.

Jessie. Right. Where's Jessie?

Dammit, Chase, you're smarter than this. Pull yourself together!

Fleetingly, the thought occurred to me that maybe I wasn't smarter than this. Jessie was cute as a bug, but she wasn't very bright. Was I using her brain right now? I sure as hell wasn't using my own!

Focus, dammit!

Right. Work the problem.

It didn't take much imagination to figure that the stranger outside the car had done this to me. To us. Some guy with powers. A metahuman. Somehow, he'd put me in Jessie's body. So, it stood to reason that she was in mine. Or...did it? My head was clearing, but it didn't hurt enough to be a concussion. It followed that my unconsciousness and lingering disorientation must have been because of his powers. Had he swapped bodies with me? But if he had, then why was I in Jessie's body?

I peered nervously around the backstage dressing area. Where were the other girls? Also, how had I gotten back here? I turned to look back at the cot in the corner that I'd woken up on, with my trench coat in a pile on the floor next to it. Right. I'd loaned that to Jessie when we went out to my car. Had she brought me here, maybe in my own body?

"Jessie! What the hell is going on?"

It was a woman who spoke. Tia. The bartender. She was practically in a panic. She hurried over and as I stood up to face her, it threw me to see that I was shorter than her.

"Jessie, tell me you didn't have anything to do with this," she said, holding me by the hands.

"I don't...what?" I said, realizing that in my confusion, I probably sounded as vacant and clueless as the real Jessie. "Tia, what happened? How'd I get back here?"

At the moment, I wasn't convinced those were the most pressing questions I needed to ask, but I also wasn't keen on blurting out a story about being a middle-aged man trapped in Jessie's body. Even in a place like Faraday City where weirdness was the order of the day, they'll still throw you in the loony bin for talk like that.

"Jessie, you... Listen, you're in a lot of trouble."

"Hell, yeah, I am," I squeaked in Jessie's voice.

As Tia spoke, her eyes flashed over my shoulder, and I turned to see the heavy metal door with the bright red EXIT sign right above. The door to the parking lot.

I started to move towards it, and Tia grabbed me by the wrist. I tugged at her grip ineffectually, suddenly keenly aware that she was a good deal stronger than I was.

"Are you nuts?" Tia hissed. "You can't go out that way!"

"Why not?"

"Where the fuck is she?"

This time it was a man who spoke, and I did a double-take when I saw that it was Marcks. His carefully cultivated ice-cool exterior was gone, replaced by a singular, laser-focused rage.

And he was looking directly at me.

Tia tried to intervene. "She doesn't know anything! She—"

Marcks shoved effortlessly past her, and I trembled in fear as he stalked angrily up to me. He was huge. Even in my own body he was intimidating, but now he was more than a head taller than me, and a wall of muscle under that expensive suit of his. I had no idea what was going on, but I knew I'd have to sweet talk my way out of this somehow.

"I'm sorry, Des. I don't—"

The next thing I knew, I was on the ground. I didn't even see his hand move as it lanced out and struck me across the face, which now stung from the blow. He'd pulled his punch, so it wasn't hard enough to do any real damage—Marcks was smart enough not to damage the goods—but the slap definitely made an impression.

He reached down with his huge meaty hand and grabbed my skinny bicep and effortlessly hauled me to my feet as Tia reached over to steady me. Marcks once again affected his typical frosty cool demeanor, but there was a dangerous fire in his eyes. When he spoke, he carefully enunciated his words like he was talking to a misbehaving child.

"Bitch, I don't recall you and I being on a first-name basis," he bit out. "Now, tell me what the fuck happened?"

"I..." My head was swimming. I tried to think of some lie that might appease him, but all I could think about was that I was standing in front of this huge and heavily muscled man, and I was a woman half his size with my boobs practically hanging out of this babyish little girl dress. The whole situation was insane. "I-I don't know. I don't remember."

As the words passed my painted lips, it occurred to me that my reply, while honest, may not have been my best move. On the plus side, between my fear and bewilderment, I was probably doing a bang-on impersonation of the real Jessie.

"You don't remember," Marcks echoed coolly. "Well, see, that's funny. Because now I've got a dead guy in my parking lot, and half the force of the FCPD is crawling over his body like ants on a frosted cupcake. Here I would have imagined that something like that would have proved more memorable."

My breath caught in my throat. A dead guy? My mind raced as I ran through the grim calculus of that statement. My first thought was that it might be Jessie, now dead in my body. In which case, I was stuck forever in her body, her life. I glanced around at the changing room and caught sight of my ridiculous reflection. Suddenly, I had a lot more sympathy for her situation, using her body to get ahead.

Or was it the body swapper who'd died? That wasn't much better. At least it meant that Jessie might still be alive, but it didn't do much to improve my current situation.

I hoped that there were other permutations that were more favorable, but Marcks was waiting for an answer. Not that I had one to give him.

"I'm sorry...sir. I don't know anything about that," I said, giving my shoulders a nervous wriggle as I cringed slightly. It wasn't entirely an act. I'd been in plenty of fights in my time, but in this diminutive body, if Marcks wanted to hit me again, there was precious little I could do to stop him.

Marcks didn't seem even remotely satisfied with my response, but as he was about to say something, a few of the girls entered the room from over by the stage entrance, looking uncertain.

The girl dressed as Plutonium Blonde found her voice first. "What do you want us to do, boss?" she asked.

Marcks made a low grumble and glared at me for an interminably long moment. "Get your ass out there on stage," he said to me.

I stared at him in wide-eyed shock. "M-me?" I stammered.

My mind flashed back to when Jessie had performed her number, twirling on the dance pole and playfully shaking her boobs for the randy guys in the crowd. Even if I had the first idea how to do those moves—which I didn't—the thought of those guys leering at my practically naked body made me sick to my stomach. Then I flashed to how the Plutonium Blonde dancer had exited with a guy after she'd finished her set to adjourn to one of the private rooms. God, if Marcks had any other "special clients" for me to "entertain" afterwards...

My brain tumbled into total meltdown at the concept. Suddenly, my realization that there wasn't much I could do to stop a man took on a much more visceral and terrifying prospect.

"Boss, there's no customers out there," one of the other girls complained. "Most of 'em hightailed it outta here when the cops showed up."

Marcks looked like he might blow a gasket as he struggled to maintain his cool exterior. "Fine," he growled. "Anybody who wants to leave can leave. But I'm keeping your house fees, so don't expect to get paid," he said as he stalked past them and out into the club.

The girls weren't happy with his pronouncement, but they had the good sense to keep their opinions to themselves, at least until Marcks was out of earshot. They all gave me suspicious looks, clearly figuring that I was somehow to blame for all this.

I saw that Tia was already talking to them, trying to smooth over some ruffled feathers, and I saw my opportunity. As I turned, I froze when I caught sight of my reflection again. I had no idea how the real Dollface was able to walk around in public in this ridiculous getup, but I wasn't looking forward to finding out. While Tia was distracted, I quickly dumped everything back into Jessie's purse, and then bent down to grab my trench coat. Tia turned and looked like she was going to call after me, but it was too late. I was already out the exit door.

I emerged from the club into a brilliant display of flashing red and blue lights. It made me feel a little more optimistic. After all, if it had been my body that'd been killed, I seriously doubted they'd have gone to this much trouble.

The exit door was technically inside the police perimeter, so I tried to stay quiet and inconspicuous. But I was quickly reminded of the impossibility of that task as I heard an appreciative hoot come from out of the group of pedestrians who'd gathered over by the sidewalk to gawk. A couple guys started beckoning me to come over. One of them made a lewd gesture that left no doubt as to their intentions if I took them up on their invitation.

I grumbled and slipped on my trench coat, feeling like a little girl playing dress-up in her daddy's coat. Jessie was no tiny petite flower, and my male body was no hulking Adonis, but it was hardly a good fit. I yanked the coat closed over my chest in a way that gave "double breasted" a decidedly new meaning, and petulantly folded my arms, wincing as I felt my big soft breasts compressed by the move. At least they were out of sight.

I discreetly edged closer to where my car had been parked, not even sure if "discreet" was possible in this body. There were people all over, and I moved slowly and confidently, figuring that if I looked like I was skulking, it'd only draw attention to the fact that I wasn't supposed to be there. However, my heavy makeup and blonde baby doll haircut with the pigtails sure as hell didn't fit with this crowd either. It ground on me that the only place I would look at home was back inside the strip club, dancing up on stage for the guys. I popped up the collar on my coat as casually as I could manage.

Off to one side, I saw some EMTs loading a body bag into the back of an ambulance. It was already zippered shut, and I couldn't see anything more. Even in this body, I didn't imagine I could sweet talk them into giving me a peek.

God dammit, Jessie, what the hell did we get ourselves into? I hoped she was okay.

The cops' attention seemed to be over by my car. Or rather, where my car used to be.

It was gone.

That...might have been good news. I couldn't see the crime scene clearly from where I stood, but it looked like the victim's body had been marked beside where the car had been parked. So, the homeless guy, maybe.

Everything was a blur, but I remembered the sound of the gun going off. Maybe the guy got shot and killed? He didn't seem to be in all that great shape as he shambled over to the car to begin with. Though it begged the question: whose mind had been at the controls when he went down?

Or an even better question: where the hell was my body, and who was at the controls?

If Jessie was alive, probably the best-case scenario was that she panicked and bolted in my car after this all happened. If she was in the body swapper's body, there was at least hope that maybe she could use his powers to switch us back. I wouldn't be me anymore, but at least I'd be a man again. On the other hand, if she'd taken off in my body, that meant that the swapper was dead, and she and I were stuck forever in each other's bodies.

The other possibility was that Jessie wasn't alive... I didn't want to think about that.

I jammed my hands in the pockets of my trench coat and felt something familiar. My fingers wrapped around the cold metal item and I pulled it out and looked at it.

The fucking lighter. Because of course. Even by Faraday City standards, this had been the ultimate mugging. In one fell swoop I hadn't simply lost my wallet, my keys, and my car, I'd somehow lost my body, my sex, and my entire identity. But despite all of that, I'd somehow managed to beat the odds and escape with a threadbare trench coat and this motherfucking lighter.

Tink. Clack.

I jammed the item back into my pocket and brushed my hand against my purse. Right, because I carried a purse now.

I pulled Jessie's phone out of the purse and checked the time. A little after 11:00. That wasn't good. I hadn't exactly been watching the clock when Jessie and I had gone out to my car, but it had been sometime after 9:00, which means I had two hours unaccounted for. That was a hell of a head start, and a lot could happen in two hours. Especially when someone who wasn't me was running around in my body all that time.

"What are you doing here?" a man's voice demanded from right behind me.

I was still fumbling for a plausible lie when I was grabbed from behind and bodily yanked over behind an emergency vehicle, out of sight of anybody who might be standing around. The guy spun me around—God, how weak was I?—and before I even got a good look at him, he pulled me close and into a passionate kiss.

I'd love to say that I struggled, but if I'm being honest, it was more like "squirmed." Getting kissed by a guy wasn't exactly on my bucket list of dream experiences, but the longer it went on, the more... I felt...

Well, I squirmed a little less. Amid the scent of rain and pavement, the smell of his aftershave stood out, a rich and earthy aroma that blended with the more flowery aroma of my own perfume. It was...confusing. I gasped a little as an altogether not-unpleasant sensation toured through some erogenous zones I wasn't even supposed to have.

He broke the kiss, and I tried to pull myself together. What the hell was wrong with me? Was this Jessie's body just taking over? I can't say I cared for that idea!

"Keyes?" I said breathlessly, staring at him in bewilderment. The last time the detective and I had crossed paths, we'd very nearly come to blows. Though now he was looking at me with genuine concern. He was dressed in civilian clothes, with a dark jacket and slacks. He was a relatively young guy, strong and muscular, with light brown hair and boyish features. He had dark discerning eyes and a strong jaw, but that baby face wasn't doing him any favors. If I were him, I'd have tried to grow some facial hair. Not that I was in any position to critique anybody's masculinity at the moment.

Though I had to admit, the look kind of suited him. I felt my cheeks flush at the way he was looking at me.

Dammit, focus!

"Jessie, thank God you're safe. Tell me you didn't have anything to do with this."

The fact that people kept asking me that question was making me start to wonder exactly how well I actually knew the real Jessie.

"What happened?" I asked as innocently as I could manage. "I heard somebody was killed. Was it...Chase?" I wasn't actually sure I wanted the answer to that question, but at the very least, I needed to know what had happened to Jessie.

He put his big, meaty hands on my shoulders. I guessed it was supposed to be a comforting move, but the intrusion startled me so much that I strained to maintain my innocent look of concern. Plus, looking at him like that gave me another flutter I wasn't at all comfortable with. I glanced downwards, and to cover my tell, I ran my slender feminine fingers down his chest. I noticed that his jacket was missing one of its shiny gold buttons, and I fussed at the spot with my fingers as though prettily concerned.

He wasn't buying it. Keyes' eyes drifted over my trench coat, and I could see him piecing things together.

"Jessie, I told you to stay away from him. Chase is dangerous. He can't be trusted. He's a killer."

"That's not—!" I started to object. Then, I added, "You don't know him like I do."

Keyes gave me a pitiable look. I can't say I blamed him. I sounded like a high school cheerleader defending her "bad boy" boyfriend to her parents. Still, I bristled at his accusation. And Keyes was no Boy Scout, either. I was fairly certain that he was on Marcks' payroll. However, depending on who you asked, while he was on the job as a cop, he was either a paragon of virtue or just a sanctimonious prick. He and I had butted heads plenty over the Procyon thing. And before that, on the Capshaw murder case. My last case before I—

It didn't matter.

What did matter was that he'd referred to me in the present tense. "Chase is dangerous," not "Chase was dangerous." Meaning that my body was still alive. Somewhere.

"Who died?" I asked. "Some homeless guy?"

Keyes scoffed. "They don't roll out a parade like this unless there's some juice. It was some reclusive rich guy."

That caught my attention. "Who?" I pressed.

"Beaumont. Carson Beaumont. His mansion went up in flames this afternoon. Too soon to know for sure, but they figure it was arson. Then all of a sudden, he shows up dead here."

"You think Chase shot him?"

Keyes looked at me strangely. "He wasn't shot. They say he had massive internal wounds, almost like he was pushed off a building. But they found broken glass by the body, like from the driver's side window."

Keyes put his hands firmly on my shoulders again, but this time it wasn't to comfort me. "Jessie, what do you know about this? Do you know where Chase is?"

I affected the best "little lost lamb" expression I could muster and shook my head. "Key—I mean, uh, baby—I swear, I just got here."

He gave me a discerning look, not unlike the one I'd gotten from Marcks. Then he moved to a very intimate distance and lowered his voice.

"Listen, honey. I've got...something. Something big. The less you know, the better, but I think it's our ticket out of here. You and me, on easy street, yeah? No more working for Marcks. And you wouldn't have to dance naked for all those guys anymore."

Normally, the half-baked dreams of a cop on the take wouldn't hold much interest for me. Although right at that moment, I had bigger concerns, like getting my manhood back. However, on the chance that fell through and I was stuck in Jessie's body, I had to admit that a future that didn't involve me dancing for horny guys who stuck dollar bills in my g-string sounded pretty good. I wasn't in any hurry to shack up with Keyes and play house together, but I wasn't in a position to slam any doors shut, either.

"That sounds really good, baby," I said, forcing myself to beam prettily as I met his gaze. I wasn't eager to repeat this experience, but I read the moment and draped my arms lovingly around his neck as he pulled me into another kiss.

As we pulled away, he gave me a half-smile. "You're trembling. You sure you're okay?"

"Mmm hmm," I said, blushing.

"Okay, you need to get out of here," he said, escorting me back in the direction of the club. "We can't be seen together right now. I'll call you later. Do you have someplace you can go?"

"Yeah," I lied, in fact having no idea at all. I needed to find my body, wherever it was. I sure as hell wasn't going back inside the club.

Just then, I glanced over towards the crowd that was gathered over by the sidewalk, and off to one side, I saw a familiar face. I couldn't make her out clearly, but a knockout like that you don't soon forget. And she was looking directly at me.

"It's you," I whispered to myself. The brunette in the cloak who'd been following me. She was also there when the body swapper—that Carson Beaumont guy—showed up in the parking lot. That could be a coincidence. Not that I believed in coincidence. At the very least, she'd seen what went down.

"What's that?" Keyes asked.

"Nothing," I said. I did a double-take to look for the woman, but she was gone, vanished into the crowd. I rushed off after her. Keyes called something after me, but I didn't care.

As I hurried over to where I'd seen the brunette, I grit my teeth as I tried to ignore the extremely distracting jiggle of my new body parts. Unfortunately for me, I wasn't the only one to notice.

"Heyyy, baby! Check out the talent!"

"You s'posed to be a bad girl, peaches? 'Cause I'll put you over my knee if you ask nice!"

For the first time since I woke up in this body, I actually didn't mind being a woman, because those morons were embarrassing their entire gender. Did this shit really work on girls?

My minor exasperation at their antics turned into full-blown annoyance as I ducked under the police barrier tape to emerge onto the sidewalk, only for those assholes to take it as an open invitation.

"Hey, hey! What's your hurry, gorgeous? Let's see the goods!"

As his friend blocked my path, the guy reached over and pulled my trench coat the rest of the way open to reveal my sexy little pink dress. He brushed against my boobs as he did so. For a second I was almost inclined to write it off as incidental contact, but that swiftly evaporated when his intrusion turned into a proper grope and squeeze.

"Fuck off!" I swore, pulling away as I swatted at his hand. But if anything, the kitten play only served to entice him further.

Meanwhile, the brunette had completely disappeared. I craned my neck to look up and down the sidewalk as I tried to avoid the guys' grabby hands.

"God dammit!" I swore, much to the guys' amusement. I was getting seriously pissed off, and their teasing smirks were only infuriating me more.

The worst part was, we weren't alone. There were at least another eight or ten people standing not too far away from us who'd been gawking at the police scene. At first, I was shocked that none of them stepped in to help, but as I made eye contact with them, all of them—men and women alike—looked away, ignoring my plight. It took me a minute to realize that these fine upstanding citizens thought they saw a hooker in a dispute with a couple of her johns and didn't want to get involved.

I glanced over at the police who were still gathered in the nearby parking lot. They hadn't seen me—or maybe a hooker getting hassled by a couple of drunks just wasn't worth their time—but I figured if I screamed rape or something, they might get off their donut-eating asses. Still, so far, apart from some humiliating grab-ass and cat calling, these guys hadn't actually put me in any real danger. It annoyed me to have to call for help for this bullshit. I balled up my little tangerine-sized fists and wondered if I slugged them, if that'd finally put them off, or if it would only escalate things to something more dangerous.

A double-honk of a car horn right beside us caught our collective attention, and the guys and I stopped to look. I was secretly hoping for a cop car, but then I realized that given how I was dressed, I had a real chance of getting picked up for prostitution. If that happened, my evening would not improve.

It turned out not to be a cop car, but what it was surprised me even more. It was a brand new black Lexus with tinted windows, and as the passenger-side window lowered, I could see that the driver was the mystery brunette I'd been looking for.

She leaned down and gave me a girlish wave, wiggling her fingers. "Hey, lover! You ready to go?" she called in a teasing lilt.

The interruption was enough to catch my harassers off their guard, and I wasn't about to miss my window of opportunity. I angrily shoved against the guy in front of me with both hands. Even putting my back into it, he only moved back a few inches, but it was enough for me to squeeze by as I stalked over to the car.

"Lesbo bitch," one of the guys called after me with a sneer as they moved off in search of better prey.

I stopped at the edge of the curb and leaned down against the car to peer inside the open window. My savior regarded me with the barest hint of a smile, a coy look of seductive indifference. Her black cloak was pulled back, revealing her face and hair, and a lot more of the slinky black dress she was wearing.

It suddenly occurred to me that she had no reason to know who I really was. It was probable that she thought she was meeting up with Jessie. I'd have to play along, at least at first. I wasn't sure why she'd been following me, but she'd been there when the body swapper attacked, which meant she might have some answers for me.

"Hi," I chirped in what I hoped was an approximation of Jessie's guileless tone.

She gave me a knowing smirk. "It really isn't your night, is it, Mr. Chase?"

My jaw dropped. "Who the hell are you?"

"Get in the car."

I gasped. "You're...him, aren't you? Carson Beaumont. The guy who did this to me."

"Hardly," she retorted, her smoky voice dripping with disdain. "Just get in the car."

"Look, beautiful, I haven't been a woman very long, but I know better than to get into a car with a total stranger."

"All right," she said with a small sigh of exasperation. Then she reached into the purse in her lap and pulled out a gun and aimed it directly at me. "I'm afraid I'll have to insist."

I froze.

She brandished the little silver gun that was pointed directly at me. "Yes, I know. It's only a .32 caliber, but I needed something that would fit in my purse. Still, it's more than enough to make a terrible mess out of that adorable frock you're wearing. However, we don't have a lot of time. So—if you please—get in the car."

When she spoke, it was a low and controlled voice. Sexy and self-assured, but also pretty clearly a woman who wasn't used to giving orders. I could practically hear the question mark in her statement as her voice went up at the end.

Slowly and deliberately, I opened the door and slid into the passenger seat. As I closed the door behind me, our eyes still riveted on each other, she reached over with her other hand and pressed the control to close the windows to ensure our privacy.

"Who the hell are you, lady?" I said.

"I'm the one holding the gun. Are you working for him? I would advise you to be truthful."

"Working for who? Beaumont? I never even laid eyes on the fella before tonight."

"I mean Xenos."

"What the hell is that, some kind of anti-anxiety medication? I could sure as hell use some."

She clearly wasn't amused. "Mr. Chase, as you sagely pointed out, you haven't been a woman for very long. But allow me to assure you that impertinent sass coming out of that pretty little mouth is not your best move right now."

"Why were you following me? How are you mixed up in this?" I demanded.

"I already told you. Before he died, my husband worked for Xenos. I wanted to find out why he was going to meet with you. I followed you because I didn't believe your answer. I believe you even less now. But no more dodging the question. Are you working for him?"

"I don't even know what's going on! You were there, you saw what happened. Jessie and I were—together—and that guy, what's his name, Beaumont—"

"Xenos."

"Fine. He shows up at the window, and the next thing I know, I wake up in Jessie's body. That Xenos guy is dead, and my body is gone with my car. So, honey, if you're gonna shoot, you may as well pull the trigger, 'cause I don't have anything more to give you."

She seemed to consider that as she looked me squarely in the eyes, sizing me up. It was the third time tonight that someone had done that to me—first Marcks, then Keyes, and now this crazy dame—but for the first time, I felt seen. Like she was looking past what was on the surface and seeing the real me buried far underneath.

"I believe you," she said finally. She lowered the gun, but it was still in her hand. "Though you're wrong about one thing. Xenos isn't dead."

"The paramedics would disagree with you."

"Xenos is a body swapper. An ancient one. Beaumont was merely his latest host, and had been for over twenty years now. Xenos calls them his 'mounts,' which should give you an idea how much consideration he gives his victims."

I nodded slowly. In any other city on Earth, this would be science fiction, but this insanity was just another day in Faraday City. Not that knowing that made me feel any better.

"Yeah. When he came up to the car, he tried to swap with me. I think."

"He was injured. Badly. I spotted him after I followed you to the club, but he found you before I could intervene."

I looked down at my breasts tenting out the front of my dress. "I don't get it. If he swapped bodies with me, shouldn't I be in Beaumont's body? How come I ended up in Jessie?"

For the first time since I laid eyes on her, she looked genuinely uncertain. "I don't know."

We sat quietly for a long moment. There was a question I wanted to ask and desperately didn't want to ask. Finally, I forced it out.

"Is Jessie alive?"

She gave me a level glance and sighed heavily. "People who get...swapped...they freak out. They're panicky, walking around in unfamiliar flesh. From a block away, I could tell that you weren't who you were supposed to be. But Xenos? He wears bodies like we wear clothes. He's cool. Dispassionate." She paused a moment to let that sink in. "I don't know exactly how it went down, but I could tell it was Xenos who drove away in your body."

I took a shaky breath. "Which means—"

She put the gun back into her purse. "Do the math, Mr. Chase. Three bodies went in, and only two came out. I'm sorry. Jessie is dead."

A numbness washed over me as I processed that statement. I figured as much, I just didn't want to accept it. I looked down at myself, at Jessie's body. It was all that was left of her. My body was still out there, so at least I had some hope of getting it back, but it was cold comfort.

The woman put her hands on the steering wheel and shifted the car into gear.

"Wait. Who are you?" I asked.

She glanced over at me and her painted lips twisted into a mirthless grin. "Haven't you figured it out? I'm just like you. Or rather, I'm what you're going to be in about ten years. My name is Victoria. Victoria Dunne."

As we drove, Victoria told me her story, or at least enough of it to make me suspect there was more going on than she was telling.

Ten years ago, she'd apparently been a male private eye by the name of Vic DeLuca, and she'd managed to deduce Xenos's existence. She'd confronted him, which proved to be a mistake, since she soon found herself occupying the body of the beautiful brunette woman I saw sitting in front of me. Xenos apparently then made a "hobby" out of her, tormenting her over the span of years. His first move was to see Victoria married off to a controlling husband who was an associate of Xenos. She became a "kept woman" for the much older Mr. Dunne, forced to be the man's dutiful wife.

She was no dummy, though. I saw that she'd returned the gun to her purse, obviously as a demonstration of tentative trust, but she'd also kept her purse in her lap, well out of my reach. We were both very pointedly trying not to look at it, which only made it all the more obvious.

One odd thing that caught my eye was an elaborate silver and black pin that was attached to the strap of her purse. It wasn't very large, but it was a gaudy little thing that prominently featured an image of the moon in the center surrounded by stars, with intricate filigree around the outside edge. I wasn't sure what the story there was, but I could tell just by looking that it was not her style, which was otherwise more elegant and understated.

"I don't get it. Why didn't you leave?" I asked.

She glanced over to look at me, giving an unconscious toss of her hair as she did so. "And do what? Go where? I was gonna go pick up my P.I. business looking like this? Or maybe I'd get a nice office job as some guy's secretary. Then what? Find a guy, settle down, have kids? Besides, there was no way that Xenos was going to let me run around free with the knowledge of his existence. There's no place on Earth I could run where he wouldn't find me."

As she spoke, I found it hard to accept her story. Not because it was so unbelievable—I was living proof of that—but because she was so...feminine. She was a real stunner with those dark eyes, midnight black hair, and flawless makeup, with her dark red lipstick a sharp contrast against her perfect pale skin. Even the way she moved. She wasn't just a woman, she was like a Photoshopped magazine cover model of unattainable femininity.

Next to her, I felt like a sorority bimbo in a dumb Halloween costume. A clumsy and obvious play at skanky sexuality. Victoria wasn't just sexy, she was sex.

"Ten years is a long time," she sighed, obviously anticipating my next question. "And Xenos has been countless people, both men and women, over the centuries. Though I got the distinct impression he much prefers being a man. I think it amused him to have my husband force me to perfect my feminine 'performance' over the years. My husband really got off on it. The sad thing is, I actually kinda understood the attraction. I, ah, didn't have much respect for women back when I was a man," she admitted.

"You know a lot about this Xenos," I said.

"Only what little he told me, not that I trust any of it. Sometimes I could get him to talk about himself when he came to 'check in' on me, but I could never tell the truth from the lies."

"What do you know?" I pressed. I needed to know more. To know that Jessie's death hadn't been in vain.

Victoria gave a minute shrug. "I know he's old. Very old. Centuries, most likely. He calls himself Xenos, but in Greek, that means 'stranger,' so I've no idea if that's his name or a title he adopted."

She got quiet for a long moment, and as we drove, I saw that the pavement was still wet, and there were puddles that reflected the lights of the city. But at least the rain had stopped. I almost laughed. My entire fucking life had turned upside down due to the whim of an ageless madman who was swapping people's bodies around at his pleasure, but still the planet kept on spinning as though nothing happened.

"I'll tell you this for a fact," Victoria said finally. "He's dangerous."

"Dangerous, as in ruthless?" I asked.

"Any idiot with a gun can be ruthless. What makes him dangerous is that he's careful. Methodical. Cunning. I don't think that asshole gets out of bed without a five-year plan."

"You told me he'd been Beaumont for twenty years. But he caught you ten years ago. So, you figured out he was Beaumont?"

"I figured out Beaumont was something. And I figured out that Xenos existed. It was enough to connect the dots."

A terrible sinking feeling settled in the pit of my stomach. Suddenly, I had a pretty good idea why Xenos had singled me out. Victoria said that her husband had been working for Xenos, and that he'd planned to meet with me. At the time, I didn't know what she was talking about, but that was before my "mysterious client" suddenly decided to close his account and wanted the dossiers I'd put together. If Victoria's husband was the guy who was going to pick up the files, that meant that either he was my mysterious client, or Xenos was. If that was true, I could have been unknowingly working for the very guy who landed me in Jessie's body! Though I didn't know what interest he might have in my files.

I figured Victoria might have some insight, but I wasn't in a hurry to share my theories with a woman I barely knew.

As though reading my thoughts, Victoria glanced over at me again.

"The thing I don't get is you. Xenos lives twenty years in relative quiet as Beaumont. Then, out of nowhere, he tries to grab you, and suddenly everything goes tits-up. If you'll pardon the expression."

"Yeah, that's...weird," I said, a little too hurriedly. Jessie's high-pitched voice made it sound even more suspicious. I tried to cover it by adding, "You said he was badly injured. The cop said he died of internal injuries. Maybe he was dying, and my body was just a convenient port in the storm."

"Maybe," Victoria echoed. She didn't sound convinced.

"Where are we going?" I asked, eager to change the subject. We were practically on the other side of the city. Things in this part of town were much more ritzy and posh. Definitely not my usual stomping grounds.

"We're already here," she responded as she turned into a parking lot. Given the lateness of the hour and the number of cars still there, I figured it for another night club. But not one I was immediately familiar with.

As she parked the car, she stopped for a moment and gave me an appraising once over. She had a funny look on her face.

"What?" I said self-consciously.

She thought it over and then shook her head. "It's probably nothing." She unclasped her cloak and slipped it off over her shoulders before retrieving her purse. Then she made a move to open her door, but I stopped her.

"Hold it. You still haven't told me what's going on. What is this place?"

"It's a club. Don't worry about it."

I grabbed her by the arm. "Nice try, toots. You didn't drive us all the way out here to take in the local color. What's the deal?"

"The 'deal' is that there's a very good chance that Xenos is either here, or he's going to be."

"Holy shit! And you didn't think that was information worth sharing?!"

"I didn't think it would matter."

"How can it not matter?" I objected. "Don't you think we need a game plan for how we're gonna force him to change us back? He's not going to do it if we ask him pretty please!"

Victoria peered at me incredulously. "Mr. Chase, what in heaven's name are you talking about? I'm not here to try to convince him of anything. I'm here to kill him."

With that, she slipped smoothly out of the car and sashayed sexily towards the club.

I jumped out of the car and hurried after Victoria as I fumbled to pull my trench coat closed over my ridiculous dress. I finally caught up to her on the front sidewalk, and I grabbed her by the wrist and spun her around to look her in the face. For the first time, I realized I was a couple inches taller than her. After walking around in a land of giants, it was kind of a novel sensation. She was petite, but her curves filled out her dress almost as well as my own did. I couldn't even imagine what it would be like to be a man trapped in that body for ten years. Although given my current situation, there was a decent chance I might find out for myself.

I did a double-take as I saw a fairly substantial line of people not too far away. I wasn't sure what time it was—it had to be going on midnight—but if this was the line to get in, this place was definitely for the nighttime crowd.

"Popular place," I said, glancing at the crowd. I wasn't about to let Victoria wiggle in there and put a bullet in my body, but I also wasn't too keen on throwing down out here and getting into a catfight with her with all these people around. So far, nobody seemed to be paying us much mind apart from a couple guys who gave us a leering up-and-down assessment.

"I would say 'exclusive,'" Victoria corrected.

I looked down and saw that she was holding her purse in one hand, but her other hand was inside the bag. No doubt holding the gun. It wasn't pointed at me, but the threat was clear.

"You're gonna shoot me in front of all these people?"

"I'd prefer not to. Even so, I very much doubt the police will waste much time on a case where a wealthy socialite from out of town defended herself from an unbalanced hooker. One whom I'm quite certain has been seen by several people behaving erratically all evening."

I set my jaw and glared at her. As a man, that look was one of my better quiet intimidation moves. As it was, I probably looked like a petulant little girl pouting because she didn't get a second scoop of ice cream.

She turned and started to walk towards the entrance to the club as I hurried to keep up with her.

"Can't we at least talk about this?" I hissed.

She didn't even break stride. "You know, Mr. Chase, many people in your situation would consider this a new lease on life." Then she smiled ruefully. "Hm. Now that's funny. Those were the exact same words Xenos said to me when he left me in this body. I suppose we all eventually become what we hate. But if it makes you feel any better, I'm going to avenge your friend Jessie. Take some consolation in that."

"I can help you. There's no need for this!"

"Perhaps. Regrettably, Mr. Chase, I've run out of time."

We arrived at the front of the line, having walked past all the people who were waiting to be let in. I hadn't been looking at them very closely, but even to a casual inspection, they were an unusual bunch. Most of the guys were in suits and many of them were wearing fedoras and other hats. The women, meanwhile, looked like they were dressed for either a burlesque show or a 1940s revival in their elaborate and dated gowns, carefully coiffed hairdos, and stark makeup.

Oddly for a club, there was no obvious signage. Even the windows appeared to be facades as there was no view inside, and there was barely enough outside lighting to not run afoul of city ordinances. In fact, the only indication of the place's existence was a lighted art deco style sign situated immediately next to the door that identified the place as "Club Nocturne," a cabaret and nightclub.

The bouncer at the front of the line took notice of our approach. He looked like a muscular gorilla packed tightly into a dark suit, and he'd clearly had plenty of practice giving hopeful people bad news. But as he spotted Victoria, he immediately straightened up and wordlessly stepped to the side to let her in. At first I thought he knew her—even in this crowd, she made an impression—but then I realized that what he'd noticed had been the gaudy silver moon pin on her purse.

I followed Victoria in. Or rather, I tried to, but I found myself blocked by the massive oak tree that was the bouncer's arm.

"I'm with her, you ape," I objected.

The bouncer glanced at Victoria for confirmation. To which Victoria coolly responded, "I've never seen this woman before in my life."

Her dark red lips pressed into a tiny smirk as she entered and the door slid shut behind her. Meanwhile, the bouncer loomed over me and said, "Back of the line, princess."

"But—!"

"Now."

I had half a mind to rat Victoria out for having a gun, but I bit my tongue. If Xenos was indeed in there, she was right about one thing—we didn't have any leverage. That gun was the only thing we had to threaten him with, and even at that, I wasn't optimistic about our chances. If he really was centuries old, it was a fair bet he'd stared down the barrel of a gun many times, and he was still here to tell the tale.

I needed to sort this out, and it was obvious that it was going to take more than a pretty smile and flashing a little leg to win this guy over. So, under the bouncer's watchful gaze, I slunk to the back of the line of people waiting to be let in.

The longer I stood in line, the edgier I got. I half expected to hear gunshots ring out from inside any second, followed by the screams of a panicked crowd. But so far, nothing. Though I'd been keeping a very close eye on the people entering the club. If Xenos was here, hopefully that meant he was still in my body. Because if he wasn't, that meant that some other poor schmuck was running around in my body, and things were going to get complicated in a hurry.

Though Victoria wasn't kidding about the club being exclusive. I watched a few other couples enter the "VIP" line that she'd used, but the line that I was in was moving so slowly that my new feminine body was going to be experiencing menopause by the time I got inside. As near as I could tell, the VIPs all had those silver moon-themed pins...or more accurately, the women did. Sometimes they wore the medallion as pins, or as chokers, or as bracelets, but it seemed like their male companions were the "plus ones" to this show.

While I watched and waited, I wasn't idle. I fished Jessie's phone out of my purse, and fortunately, I didn't have any trouble unlocking it. (Initially, I thought maybe she'd used her birthday as the unlock code, and I started to check her driver's license. Then I got the idea to first try "1234," and it unlocked on the first try. Ugh, that girl.)

My fingers danced over the virtual keyboard as I ran a few quick internet searches. Nothing fancy, but it was enough to verify that Victoria's story seemed to check out. Victoria Dunne was the wife of industrialist Cleveland Dunne, an octogenarian millionaire who lived out west and made his money in oil. I even found a picture of the two of them together at some charity function. The ravishing young Victoria hanging on the old man's arm made her look like a total gold digger, but it gave me a shiver. She'd made it pretty clear that she'd been under Dunne's thumb these last ten years, and heavily implied that sex was part of her marital duties. I cringed at the thought of it.

I also ran a search for Vic DeLuca, which she'd claimed had been her original name. There was very little out there, but I did find mention of a private investigator with that name out in California who'd gone out of business. There were also some posts from an irate customer saying that he'd charged her for a job and then disappeared before it was finished. That was about ten years ago.

Searching for Xenos gave me nothing. I can't say I was surprised. However, the news sites were starting to light up about tonight's death of Carson Beaumont, the reclusive multimillionaire who'd ended up dead outside a Faraday City strip club. No mention of my name in that regard, thank goodness, but it was a good bet the cops were looking for me to ask some pointed questions about that. Or rather, they were looking for Xenos in my body. I could only hope that Xenos didn't ditch it to keep the heat off.

I was running out of time.

My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of some young couple arguing with the bouncer up at the head of the line. I couldn't make out the words, but the outcome was unsurprising, as they got turned away.

"I told you that wasn't going to work!" the guy sniped as the pair angrily stalked past me. "That stupid piece of junk cost two hundred dollars!"

They continued to argue as they walked past, but a twinkling flash caught my eye as the woman dumped something in a trash can on the sidewalk.

Everybody else in line was busy talking or making other plans as it became increasingly apparent they weren't going to get in, so I appeared to be the only one to have noticed the exchange. I quietly stepped out of line and moved over to the trash can and nonchalantly retrieved what the girl had thrown away.

It was one of the moon-themed pins.

I'd gotten a good look at Victoria's pin while we'd been in the car. If this was a copy, it was a hell of a good one. Certainly enough to pass muster by a distracted bouncer. Except that it wasn't. He'd stopped them immediately.

It was possible that there was some tiny detail that the bouncer knew to look for. Still, this was Faraday City, home to superheroes and all manner of technological and mystical mumbo-jumbo. It was entirely possible that there was some kind of high-tech transceiver or mystical spell on the genuine pins that the bouncer was able to perceive. Not that any of that did me any good.

The blaring of a car horn in the street immediately in front of me grabbed my attention. I looked up to see a car swerve to avoid a maroon Bentley that had apparently crossed over the middle line. The Bentley gave a belated honk of annoyance, and then turned into the parking lot of the club, one of the tires carelessly rebounding off the curb as it did so.

I'd been a P.I. long enough to recognize when an opportunity presented itself. And right now, I was desperate enough to take full advantage.

I hurried back over towards the parking lot as rapidly as I could without attracting attention. The Bentley was already crookedly parked and taking up two spots, and I watched as the driver exited the car and took a bad step as he made a drunken stumble out of the vehicle. He was wearing a tuxedo, and he looked to be a young guy, maybe in his late 20s. There was no way a punk like that could afford a car like that on his own, it had to be family money. From what I could tell, there was only one other person still in the car, a woman from the look of it.

"Shit," I muttered as I realized what I had to do.

I quickly removed my trench coat and tossed it onto the hood of one of the other cars as I looked down at myself in my ridiculous pink dress. My cleavage was on impressive display, but with a wince I grabbed at my boobs and hiked them up, even as I tugged down on the bodice to put on a real show. I then quickly made my way over to where the guy was standing.

"C'mon, Amelia! I'm sure you look great," the guy slurred impatiently. The woman snapped back something inaudible, but she seemed to be checking her makeup in the passenger-side mirror.

I made a discreet cough as I approached, and the guy turned in my direction.

"Whoa!" he exclaimed, giving me an appreciative once over. He barely even looked at my face as he said, "Lookin' fine, honey. S'why I like this club. Women don' dress like this no more."

Women never dressed like this, not that I was going to contradict him. "Thanks," I said in a simper as I twirled my finger around one of my pigtails that swept down around my chest. I leaned forward to make sure he got a nice view of the goods as I made a little tsk of disappointment. "It's so boring in there, though. My boyfriend ditched me, and I'm so bored in there all by myself."

Clearly, I wasn't going to win any Oscars for this performance. Not that it seemed to matter.

"Well, thass a shame," the guy slurred as he moved to a very familiar distance. He reeked of liquor, and he was so close that it made me nervous. He was a good deal bigger than I was now, and I definitely wasn't used to being this close to a guy. Especially one who was looking at me the way he was.

I kinda liked it.

I mean, yeah, he was drunk, but he was young and cute. With a strong chin and tousled blond hair. Like a surfer! Ooh, and he had super sexy eyes with this little squint that gave me a shiver.

I gave him an easy smile and lifted my chin. Then I hit him with my best half-lidded come-on glance. "I know, right? And here I got all dressed up, and everything! I just wanted to have fun, but he doesn't appreciate me. I even got a new outfit!"

I leaned closer, y'know, like I was showing off my dress. Then I kinda accidentally-on-purpose brushed my boob against his arm. Guys liked it when I did stuff like that. I snuggled up to him. Wow, I liked the way he was looking at me. He and I might even f—

"Hey, I gotta idea," the guy said as he ran his hand down my arm. "Why don' you an' me—"

"Trey, who the fuck is this?" his date snapped as she got out of the car and shot me a dirty look. She was wearing a slinky black evening gown and glam makeup like the other women I'd seen in line. Real put together. I could tell she'd also been drinking, but she wasn't as drunk as the guy.

The sharp sound of her door slamming shut focused my attention.

Wait. Shit, I'd completely fucked this up. I'd planned to flirt with the guy just enough to tag along with them, but now the girlfriend was on the warpath. I suddenly became aware of how close I was standing to her date, to say nothing of how his hand was surreptitiously stroking the small of my back.

I needed a new plan, and fast.

My every instinct was to step back and de-escalate the situation, but that ship had sailed. So instead, I made a self-satisfied smirk and leaned closer to the guy so that I was practically snuggling against him. I didn't say anything, but I just batted my eyelashes at him prettily.

"She's jus' some girl," Trey said as I gave him an affectionate simpering look. "Her guy ditched her. Maybe she could—"

"Dumbass, she's a hooker," Amelia said as she glared daggers at me. But now that she was close enough, I could see that she was wearing the club's moon-themed pin on her dress above her left breast.

Time to pick a fight.

"Hey, fuck you, Morticia!" I shot back at her, careful not to contradict her insult. Her man didn't seem the chivalrous type, but I didn't want to risk him jumping to my defense. I gave her an angry sneer. "You're no better. You're just a higher class whore."

I stuck my chin out defiantly, practically begging her to pop me one. But while the scowl she gave me could melt stainless steel, she didn't take the bait.

Amelia walked over to Trey's other side and wrapped her arm possessively around his. "Come on, darling, let's go inside. I'm not going to let this street walking gutter trash ruin our evening."

I guess sometimes you have to do things the hard way.

"Bitch!" I shrieked as I launched myself at her with both hands, claws out like an attacking kitten. That was about as much of a threat as I posed. She was a good two inches taller than me, but she'd been drinking, so my unexpected assault caught her off guard as I clawed at her chest and tried to give her a shove back. She raised her arms defensively, but I went in again. Her man, meanwhile, appeared to be in no rush to intervene, and seemed to be enjoying the sight of two girls having a catfight over him.

My hand touched her pin, and I felt as it started to come free. I was so fixated on trying to get it loose without looking like I was trying to get it loose that I didn't notice her hands ball up into fists. Or, for that matter, how she'd brought them up in a boxer's guard position. I certainly didn't notice how she'd shifted her stance into more of a fighting pose.

"OOOOF!" I gasped as her punch to my gut completely knocked the wind out of me. Before I knew it, I was tumbling backwards and landed butt-first on the pavement. My big round ass cushioned some of the physical shock—if not the damage to my ego—and my boobs bounced so hard when I impacted the ground that I worried they might bounce right out of my dress.

My fucking luck I'd pick a fight with a girl who takes Tae Bo classes.

By the time I righted myself, it was all over. Amelia had already taken a moment to collect herself, and I watched helplessly as the two of them started to walk away.

Reflexively, my hand darted out after them as I helplessly reached out, still thinking about the pin attached to her gown. Dammit, two more seconds, and I'd have had it!

That's when I froze.

I could feel the pin in my hand. Or...kind of? There was like a vague sensation in my fingers, like a tickle. A weight.

Holy shit, it was Jessie's Trifling power! Some kind of really low-level telekinesis?

I didn't stop to think about it, I just focused on lifting the pin. Jesus Christ, it was heavy. It felt like I was lifting a bowling ball in my outstretched arm. Even that tiny bit of weight was a strain. Just... a little... more...

Got it!

I watched as the pin floated off to the side, unnoticed by the drunk couple. I strained to hold it off to one side even as I pulled out the fake pin that I'd recovered earlier. The couple was about fifteen feet away by this point, so I tossed it in their direction.

Pinng! went the pin as it landed at the woman's feet. My aim was good, so she looked down and picked it up, obviously assuming that it must have come loose in our scuffle. She shot one last glowering look at me to make sure I wasn't looking to start something again, but since I was sprawled on the ground with a pained look on my face, she just gave me one last derisive sneer before she turned and walked away with her date.

I concentrated and brought the genuine pin to my hand and then hurried over to collect my purse and trench coat.

Not too shabby, Chase.

Still, it was too soon for a victory lap. I followed the couple at a discreet distance, just far enough away to make it clear I wasn't looking to pick another fight. And my timing here needed to be perfect.

I examined the pin that I'd lifted. It looked identical to the fake, although the woman's name was discreetly engraved on the back: Amelia Bettencourt. Luckily for me, Amelia hadn't bothered to check that detail, and I hoped that by the time they figured it out, it wouldn't matter.

I pulled the elastic bands out of my hair to get rid of my ponytails, and I vigorously ran my fingers through my long blonde tresses as we walked onto the sidewalk. Then, as we passed alongside the line of people waiting to get inside, I scanned the crowd until I found my mark.

Ha, perfect. A young guy was standing there talking with a couple of his friends. He was in his early 20s and kind of geeky and scrawny, but he'd committed to the bit and was all dressed up in a zoot suit and fedora. His two friends seemed to be trying to chat up some girls near them in the line, but he was hanging back quietly.

I reached over and plucked his fedora off his head and playfully placed it on my own as he turned to look at me. The shocked look on his face when he saw me was priceless. Even more so were the equally gobsmacked looks of his friends when he saw me pulling him out of line, no doubt wondering what he could possibly have done to warrant such attention from a girl who looked like me.

"C'mon, lover boy, it's your lucky night," I said as I jammed my trench coat into his hands and then wrapped my arms tightly around his bicep. He was too stunned to say anything. His friends howled in disbelief and cat-called after me, trying to get me to choose one of them instead.

My little recruitment hadn't taken long, but it was just long enough for the drunk couple to have started a loud argument with the bouncer as he turned them away. The woman was practically shoving her pin in the guy's face, and the guy was going on about how his father would hear of this.

When the bouncer had ejected me the first time, I'd been all wrapped up in my trench coat with only my face and pigtails showing, so I figured I might catch him unawares by showing up in my sexy pink dress. It wasn't really thematic with everyone else, but it probably passed for the skanky costume of a bimbo who didn't really understand the assignment, so I figured I had a shot. So, while he was distracted with the angry couple, I positioned myself on the far side of my male escort and lowered the brim of my fedora even as I snuggled up against my "date" enthusiastically. I flashed the moon pin as we approached and held my breath.

The bouncer did a double take in our direction, and at first I thought I was busted. But then when I saw the bouncer shake his head incredulously, I realized he was likely wondering what on earth my nerdy-looking companion had going for him to rate a hottie like me.

From the look on his face, my young escort was clearly wondering the same thing.

We entered the club into a fairly sizable anteroom done up in an art deco style. A young woman with a bob haircut and a short fringed black dress approached us and asked for our coats. My "date" was still holding my trench coat, but I elected to have him continue to hold on to it. I figured I'd be needing it. My Dollface costume was sexy as all get-out, but it also stood out like blood on a wedding dress.

The coat check girl didn't raise a fuss, but she was much more emphatic about collecting our phones. My escort tried to object—no doubt wanting to get some photographic evidence of all this—but it was pretty clear that this was a strict club policy. I surrendered Jessie's phone, and he reluctantly followed suit.

We then entered the club proper through a pair of frosted glass doors. Then, as we crossed the threshold, we stepped backwards in time.

The club was like a nightclub or jazz club out of the 1940s, so authentic that I practically expected my vision to be in black and white. It was dimly lit, with lots of small and intimate round tables. Each table had a small round light in the center that threw off just enough of a glow to illuminate the faces of the patrons like phantoms, and collectively give the impression of a constellation of stars in the dim light. The booths and tables around the edge were even more secluded and intimate. All of them had unobstructed views of the small stage that was on the other side of the club.

The band was playing a low-key jazz tune, and the stage had some bottom lighting and a few spots in the back that highlighted the band members, but otherwise hardly seemed to penetrate the darkness. Off to one side of the club was a lighted bar area that illuminated the bottles and glassware with a ghostly radiance that made it look like it had been torn from another era.

And...it was smoky. A faint haze was visible in the dim light, as were wisps and curlicues of smoke from the tables. The scent of cigarettes hit me almost immediately, and it caught me by surprise. Even in Faraday City, the bars and clubs were all smoke free, so this was nearly unheard of. Some people were vaping, but several people in the crowd were smoking cigarettes. Now that I saw the scene, the reasons for their unusual manner of dress outside made perfect sense. I felt like I'd walked into an old movie.

I had no idea places like this still existed.

My "date" coughed at the cigarette smoke, reminding me of his presence.

"Thanks," I said as I took my trench coat out of his arms and slipped it on. I caught sight of myself in a nearby mirror, and my reflection caught me by surprise. Being a woman was bad enough, but it was worse being reminded that I was wearing Jessie's body. I looked positively adorable in my trench coat and fedora, like I was a kid playing at being a hard-bitten detective from a period film.

Speaking of kids...

"Okay, fuck off," I said to him. "I gotta go to work."

The young guy looked crestfallen, but when I mentioned going to work, a look of realization dawned on his face, no doubt deducing that my likely profession was the oldest profession. Though he still looked disappointed.

Oh, what the hell.

I leaned over and gave him a kiss on the cheek. "Look, I got you in. Now, go. Have fun," I said in as firm a tone as I could manage. "And I'm keeping the hat."

I left him and began to make a slow orbit around the club, searching for Victoria. Or...me, for that matter. Or rather, Xenos in my body. As I drifted around the tables, it was a weird sensation. Even wrapped up in my trench coat and hat, I could still feel guys' eyes roam over me. I wasn't showing off my ridiculous dress or much of my body, but the way they watched me, I felt—

I felt—

I had the strangest urge just then to throw the coat open and give them a real show. Before I realized what I was doing, I found myself pulling the top of my coat open, just enough to show a little more skin. It gave me a funny shiver. I kinda liked it.

With a small grunt of frustration, I pulled the coat tightly closed again and resumed my circuit around the club.

I wondered what the hell I would do if I even found Xenos. Though it was a sure bet that my situation didn't improve if Victoria put a bullet in his head. On the other hand, if I warned him of the impending assassination attempt, I rather doubted that he'd be so grateful as to simply swap me back into my old body. And even if he did, he'd killed Jessie...I wasn't about to let him just walk away from that.

I can't say I entirely disagreed with Victoria's plan to kill Xenos, but I preferred to not have a vagina when she pulled the trigger. I was fussy that way.

I finished my sweep of the club and came up empty. I'd checked both floors of the club, and I'd even looked in the ladies' room, thankful that I didn't have to explore that particular experience just yet. There were some rooms for private parties in back, but I didn't think she was in there. The ones I'd passed had several voices coming from inside, and I didn't think that Victoria was likely to want to shoot Xenos in front of a bunch of witnesses. I'd even taken a sly peek into the small kitchen area, and again it was a bustle of people, but no Victoria.

That only left whatever management offices or storage areas this place might have, but I wasn't sure how to even get to those. However, I didn't think Victoria had somehow slipped out the back and ditched me, which meant that she was here. Somewhere.

Shit.

I hated this. I felt like a shot was going to ring out any second. It would be like the starter pistol for my exciting new life as a stripper working for Desmond Marcks over at Unmasked.

Tink. Clack. Went the gold lighter in my hand as I fussed at it. I hadn't even realized I was holding it.

Work the problem, Chase.

Right. Victoria has a gun, but she's not going to want to gun Xenos down in front of all these people. She's desperate and angry, but she probably doesn't want to spend the rest of her life in prison. She'll be surreptitious. Subtle. I needed to be patient and keep my eyes open. An opportunity would present itself.

I found an empty booth off to the side that gave me a good view of the club. A waitress came by and took my drink order, and I got the experience of being carded for the first time in over twenty years. I wasn't keen to stay in this body, but it seemed like my mid-life crisis had become my quarter-life crisis. When my drink came, I was still carefully eyeing the crowd, but so far, nada. But as I reached for my drink—bourbon, neat—I practically recoiled from the smell even before it got to my lips. I guess Jessie never developed a taste for bourbon. I put the glass down in disgust. I couldn't even—

That's when I saw Victoria. She was standing on the stage in front of the band, basking in a spotlight and holding a microphone.

So much for subtle.

I hadn't been paying attention, but the band leader had made some kind of announcement, followed by applause from the audience.

The band began to play a slow and low-key number as Victoria started to sing. It was like a torch song, low and breathy with the piano accompaniment, and barely enough drums and bass to not distract from her vocals. And she was good. Like, really good. By the time she crept up on her first high note and the sax and trombone joined in and the song kicked into a higher gear, the entire audience was mesmerized. Conversations stopped as she crooned out the peaks and ground out the lower register in a smoky voice.

She barely seemed to move at first, causing her slightest motion to draw the eye. She slowly blinked and languidly looked left and right like she was taking in the whole room.

As she sang, I found myself splitting my attention between her and the crowd. She had them eating out of her hand. Men and women were all quietly watching her, entranced. I had a feeling that reasons like this were why the place didn't allow phones, and I was grateful. Normally, by now I'd see a bunch of bright cell phone screens held up across the crowd as people tried to capture the moment. But this was the moment. Right now. Afterwards, people might fumble with words to tell their friends what it was like, but this was just for us.

She ground out another unhurried high note, and as I listened to the lyrics, I smiled when I realized why the melody had seemed familiar. It was a 90s song. I'd hardly recognized it like this, but the song of unrequited attraction worked surprisingly well.

"I don't care if it hurts... I wanna have control. I want a perfect body... I want a perfect soul. I want you to notice... When I'm not around. You're so very special. I wish I was special..."

As the song ended and Victoria's final echoing refrain faded, there was a peculiar stillness from the crowd, like the audience was waking up from a dream and suddenly realized they were expected to participate. There was the beginnings of applause, cut short as Victoria and the band launched into another song.

She sang a couple more songs, ending her set to enthusiastic applause from the audience. I had to admit, even I clapped. Like I said, she was good.

After she was done, she hung out by the side of the stage, smoking a cigarette and checking her watch. I watched her like a hawk, figuring this was the moment I'd been waiting for. But after several minutes when it became obvious that she'd been stood up, we were both disappointed.

To my surprise, she walked directly up to my booth. I guess I hadn't been as discreet as I'd hoped.

"Let me guess," I said as she stood there looking down at me, "Xenos was never coming here at all, and you always just dreamed of being a cabaret singer?"

She regarded me evenly. "Another insightful deduction coming from Barbie, P.I.," she retorted dryly.

"911. Shots fired," I said with a slight wince as she sat down across from me. A waitress recognized her and took our order as Victoria took out another cigarette. She offered me one, and I shook my head. She then spotted the gold lighter that I'd been fussing at and held out her cigarette.

I sighed and shook my head. "Sorry, it doesn't work," I told her.

She took her own lighter out of her purse and lit up as I watched. "That's a shame. May I?" she asked, holding out her hand.

I hesitated for a moment and handed it over to her.

"It's very pretty," she said, admiring the lighter as she turned it over in her hand, gently running her fingers over the subtle floral design that was etched into the surface. She opened and closed it with its familiar Tink-Clack. "I must say, beautiful, it's an interesting little memento. Though a curious one."

"Don't call me that," I said. "And curious how?"

"You'd prefer I called you handsome?" she teased. Then she regarded the lighter again. "You don't strike me as the sentimental type."

"No?"

"No. You strike me more like the kind of guy who'd pawn something like this and then use the money to get a blow job."

I chuckled a little at that, mildly annoyed that it came out sounding more like a giggle. "It's from an old case. A reminder that things don't always go the way I'd hoped."

She sniffed. "I don't think I'd need a reminder of that. Who's 'MCC,'?" she asked, reading the monogram on the lighter.

"Madeline Clarice Capshaw. The one case I was never able to close."

Victoria held out her open palm and offered me the lighter that was delicately balanced on the tips of her fingers. As I took it, our feminine fingers brushed up against each other. It made for an odd contrast. Her hands with the understated but expensive jewelry and an expensive manicure alongside my fingers with the gaudy rings and tawdry bright pink nail polish. She then sat back in her seat and crossed her legs. I was sorry I wasn't able to see them, but it was probably just as well. I had enough distractions to contend with as it was.

"Tell me," she gently prompted me as she took another puff on her cigarette.

I shrugged. "This rich guy died, and I got called in by the insurance company. Augustus Capshaw was his name. Natural causes, or so they claimed."

She had a shrewd look on her face. "But you knew better."

"It wasn't just me, the cops were all over it. The whole thing smelled like old fish. Wealthy middle-aged man, hot young widow. She was bound by a prenup and was cheating on him with some mook on the side. Capshaw was a heavy smoker, but otherwise in good health. He might've lived another thirty years." I flipped the lighter over in my hand. "They found him dead in his study at his desk. The room was locked, and no sign of entry."

"The wife had an alibi?" Victoria said.

I nodded. "And the boyfriend. All signs pointed to a heart attack."

Victoria's eyes practically lit up as she appreciated the scenario. "What, an actual locked room murder mystery? You must have practically come in your pants."

I smiled. I forgot that she used to be a P.I. herself. Most of us got into the life thinking we'd be solving murder mysteries, but most of the work was just taking pictures of cheating spouses. To have a genuine locked room murder case fall into our laps was like hitting the lottery.

"I got brought on board to look for possible insurance fraud. Though I knew right away that Madeline had done it. She was so fucking smug, you just knew she was guilty as sin. Not that I could prove it. I looked at everything. Poisons, toxins, food allergies, you name it. Then, I remembered a trick from an old movie about poisoned cigarettes."

I half expected Victoria to react to that as she took another drag on her own cigarette, but of course, she was much too cool for that.

"How delightfully old school. Like something out of a Mike Hammer story," she said.

"That's probably why I went for it. But it fit. We knew the guy had been smoking before he died, and something like that would've been a great murder weapon since it goes up in ashes and leaves no evidence."

"Clever," she agreed. Then her eyes narrowed slightly as she scrutinized my face. As a man, I had a pretty decent poker face, but I wasn't sure if that extended to Jessie. "But that wasn't it," she said.

"I was so sure I had her dead to rights. We tested Capshaw, the ash in his ashtray, the other cigarettes in his case. It all came up empty."

"What'd you do?"

"What could I do? I had to go along with the Medical Examiner's report that it was a heart attack. Natural causes. Shit happens." I looked down at the lighter and opened and closed it. Tink. Clack. "Six weeks later, this little beauty shows up in the mail. Madeline Capshaw was laughing her ass off at me, and there was nothing I could do about it."

"Cheeky minx," Victoria said.

We sat quietly for a moment while she smoked her cigarette. My eyes drifted to some of the guys walking past, probably working up the nerve to invite themselves to sit at our table and chat us up. Though I noticed that Victoria seemed to be giving me an odd look. Pensive.

I figured it was time to press the issue.

"Outside, you told me you were out of time. What'd you mean by that?" I asked her.

She sighed heavily. "The reason I thought Xenos would be here was because tonight is my anniversary as a woman. Xenos enjoyed having my husband bring me here every year. It amused the two of them to see me shimmy up on stage and play at being the femme fatale. My getting up and singing was our signal to him to let him know we were here. We never knew what Xenos might look like, so I'd do my number and he'd approach us afterwards."

"But he didn't show tonight."

"No. He might have been suspicious when my husband wasn't here."

"Your husband worked with Xenos?"

Victoria nodded. "Xenos is a private individual, but he has people out there doing his dirty work. Also, he's got some kind of vendetta against magic users, though I'm not sure why. And other body swappers, for that matter. He apparently didn't want any competition in that area. I'm pretty sure he's hunted down and killed them all."

So much for finding any help from somebody else, I thought. "So, what changed? Why the big rush to get in here and take him out?"

"What changed is that my husband died the other night. It's not public information yet, but it will be soon. Then, once Xenos finds out that I'm no longer a 'kept woman,' I become a liability to him. He's going to kill me, Mr. Chase. I'd hoped that I could keep our appointment and act like nothing was wrong so that I could lure him out and finish him first. But now it seems I'm in need of your help."

"Our interests aren't exactly aligned."

"They're aligned enough. I know Xenos. If he did indeed choose you for a reason, then you have—or had—something that he wants. That makes you useful to me. Although, as you pointed out, he's not going to give you your body back simply because you ask him nicely."

"What if I had leverage?" I said slowly. "I think I know what he might be after."

Just then, the waitress returned with our drinks. Or Victoria's drink, at least. She put a glass of white wine in front of Victoria, and what looked like a cosmopolitan or some other fruity concoction in a cocktail glass in front of me. I was about to object, but she took off before I could say anything.

"What's this?" I complained.

"You ordered it, handsome," Victoria said, taking a sip from her own glass.

"I did?" I picked up the glass like I was holding a poisonous snake and took a tentative sip. It actually wasn't bad.

"That's almost as embarrassing as this body," I said as I set my glass down and looked at the drink. A little smear of lipstick stained the edge of my glass where my lips had touched it. A bold shade of pink that was a sharp contrast to the smudge of red that graced the lip of Victoria's glass.

But as I looked up at her, she was giving me that weird look again. Different this time. Concerned. Scared, even. Why would she be scared?

"What?" I huffed.

"You really don't remember ordering that just now? And I'm guessing that's not something you'd usually order," she reasoned.

I shrugged and took another sip. "So?"

"Mr. Chase, are you gay?"

I practically choked on my drink. "Excuse me?"

"This is important. Before tonight, have you habitually worn women's clothes?"

"Oh, fuck you. Maybe you went native, honey, but I'm not a fruit."

She ignored my insult, and she looked at me with deadly earnest as she leaned closer and lowered her voice.

"Mr. Chase, since you've been sitting here, you've been eye fucking every guy that's walked past. You somehow knew to order a drink that body would enjoy. And speaking as someone who knows how much work it takes to affect a feminine persona, you're doing it effortlessly. I haven't even seen you stumble once on those ridiculous high heels you're wearing, and that's a trick most women in this club would have trouble pulling off."

"I kinda figured that's, y'know, muscle memory from the body, or something," I demurred uncertainly.

"That's different. Your body has certain preferences, yes. Certain...appetites...that might catch you off guard."

"If you're talking about going in for guys, you can forget it," I insisted.

"Hold on to that thought," she said in a knowing tone. "But what I'm talking about goes beyond that. You're experiencing memory. Or even more than that. I need you to think carefully. Have there been other times tonight when the body seemed to be 'in control'?"

I looked down at my long manicured nails. I should have been fumbling with them all night, but now that I thought back, I realized I'd operated the touch screen on Jessie's phone without even thinking about it. And then there was that time talking to that cop, Keyes, in the parking lot, and I had more than just passing thoughts of attraction for him. Or, for that matter, how I'd snuggled up against that guy in the parking lot.

"I thought as much," Victoria said, reading my face.

"What does it mean?"

She sat back and gave me a level glance. "It means that I've got good news and bad news for you. The good news is that I was mistaken. I believe your young friend Jessie is still alive."

I sat up in my seat. "What? How?"

"That's the bad news. She's alive in there with you right now. You're not acting like her, she's acting like herself, and you're along for the ride. But you're the intruder. Eventually, she's going to take her body back and burn you out like a fever burning out an infection. And there's nothing you can do to stop it."

"Jessie wouldn't do that to me."

"I doubt she'll even be aware of you. To her, you'll be nothing more than a bad dream. Two spirits can't coexist in one body like that. Not for long."

"You're telling me I'm going to die?"

She shrugged. It was a maddening gesture. "Or worse. In truth, there's no knowing what will happen to you. You'll likely die. Or you might be trapped forever as a passive observer inside her body, unable to affect the outside world as you spend the rest of her life watching helplessly through her eyes. But you won't be the one in control." She seemed to ponder that. "Honestly, I think I'd prefer oblivion."

I reeled as I tried to process that information, my mouth feeling very dry. "How long do I have?"

"At the rate you're going? 24 hours. At most. She's already taking control in subtle ways. But a day from now, one way or another, you'll cease to exist."

I slumped back in my seat as I tried to process what she'd just told me. I hadn't relished the idea of being a woman for the rest of my life, but when "the rest of my life" was less than a day, that quickly became the least of my worries.

I chuckled ruefully.

"What?" Victoria asked.

"I always had a feeling this kid would be the death of me," I said.

Terrific. Gallows humor. Maybe not super helpful right now, Chase. C'mon, do what you do. Work the problem.

"How do you know all this?" I asked her.

"Xenos told me. I... I begged him to save someone close to me. I suggested something like this as a 'compromise.' Two people in one body, better half a loaf than none at all, or so I figured. That's when he told me how the body's native spirit would extinguish the invading spirit within a day. It's possible he was lying, but I don't think he was. I think he delighted in seeing me crushed by the truth."

"Okay," I said. "You said that Xenos is a body swapper. So, how did this situation even happen?"

Victoria shook her head. "I have no idea. When I'd suggested it to Xenos, I was grasping at straws. I didn't even know for sure this was a thing."

"Dammit. Okay, let's walk through what we know. Xenos was dying, and he came up to my car. I'm pretty sure he tried to swap with me rather than Jessie. So...what would happen if his body died in the middle of the swap?"

Victoria shrugged. "He'd be in your body, and you'd be in the body he just left. Dead."

"Except that I'm not."

She sighed, clearly not enjoying this discussion of hypotheticals. However, given that it was my life at stake, I was more invested. I waited as she mulled it over.

"Fair point. Perhaps your spirit has some 'elasticity' to it. Your spirit was displaced by Xenos, but you couldn't enter a dead body. So maybe you instinctively took shelter in Jessie's body, here. But since you're not a body swapper, you didn't have the strength to displace her. Which explains your current situation."

"So, the thing that maybe saved me is also what's killing me, since Jessie's spirit is going to take over and kick me to the curb. Okay, it's a theory," I reasoned. "Even so, however this happened, Xenos got me in here, so Xenos can get me out. Nothing's changed. We still have to find him."

"Mr. Chase, I'm not even sure he can get you out like that. But think it through. At best, you'd have to swap someone else into your situation. You'd be condemning that other person to death. I haven't known you for long, but I can tell you're a decent man. Xenos may be a killer the way he steals lives, but you're not."

I pondered that. "What does that leave me with? Spending my last few remaining hours looking for revenge?"

"I am sorry for what's happened to you. But by now, I think you understand why Xenos has to be stopped, Mr. Chase."

I laughed once. I didn't know I had it in me, but this had gotten so off-the-scale bad that I could hardly do otherwise. "Look, if we're stuck together, it's just 'Chase,' okay? Not 'mister.' Even my mother called me Chase."

She furrowed her brow. "Is that your first name?"

"No," I sighed. Oh, fuck it, I was a dead man, anyway. No sense being embarrassed by it. "My first name is...Salinger."

She narrowed her eyes. "What, you mean like—"

"Mom read The Catcher in the Rye in high school."

"Everyone reads The Catcher in the Rye in high school," Victoria deadpanned. "Why didn't she just name you Holden?"

I glared at her. Even with Jessie's elfin features, I think I got the point across.

"Suit yourself. Chase it is," Victoria conceded before taking another drink from her glass. "So, what's our next move, handsome?"

I took a drink from my own glass and looked at it dubiously. I ran my finger along the delicate curve of the glass, as though trying to convince myself it was real. My feminine hand with the long painted fingernails seemed every bit as fantastical, but somehow, paired with the drink, they felt like they fit together, like pieces of a puzzle. A puzzle where I was the extra piece that didn't fit.

Whatever happened to me, Jessie would be home soon. I just hoped it wasn't too soon, because I had some unfinished business to take care of with Xenos. Because if I was going down, I wasn't going quietly. And unfortunately, that meant that I had to put Jessie's body in some danger while I still had the wheel.

"I have an idea why Xenos might have singled me out. I think I've been working for him."

Unfinished business.

That phrase kept bouncing through my head as Victoria drove us through the darkened streets of the city. The rain had started up again, like the city wanted to take a piss on me one last time. It's funny, because I'd always liked this time of night, when the city became like a dark shadow of itself. Living and breathing, but not the same as it was during the daytime. A dangerous and passionate Mr. Hyde that was a sharp contrast to the more reserved and respectable Dr. Jekyll it presented itself as during the day.

If Victoria was right, and I had less than 24 hours to live, this was the last time I would be seeing the city this way. Strangely, it didn't bother me all that much.

I wasn't a person, I realized. Not a man, not a woman. Not even alive, not really. Xenos had killed me as surely as if he'd put a gun to my head and pulled the trigger. I was merely a ghost with unfinished business, given an extension of a few precious hours to see it done.

I wasn't a man who'd been robbed of his life and was desperately clinging on by his fingernails. Instead, I was cheating death in a deadly game of hide and seek where I'd taken temporary refuge from the grim reaper in Jessie's body.

It was odd how reframing it that way made it somehow easier to handle.

"You know, just because you have a mysterious client doesn't mean that it's Xenos," Victoria said, interrupting my thoughts.

"Doesn't mean that it isn't, either. Besides, you're the one who said it was unlikely that he targeted me by accident."

Victoria seemed dubious. "The timing does seem coincidental that he'd reach out to you today," she admitted. "Though why would Xenos have you running around building dossiers of rich and famous people around the city? He's more than capable of doing that himself. And why would he want them in the first place?"

"Not only around the city," I countered. "Although many of them are here. As to why, I think you answered that yourself. You said he'd been living in Beaumont's body for over 20 years. Then today, his house mysteriously burns down, and he shows up on my doorstep."

"You think he's looking for a new 'mount,'" she reasoned. "Some new life he can slip into. Probably someone rich, with resources. He'd probably be looking for a particular type, someone he can impersonate without raising too many questions."

"Maybe not just rich," I said.

Victoria did a double-take from behind the steering wheel, trying to read my face and keep an eye on the road. "What do you mean?"

I sighed heavily. I wasn't looking forward to admitting any of this, but I supposed it didn't matter anymore.

"Is this about you fucking a raccoon?" Victoria asked.

"I didn't fuck a raccoon!" I objected. "How do you even know about that?"

She shrugged. "After what went down in the parking lot, I hung around to find out what happened. As I was waiting, this young blond delivery guy came out. I asked about you, and he kept going on about how you'd fucked a raccoon, and now he wasn't sure if he still had money to go to college."

"Oh, Lord," I muttered. If there was any justice in this whole mess, it was that Xenos was running around in my body with that albatross hanging around his neck.

"This is that Procyon thing, isn't it?" she asked. When I looked surprised, she gave me a reproving glance. "What? I Googled it after he told me. I did used to be a P.I., you know. Despite what I look like now. That still doesn't explain Xenos's interest."

"Because if he's as smart as you say, I have a feeling he figured out that I'd collected most of the dossiers he was looking for already." I let out another little sigh. "I'd been pulling that information together for months. Longer, even. My access to the Faraday Insurance case files gave me all kinds of insights into people's lives."

"What sort of insights?"

"Insights into whether any of them was secretly a super."

Victoria pressed her perfectly made-up lips into a disbelieving moue. "I'm not buying it. People are constantly trying to crack superheroes' secret identities, but you think you figured it out because you read some insurance records?"

I shook my head. "You don't understand. I wasn't trying to crack any one particular hero's secret identity. I was trying to crack anybody's secret identity. I had a list of rich people and a list of supers. All I had to do was find one match. Hero or villain, I didn't really care. So long as they were rich. "

"Ohh," she said with a wicked smile. "You devious little prick. You were looking for someone rich to blackmail. Chase, I take it back. You're sneakier than you look."

"Now I am," I grumped as I looked down at my cleavage and fussed at a lock of blonde hair. "Anyway, Procyon was the first one that popped. I made the connection after Procyon Lass was killed. With the information I'd already accumulated, I was able to figure out who she was, and from there, I knew who Procyon was. Billionaire tycoon Devon Dennings."

"You blackmailed him for money to keep his identity secret."

"Yeah," I admitted. I wasn't proud to be admitting it out loud, although it was kind of nice being able to brag to someone how I'd done it. "Or at least, I tried to. I approached Dennings. I even reminded him that it wasn't only his own identity at stake, it was also his other sidekick, Kid Procyon. After a little arm twisting, Dennings agreed to pay up, but then Kid Procyon popped the balloon before I could collect. He publicly exposed his own secret identity and claimed I was blackmailing them."

"Which you were."

"Yeah, but nobody else knew that. So, when the press and the cops grilled me, I told 'em that it came out in my insurance investigation, and that I was just doing my job. That probably would have been the end of it, except that now that Dennings' identity was out there, one of his arch-enemies was able to kill him, too. And since Procyon was universally beloved by the whole freaking city, everybody blames me for getting him killed."

"Which you kind of did."

"Don't you start. Nobody was supposed to get hurt. How was I supposed to know the kid was going to blab to the world?" I sat quietly for a moment. "Anyway, Kid Procyon took on Dennings' mantle, and the police were all over me for months. But they could never make it stick."

Victoria tilted her head incrementally. "Useful," she murmured. Then, she added, "What I mean is, assuming Xenos is still in your body, all this makes his world that much smaller. Plus, the police will already be looking for him for the death in the parking lot."

That didn't make me feel much better. Despite everything, I still had a fading glimmer of hope that maybe I could get out of this back into my own body. But if that happened, I preferred not to be going to prison for crimes Xenos might have committed while he was in temporary residence there.

"That's why I think it might have been Xenos who hired me," I explained. "If he was shopping for a new 'mount,' a rich metahuman is the Triple Crown. He gets the money, the powers, and he also gets someone who's been guarded with their identity, maybe making them easier to impersonate. And I might be sitting on a list of potential candidates."

"If you're right, then there's no way that Xenos was ever going to let you live, having seen that information. He wouldn't build a new life with you out there, ready to point the finger."

I made a low and throaty grumble. Jessie's voice took some of the gravitas out of it, but I feel like I got my point across.

"Xenos doesn't have to kill me. He's already killed me. Now, I just need to return the favor."

Just then, a playful high-pitched electronic chirp came from my purse. I recognized it as the tone Jessie used for her incoming text messages.

Victoria and I made quick eye contact. We both had the same thought. I was after 1am, so it was awfully late for Jessie to be getting a text from one of her friends to come out and hit the bars, even on a stripper's schedule. It could have been a friend of hers from Unmasked, but somehow I knew this message was meant for me. However, there was only one person on planet Earth who would know to contact me on Jessie's phone right now.

"Holy shit," I said. "It's him."

The text had come from me—the male me—so Xenos was apparently using my phone. Along with my body. Just the thought of it gave me a chill.

"What does it say?"

"It says, 'Mr. Chase, I want those files. Immediately. I trust I don't have to make threats.'" I looked over at her. "What do I say?"

"At least it means he doesn't already have the files," Victoria said in an equivocal tone. "You said they're hidden at your office?"

I nodded.

"Then it's safe to say he's already checked there, but he didn't find them. He might even be there right now."

"He's gonna want to meet," I said. I chewed on my lip and typed out a response and hit send.

"What'd you tell him?"

"I told him to meet me at Club Nocturne in 30 minutes. He'll be pissed when I don't show, but right now I want him someplace that we're not."

"Smart," Victoria said. She then gave me a worried look. "That's not gonna fool him for long. We need to get those files."

We drove past my place. Victoria didn't even slow down, not wanting to attract any attention. I could see that the lights were off, not that that proved anything. She pulled around the corner and parked.

"You know how Xenos operates. What's the play?" I asked.

"We go in together. He already knows who both of us are, so there's no sense trying to trick him."

I nodded. Then I noted that she was holding her purse protectively in her lap.

"Maybe I should hold the gun," I suggested.

She pursed her lips into a knowing smile. "You're worried that I'm going to put a bullet in his brain before you have a chance to negotiate with him."

"Yes. That's pretty much why."

"If you wanted to have a gun, you should have brought your own," she teased. "Relax. If this turns into the gunfight at the OK Corral, we're both dead. This is insurance. A bit of incentive for him to listen."

I wasn't sure what to make of that. I knew Victoria wanted Xenos dead, even if it meant being stuck as a woman for the rest of her life. However, I doubted she wanted to spend those years in prison for killing my body, either. I had to admit, if she was right and I only had hours to live, it would be a bit of comfort knowing that Xenos was dead first. But even though what Victoria had said about Jessie's spirit kicking me to the curb made sense, I still had some crazy hope that Xenos could fix things somehow. I guess I needed to hear it from him.

Not that I expected him to give me a straight answer, either.

"Fine," I said, moving to put my hand on the door handle.

"Wait a second," Victoria said. "We need to be ready for anything. If he starts swapping bodies with us, it'll get confusing. We need code words. Tell me something about you he wouldn't know."

I thought for a moment. "My favorite kind of ice cream is Magnum. Coincidentally, also my favorite gun."

She smiled. "My favorite month is September," she offered.

We got out of the car and made for the entrance. The rain had let up, and it was a warm and humid summer night, but I tugged my trench coat tight around me. Being in Jessie's body was disorienting enough, but walking the familiar streets so close to home made me feel self-conscious. Like one of my neighbors was going to see me running around in makeup and a dress and have a good laugh at my expense. Though looking like I did, no guy who saw me would be laughing.

I felt a strange shiver run through me. Familiar, but not because of the area. It took me a minute to realize that back when Jessie was working the streets, she'd probably worked street corners like this one. I'd felt sorry for her, but it wasn't until now that I appreciated better what it must have felt like to put herself on display in this dark urban jungle for literally any guy who might come along.

I tugged my coat a little tighter.

Victoria and I got to the front of my building. If she was as nervous as I was, it didn't show. But the closed stores and derelict storefronts that I barely took notice of as a man during the light of the day became a lot more menacing when viewed as a woman in the middle of the night under dim street lamps.

The building itself was a remnant of a bygone era, built before Faraday City had been established. It was an old mixed-use structure from a time when the lines between commercial and residential spaces were more fluid. Since then, it had been chopped up and reconfigured so many times that eventually it was left to decay like the rest of the area, waiting for redevelopment. But for now, it was another forgotten relic on a forgotten street, its once-proud facade now weathered and chipped. The lower floors still held a few struggling businesses—a pawn shop with barred windows, a bar that had shut down, and a bodega that never seemed to be open. The upper floors where my place was located had been converted into makeshift apartments decades ago, long before the zoning laws tightened.

The main front door lock had been broken for months, so we entered quietly. Victoria paused at the aging elevator and raised an eyebrow, but I shook my head and nodded over towards the stairwell. The elevator worked most of the time, but it was as neglected as the rest of the building, so it'd be a gamble if it'd get us up there or get stuck between floors. To say nothing of the noise. This wasn't exactly a stealth mission, but there was no sense in announcing our approach.

Victoria slipped in front of me as we crept up the steps as best as we could in our high heels. She was doing better than me. Her gun was already in her hand—I hadn't even seen her take it out—and for the first time, I got a glimpse of the private eye under the sensual skin. Her moves were still lissome and feminine as she slithered up the steps with an almost feline grace, but she also checked the corners like a professional.

Meanwhile, I was...distracted. Trying to keep quiet in these ridiculous shoes was hard enough, but as I climbed the steps, the movement caused a disquietingly hefty jiggle on my chest. Jessie's Dollface costume wasn't exactly doing me any favors in that regard. It was, after all, a stripper's outfit, so it wasn't exactly designed to provide a lot of support.

My eyes drifted up to Victoria, her big round butt swaying back and forth right in front of me. Her dress was practically painted on, and it showed off all of her curves. She turned to go up the next flight of steps, and the insanely high side slit on her dress flashed a shocking length of thigh, and a bit of lace at the top of her stockings and garter belt. I felt myself flush, and I bit on my fingernail as a playful smile graced my lips.

God, she was so hot. A sexy little shiver ran through me as I watched her. I bet her and me could have some fun. That curvy body, those gorgeous eyes, those dark red lips, begging to be—

Huh, how come she's looking at me like that? Wow, she looks so beautiful when she's angry. She—

"Chase!" Victoria hissed, snapping her fingers in front of my face.

"I'm fine!" I said, a little too loudly as I snapped back to myself. I'd love to say that it was like a bucket of ice water had been dumped on me, but the truth was that my body was still experiencing some residual excitement, causing unfamiliar sensations in parts of my body I'd just as soon not be reminded about. Was that Jessie? Was she into girls? That hadn't felt like me. I mean, Victoria was a stone fox, but I usually had a bit more self-control than that. A bit.

"I'm fine," I repeated, although Victoria didn't seem especially satisfied with that response. Though, frankly, neither was I. My glitches were becoming more frequent. If I spaced out like that when we confronted Xenos...

Just focus, Chase. Try to stay focused.

Then I realized that we'd already reached the third floor.

"That way," I said, pointing down the hall. "All the way at the end."

Belatedly, I realized that I didn't have my key to get in, not in this body. But it turned out not to be necessary. The door had already been forced.

Victoria and I made silent eye contact, and the puzzled expression on her face mimicked my own. Why would Xenos have forced the door if he had a key?

There was a loose floorboard just outside my office that had a squeak. I suppose I could have had them fix it, but it was occasionally useful. I silently gestured to Victoria to step over the offending board, and we crept inside.

Quietly, we entered the darkened office. Even with the lights turned off, the flickering neon building sign outside bathed the room in a ruddy glow. The light seemed to bleed through the venetian blinds, casting fractured shadows across the room. This main room was my office, with a big desk and my worn leather armchair, along with a couple smaller chairs on the opposite side for clients. There was a battered old couch off against one wall, along with some mismatched bookshelves and filing cabinets.

And it had been completely torn apart.

The place had been tossed. Not very subtly, either. Whoever did it had been in a hurry. The furniture was up-ended, files were strewn everywhere, and the couch cushions had been sliced open. Some of the drop ceiling tiles had even been removed.

Someone had definitely been here. Someone might still be here.

Again, I made silent eye contact with Victoria, nodding for her to head towards the door on the far side of the room as I moved to check out another door on the wall opposite.

My place was a combination of office and apartment. At one point, the space had likely been a small suite of offices, but it had been repurposed into a hybrid of living and working space. Victoria moved across the room over into my bedroom and bathroom area, while I slid open a narrow door that led to a small kitchenette and storage area. The space was barely large enough to hold a fridge and a sink that was piled with dishes, and a coffee maker that never got a moment's rest. I edged carefully over to the small storage area that housed a number of boxes. It looked like they'd been tossed, too.

Nobody was there.

Suddenly, a sharp sound of movement came from behind me, and I spun to face it. Through the dim glow of the neon lights outside the window, I could barely make out a shape over by the sink, and there was a clattering crash of dishes hitting the floor as I saw two twinkling eyes look in my direction. An embarrassingly high girlish shriek of surprise passed my lips as I saw the small black-furred shape pounce out the open window onto the fire escape.

In a blink, Victoria was standing in the doorway, gun in hand. Her eyes darted around the room for a moment before she leveled it directly at me.

"September," she said.

"Magnum," I sighed. She lowered the gun as I felt my heart rate start to return to normal. "The neighbor's fucking cat," I said by way of explanation as I nodded to the open window.

Then, a thought occurred to me. "Xenos. He can't...?"

"Become a cat?" Victoria scoffed. Then she stopped to think about it. "No. At least, I don't think so. No," she decided more firmly.

The two of us returned to the main office area, and I righted my big leather desk chair that had been knocked over, which proved to be a bit of a strain for Jessie's skinny arms. I then retrieved the desk lamp from the floor and was mildly surprised when it turned on. It added a bit more illumination to the room, adding a bit of a warm glow to the space. As I plopped myself down in the chair, I noticed Victoria had returned her gun to her purse.

I was getting really goddamn tired of always being a step behind on this caper. It was time to get some answers.

"Laptop is gone," she observed, noting the charging cord on the desk. You could still see the hint of a dust outline where the computer had been.

"Clever," I said. "But not clever enough." I got up from my chair and crossed the room over to where my wall-mounted TV was now sitting crooked on the floor, having been yanked off its perch. I reached behind it and pulled out a small USB drive from one of the slots on the back side.

"Is that...?" Victoria asked.

"The files. Detailed dossiers on the rich and famous of Faraday City and beyond. We find Xenos, and I can use this as leverage. It's what he wants."

Victoria regarded me for a long moment as I crossed back across the room over to my desk and sat down. "Chase," she said finally, "you need to destroy those files."

"Excuse me?"

"I told you before, Xenos can't help you. Though if he gets his hands on those files, just think what you'll be handing him. What if he figures out Promethean's secret identity? Or some other powerful metahuman? Do you really want that on your conscience?"

"If you're right, I'll be dead in hours, anyway. My conscience is the least of my worries."

She shook her head and perched herself against the arm of the sofa. She opened up her purse and put her hand inside...

...and came out holding her cigarette case and lighter. But as she glanced up at me, she stopped still as she saw me pointing a gun at her.

"Was it something I said?" she asked.

"I keep a holdout pistol hidden here for special occasions. I'm not sure it'd comfortably fit in an evening bag, but it's a .38, so I figure it'll make a mess out of that dress you're wearing."

I gestured for her to toss her purse to the side. She did so, and I watched as she calmly took a cigarette out of her case and lit it.

"It's a shame. I liked you better with the pigtails. I bet you'd look adorable holding that. Just like the real Dollface."

"Cut the crap, sister. I may only have been a woman for a few hours, but I wasn't born yesterday. You know too much about Xenos to be just another one of his victims. So, I figure you either are Xenos, or you're working with him."

"I suppose I should be grateful you've moved on from thinking he was the cat. Think it through. If I was Xenos, then why didn't I take those files just now?"

"Which leaves the other possibility. You're working with him."

She smoked her cigarette and gave me a sidelong glace. "You're good," she admitted. "But it's not what you think."

"Thrill me."

She made a rueful smile. "Tell me, handsome. Do you think much about dying?"

"It's been on my mind lately."

"Ha. Yes, I suppose so. Everything I told you was true, but it wasn't the whole truth. I used to be a P.I. named Vic DeLuca, and I did track down Xenos. I'd figured out he'd been living in hiding as Carson Beaumont, so I approached him. However, I didn't tell you why. You see, I was dying. Lung cancer. Terminal." She held up her cigarette. "Feel free to find this funny, if you want."

I kept the gun steadily trained on her, but apart from smoking her cigarette, she made no attempt to move.

"I'm finding a lot of things funny today," I said.

"Mmm. Xenos almost killed me outright, but I convinced him that I could be useful to him. I was a good P.I., and he needed somebody discreet. Someone he could trust not to betray him. In exchange, I wanted what he had—immortality." She paused to think about that and took another drag on her cigarette. "I worked for him. I did his dirty work."

"Right. Then he betrayed you and dumped you in this broad's body."

She smiled. It was the smile of someone who got the joke when nobody else did. Or maybe who got the joke too late.

"You don't get it. Neither did I, back then. I was so fixated on not dying, I'd have given anything to avoid my date with the grim reaper. But Xenos had mastered death. He understood what that meant, and he wanted me to understand." She looked me square in the eyes. "This 'broad' wasn't some random woman he picked off the street. She was my daughter."

"Jesus."

"Thanks to Xenos, I got to watch my daughter choke out her last breath in my body, poisoned by a lifetime of booze and cigarettes and my own bad decisions. And me? I was young. Healthy. Years added to my life. All it took was stealing those years from her like some kind of vampire."

"Earlier, you said you'd begged Xenos to save someone close to you, even if it meant sharing one body," I said. "Your daughter?"

She nodded. "I was desperate. I'd have said anything. I begged him to swap us back." She had a faraway look on her face as she spoke, lost in the memory. "You know what he said to me? He said, 'This is immortality. There's no secret to it. All it takes is conviction. To live forever as the Prodigal Son, squandering the riches you've been given, but instead of going home for absolution, you take more. More and more. There's always more to take. All it takes is the will to do it.'"

Victoria glanced casually to the side and saw an ashtray on the end table next to the sofa and put out the cigarette. Then she looked back up at me.

"I'm going to kill him, Chase. Make no mistake about that. He killed my daughter. He's even killed you. You're just too stubborn to have accepted it yet. So, if you're going to pull that trigger, be my guest. You can rest easy knowing that I one hundred percent deserve it. Though if it's all the same to you, I've got one last life I want to take first. And he's long overdue."

The room fell silent as we stared at each other. The only noise was the intermittent buzz of the flickering neon sign outside and the faint sound of traffic.

Finally, I sighed and lowered the gun and put it on the desk. I then creased my brow and winced slightly.

"What?" Victoria asked.

"Well, I figure if you are Xenos, this is the part where you swap bodies with me and take the files."

She rolled her eyes as she bent over to retrieve her purse. She then put her cigarette case and lighter back inside. "You have serious trust issues," she told me. Then she got a sly little smile. "I knew there was a reason I liked you."

"Nice."

"Now that we're friends again, maybe we can get busy tracking down this asshole," she said. "Though you're right about one thing, he wants those files. I still think you're safer destroying them, but as long as you have them, maybe we can use them to lure him in."

"Oh, yeah, about that." I tossed her the USB drive.

She caught it and looked down at the label written on the side: Movies.

"I don't understand."

"Those aren't actually the files. Those are just some movies I downloaded. So, unless you want to watch Body Heat or Double Indemnity, that's not gonna be much use to us."

She looked at me, then down at the drive in her hand, then back up at me. "Oh, you prick."

"I needed to be sure about you. You weren't exactly being forthcoming."

"You can't trust anybody in this town," she muttered. "All right, then. Where are the files?"

"Gone," I said. I gave an upward nod towards the missing ceiling tiles. "They were up there."

"Are there duplicates? Maybe there's a clue in there we can use to—"

I shook my head. "No. It was all on paper. Some of the people I was investigating were pretty high-tech, so I figured they might find a way to wipe it from my computer or even an external drive. I kept it low-tech. I was going to make photocopies before I handed them over, but I didn't have time. The originals are all there is."

Victoria crossed her arms and looked askance at the trashed office. "This...this doesn't feel right to me. Why would Xenos have texted you for the files if he'd already found them? And even more than that, Xenos is methodical. The forced door, the trashed office...this is sloppy. He's not sloppy."

"You think someone else is working with him?"

"Maybe," she said doubtfully. Her eyes flitted around the room as she took in the mess. "From the up-ended furniture, it was probably a man. Maybe two men. But not more than that, or they'd have split up and tossed the whole place. They hadn't searched the bedroom yet."

"Right. Because they stopped when they found what they were looking for."

I hadn't even realized that my lighter was in my hand, and I was fussing at it as I thought. Tink. Clack. Tink. Clack. Tink.

Clack.

"It was two men," I said.

"How do you know that?"

"Because this wasn't here before."

I stepped aside to show her a bullet hole in the wall. I hadn't noticed it at first since it met right at the edge of the window frame. But it was unmistakable.

"Guess they had a difference of opinion," Victoria said as she inspected the damage. Then she looked around at the floor. "No sign of blood, though. And I didn't see any sign someone tried to clean up in the sink. I guess they missed. Odd nobody reported the gunshot though."

I snorted. "Not in this neighborhood. Besides, the building is mostly empty. It's largely commercial, and the landlord is a robber baron who's been buying everyone out so they can tear it down and turn it into luxury apartments or something. This time of night, I doubt anybody would even be here to notice."

"It still begs the question what happened," Victoria said. "I'm guessing they left in a hurry, but whoever it was left with the files."

I scanned around the room. Unfortunately, it had been tossed so thoroughly with all the broken items and up-ended furniture that it was impossible to tell if there had been some kind of altercation.

"Well, I don't—" I started to say, but I stopped short as something on the floor caught my eye over by the couch. Something shiny.

"What is it?" Victoria asked, noticing my distracted expression as I crossed the room to get a better look at the little object.

"I'll be goddamned," I said as I picked up the shiny gold button.

As I sat in the passenger seat of the car, I plucked discontentedly at my frilly Dollface costume. While we'd been at my place, I'd entertained the notion of changing into something else—anything else—even if my men's clothes weren't a particularly good fit. But once I'd realized that the trail led back to Unmasked, I realized that against all odds, this was my most inconspicuous option.

From behind the wheel, Victoria split her attention between the road and glancing over at me with a puzzled expression.

"I don't follow. You said you think that button belongs to that police detective—"

"Keyes. Alex Keyes. Yeah. I, uh, bumped into him in the parking lot outside of Unmasked right after I woke up in Jessie's body. His jacket was missing a button just like this one. It must have come off when he tossed my place."

"That certainly qualifies as sloppy. But if he's got the files, shouldn't we be looking for him?"

I shook my head. "Keyes doesn't have the imagination for something like this. He wouldn't flush a turd without asking someone's permission first. The only way this makes sense is if Marcks is calling the shots. Keyes has been doing dirty work for Marcks. He was probably just muscle on the job."

Victoria nodded. "Desmond Marcks. The guy who owns Unmasked. You think he's working with Xenos?"

"No way. Marcks is only out for himself. But he's connected, and blackmail is his business. He'd appreciate that the kind of information I'd collected would be valuable to him. Even if he wasn't looking for some super's secret identity, he could probably find a way to blackmail some people with it." I sniffed and crossed my arms. "Bastard stole my idea."

Victoria got a pensive look on her face as she worked it out. "You say that you bumped into Keyes after you woke up as Jessie. Which means he must have already given the files to Marcks."

"Right, that follows," I nodded. Then I froze.

"Shit, I just had a horrible thought," I said. "The second person in the office must have been Xenos! Think about it. Keyes tosses the office and finds the files, and Xenos walks in on him, in my body. Keyes freaks out, thinking he's been caught by me with his hand in the cookie jar. Then, one of them shoots at the other, and Keyes managed to get away."

Victoria considered that. "That's not good. That means there's two possibilities. If Xenos escaped with the files, then it's already game over. He's got what he wants, and he's already gone."

"I don't love that option," I said. "But Xenos texted me looking for the files. He must figure I've either got the files, or I know who does. Okay, so for now we have to assume that Keyes got away with the files and gave them to Marcks. That means that now it's a race. If we can get those files before him, we can use them as leverage and set a trap."

Victoria expelled a skeptical breath. "It won't take Xenos long to figure out who Keyes is. You can bet that right now, he's tearing your life apart. We don't have a whole lot of time."

She then chewed her lip as she continued to mull it over and glanced over at me. "There's something else I don't get. How did Marcks know about the files in the first place? I'm assuming you weren't stupid enough to tell him about them."

I sat back in my seat as I thought about it for a moment.

"Oh, that little bitch."

Victoria peered at me, confused. "Who?"

"Me! I mean—her!" I blurted out as I gestured down at myself. "Jessie. A couple of weeks ago, she saw me with the files back at my place on one of our 'dates.' She asked what I was doing—"

Victoria shot me a look of disdain. "God. Please tell me you didn't tell her what you were up to."

"No, but I told her enough," I grumbled. "She must have run back to Marcks and told him. He's smart enough to have figured it out. Or at least seen the potential."

Victoria gave a halting shrug. "She might not have done it willingly. Or he could have tricked it out of her. You said she's not the brightest."

I glanced back over at her. Victoria knew I cared for Jessie and was obviously trying to spare my feelings, but the more I thought about it, the more I came to the same inescapable conclusion.

"No," I said with a sigh. "You should have seen her tonight at the club. Jessie did everything she could to delay me apart from asking for a glass of water. She practically freaked out when I suggested we go back to my place. She was buying time for Keyes to toss the place and find the files." I stared out at the road ahead as the pieces started to fall into place. "That's why she was all over me in the car. That wasn't spontaneous. She was trying to delay me."

"I'm sorry," Victoria offered.

I looked down at myself—at Jessie—and felt a curious duality. I was looking out through her eyes, but I apparently didn't know her nearly as well as I thought I did.

She was smarter than she let on, for one thing. Jessie had seen me working on those files and recognized they were valuable. And even just a handful of hours in her body had made it obvious to me that she hadn't survived on the mean streets all that time by being the helpless waif she'd convinced me that she was. She had a knack for manipulating the men in her life. Me and Keyes, for sure. She knew just how to play us.

Jessie was no jet fuel genius, but she was crafty. And she knew how to take care of herself.

"It doesn't change anything," I said.

"Doesn't it?"

"You said it yourself. This is her body. I'm only a passenger. In a handful of hours, she'll be back in control, and I'll be nothing more than a memory. Though even if I could somehow swap roles with her, she doesn't deserve to die for what she did. She was just looking out for herself."

Victoria looked impressed. "Wow. I gotta say, you're more forgiving than I'd be in your shoes. That's a very adult attitude."

I pursed my lips and glanced over at her as I made an incremental tilt of my head. "I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm gonna feel less guilty about putting her body in danger."

"Oh, yes, definitely," she agreed.

I figured the police would still be crawling over the crime scene by the time we got to the club. I wasn't sure if that was good for us or bad for us. But as that ran through my head, another thought occurred.

"Xenos was pretty messed up by the time he came stumbling up to my car tonight. Was that your doing?"

"Me and a wrecking ball, maybe," she muttered. "Sadly, I can't take credit. I don't know all the details, but I got the impression he ran afoul of some metahuman."

"Occupational hazard, in this city," I said. But when she didn't offer more, I got the impression that something was up.

"And?" I pressed.

She shrugged. "What? Like you said, it happens."

"Not having all the details doesn't mean you don't have any details," I countered. "Give."

There was a subtle shift in her body language. Most people would have missed it, but I knew to look for it. She was uncomfortable with the topic for some reason.

Victoria took a breath. "I got the impression the other metahuman was another body swapper."

"I thought you said Xenos killed them all?"

"I guess he missed one. Look, don't get too excited," she said as she read the look of hopefulness on my face. "I doubt whoever it was would be any help to us."

"It's not that. Based on what you've told me, I'm in no hurry to find out who Xenos counts among his enemies."

"Then what?"

"Think about it. Whoever it was, they beat Xenos. They beat him badly, and they beat him at his own game. They gave him a reason to be scared."

Victoria gripped the wheel and gave a slight tilt of her head as she watched the road. "I don't think Xenos gets scared."

"Everybody is scared of something. And now we know what scares him. I don't know if we can find a way to use that or not, but he just went from being an ageless supernatural entity to being just another guy on the run from something. And those guys I know how to handle."

Victoria let out a dismissive sniff.

"Something funny?"

"It's a good speech, handsome. But Xenos has been around for hundreds of years. I was just wondering how many of his other victims made confident-sounding speeches just like it."

It was nearly 2am by the time we arrived at Unmasked. Normally the place would be open until 4am, but I half expected the place to be closed down, given how empty it was when I'd last seen it a couple hours ago. I sure as hell didn't expect there to be a line of people queued up, waiting to get inside.

It wasn't as long as the line at Club Nocturne—and the look of the clientele wasn't a fraction as polished—but it was impressive just the same. The cops had still cordoned off most of the parking lot and it looked like the CSI crews were working overtime with some bright lights out there, but if anything, the crowd had gotten bigger. I could see a couple of news crews standing around, and there was even a HeroVerse news drone hovering barely outside the police cordon, taking pictures.

I snorted at the picture. "This fucking city. There's actual superheroes flying around, but one rich guy dies in a strip club parking lot, and people lose their minds."

Victoria took a quick look as we drove past, looking for parking. "It's more likely they finally figured out who he was."

I looked at her in alarm. "They know he's Xenos?"

"No. But Xenos didn't choose to become Beaumont by accident. Beaumont was secretly a costumed vigilante known as Chimera. Xenos has been quietly moonlighting in that identity for years, off and on."

"Hunting down magic users and other body swappers," I said. "I don't suppose you might have mentioned this sooner?"

"I'm telling you now. Besides, Beaumont's body is dead. I didn't think it was relevant."

"Uh huh. Anything else you might have omitted that might be relevant? If you're a secret superheroine, now would be a good time to know it."

She pulled into an alleyway and parked. "Not unless having a menstrual cycle is a superpower. Which, allow me to assure you, it's not," she said sarcastically.

I gave her a deadpan look, or at least I tried to. It galled me that on Jessie's face, it probably looked adorable.

"I think I liked you better when you were sultry and mysterious," I told her.

"Yeah, well, it's been a tough night all around. Now get your lipstick out of your purse and touch it up. And you need to clean up your hair and eye makeup. You look like hell."

After an embarrassing lesson in reapplying my makeup, we got out of the car, and Victoria took my trench coat and fedora. I felt more mortified and vulnerable than ever in my scant little Dollface costume, but considering where we were headed, I figured it was probably best to get used to it. I wondered how Jessie had managed. It never seemed to bother her, but I couldn't imagine how that was possible.

My .38 was still in the pocket of my trench coat, so surrendering my coat to Victoria meant that I was giving that up as well. I wasn't wild about that, either, but my outfit didn't give me a lot of options. The gun might have fit in my purse, but it would have been a tight fit, and I couldn't risk it popping open at an inopportune moment. And strip club outfits tended not to be great at keeping things hidden.

"Wait a second," Victoria said as she stopped me by the back of the car. She reached up and fussed with my hair, tying it into the low twintails.

"That's the best I can do without ties," she said. "It'll hold for now, but try not to toss your hair around in the throes of mad passion."

"Yeah, I'll do my best."

"WOOOO!" came a loud wolf call.

We turned to look and saw a couple guys at the end of the alleyway. They made appreciative noises as they moved closer and looked us up and down, blocking our exit.

I might not have been a woman for very long, but I knew how to size up an opponent, and these guys were trouble. The jerks who'd hassled me earlier were just some drunk idiots, but I could tell just by looking that these two carried themselves like they knew how to fight. They were muscular young toughs, brimming with attitude. One guy had a bit of bling on under his bright red jacket, and the other guy was casually dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, apart from some fancy high-top sneakers.

I stiffened up as they moved closer. My gun was in my trench coat, which at the moment was draped across the trunk of the car, just out of reach. It'd take several seconds to dig it out, assuming I even got the opportunity. I kept my eyes fixed on the two guys, but in my peripheral vision I was keeping an eye on Victoria, figuring that we might take them by surprise if we attacked together. Maybe. But if anything, she seemed more relaxed than ever.

I felt a surge of adrenaline race through me as they closed in. We couldn't have looked like more tempting morsels if we tried. Victoria, with her sultry looks in her slinky black dress and elbow-length gloves looked like she was a debutante out for a night at the opera. Meanwhile, I looked...well, I looked like a stripper taking a break between sets.

"You ladies look lonely. You lookin' for some company?"

"Already got some," purred Victoria. She plucked my fedora from where it was sitting atop the trunk of the car and put it on, running her fingers playfully and seductively across the brim as she peered up at the guy.

The two men were scarcely more than an arm's length away from us by this point, and my heart was hammering in my chest. I'd fought guys bigger than me before, but this was in another weight class entirely. In the movies, you'll see a spunky and petite heroine taking on guys twice her size and holding her own, but in the real world, technique can only get you so far. Eventually, size and muscle wins out, especially if we didn't have room to move. Which they weren't giving to us.

The guy across from me in the high tops made an odd adjustment with his hips, and my eyes darted downwards to see the extremely prominent bulge in his jeans. One that his friend shared, I noticed.

A cold sweat burst across my body, giving me a shiver. The sensation extended across the unfamiliar expanse of flesh on my chest, making me even more self-conscious about how my big round breasts were on display in my low cut dress. Suddenly, an alarming new fear started to take hold. That the guys might not be here to intimidate or mug us, and that they might be looking for something else. And might not be inclined to take no for an answer. The size differential began to feel a lot more intimidating. Especially if my inability to fight them off might have more dire consequences.

I tried not to let my anxiety show, but I unthinkingly took a half-step back to get some space. Or rather, I tried to, because I bumped up against the rear of the car and stumbled slightly, feeling the cold metal pressed against the back of my bare thigh.

The guy in the red jacket smiled.

"Yeah," he agreed, looking me over in a way that made me feel unclean. "We jus' thought you'd 'preciate some proper male company."

"Ooh," Victoria intoned. "Well, about that..."

Even in Jessie's body, I was a couple inches taller than Victoria. I couldn't imagine how intimidating these guys must have looked from her perspective. But smoothly and deliberately, she faced me and tipped up the brim of the fedora with her finger. She then sinuously draped her arms around my neck as she pulled me in for a kiss.

This, I swiftly realized, was not a chase and sisterly peck on the cheek. She meant business.

I was a little startled by the move, no less so the various alien sensations that accompanied it. The tickle of her hair—or was it mine?—the feeling of our breasts pressed up against each other, the soft touch of her leg as it brushed gently against my own bare silken calf. Despite the insanity of the situation, I found myself practically melting in her arms. There was no doubt that she was the one in control of this encounter, and I can't say that bothered me very much.

I wasn't sure how much of my lustful reactions were my own or how many were Jessie's influence, but I knew one thing for sure—right at that moment, I didn't care.

"Awwww!" the two guys howled at our display in a laughing mixture of attraction and feigned disappointment. But it was obvious they weren't going to be put off that easily, either. So I was a little surprised when, as Victoria and I parted, their ribald cat-call changed in both tone and urgency, into a more clipped, "—awwww—WHOA!"

Confused, I followed their line of vision downwards to the gun that was in Victoria's hand, pointed directly at the guy in the jacket. I hadn't even noticed that she'd apparently fished it out of her purse while we were kissing. Based on their reactions, neither had the guys.

"Show's over, fellas," Victoria said in a tone that was all business. She maintained eye contact with the one guy, but very pointedly aimed the gun lower, at a more sensitive part of his anatomy. "Now, my friend here and I have a busy night ahead of us. So why don't you two cretins run along...or else you and I are both gonna be girls."

We watched as the two guys executed an orderly retreat, pausing only to mutter something inaudible that I'm sure wasn't flattering. Once they were gone, Victoria returned the gun to her purse and picked my trench coat off the back of the trunk and draped it over her arm.

I hadn't said anything, but she gave me a dismissive look.

"Oh, don't pretend like you hadn't been fantasizing about that all night," she said to me. "Come on. Now it's time for you to be the one to put on a show."

We left the car in the alley and started heading towards Unmasked. It was only a couple of blocks, but it felt like a million miles as I walked down the street in my ridiculous outfit. At 2am the streets were hardly packed, but there were enough people exiting the bars and clubs that I felt like I was under a microscope. A car slowed down and honked its horn, and while Victoria was no slouch in the looks department, it was pretty obvious that the hoots of delight were being aimed mostly at me.

Victoria wasn't being particularly helpful, either. For whatever reason, she was following a step or two behind me. A couple times I slowed down to let her catch up, only for her to slow down and make it obvious that she was doing it deliberately. I was starting to get kind of pissed off by it when she abruptly came up alongside me and pulled me over by the entryway for a closed and locked-up storefront.

"Chase," she said sweetly, "what the fuck are you doing?"

Her shift in demeanor took me by surprise. "W-wha—?"

"Don't act like you don't know. You're acting like a little boy out on Halloween who's embarrassed to be dressed like a girl."

"Can't imagine why."

Victoria looked like she was going to snap back a biting retort, but then composed herself and lowered her voice. "Listen, handsome. You got a raw deal, no question. And not to make this all about me, but if we don't get the goods to lure Xenos out, then I'm going to wake up one day soon with a bullet sailing through my brain after he tracks me down. Now, this plan only works if people think that you're Jessie, because if you act suspicious, they'll get suspicious. Which means you need to get over yourself and sell it. So, put on a dumb smile, shake those boobies, laugh at their dumb jokes, and for God's sake, flirt."

I recoiled at her words. "It's not...easy."

She sighed. "I know. Believe me, I know. But you know I'm right. If you can't even fool people on the street, you'll never fool people who actually know Jessie. You can't afford for them to start wondering why she's acting strangely."

I nodded. As we continued to the club, I plastered a big grin on my face and waved at guys hooting at me. I felt like an even bigger idiot than before, gaily prancing along. As we got close to the club, we had to pass the people outside waiting in line, and it was like I was a celebrity or something. Under Victoria's watchful eye, I flirted with the guys and even posed for a few pictures. One guy pulled me in for a selfie and used the excuse to cop a feel. I wanted to deck him, but I just giggled and squirmed away.

The bouncer let Victoria and me in, and I gave him a simpering smile. "Thanks, Mikey," I said. I'd intended it as a bit of sarcasm, the same way I'd used it on my way out the door with Jessie earlier that evening, but based on the leering grin I received, I don't think he took it that way.

"Better?" I grumbled to Victoria under my breath as we entered the club, already wearying of my performance.

"Barely. There's no trophy here for 'most improved.' I'm going to get a table and keep my eyes open. Now, go 'get your girl on' and get us those files."

The club was packed, especially given the hour. Leave it to Marcks to have a reclusive billionaire drop dead in his parking lot and figure out a way to use it to drum up business.

I plastered a vacant smile on my face and started off at a crisp and motivated walk across the club, one designed to indicate to my various admirers that I had somewhere to be. Unfortunately, I hadn't taken ten steps before the tempo of my gait had caused my breasts to bounce in a very frisky and eye-catching way, to say nothing of how personally distracting I found it. I paused and slipped into a slower and more gliding step, although I soon discovered that had its own drawbacks.

"Eep!" I yelped in a decidedly feminine register as I felt a strong arm wrap around my waist, which yanked me from my feet! I tumbled backwards in a tangle of skirts and petticoats as I landed on a guy's knee. He was a good deal bigger than me, so the effect was that of a little girl sitting in Santa's lap to tell him what presents she wanted for Christmas. Although from the way that he and his two friends were looking at me, I was the present. One they were looking forward to unwrapping.

"Hey, Dollface. How's about a lap dance?" the guy said, as I felt his hand slip under my skirt and caress my silky thigh. If his fingers drifted a few inches to the left, he'd be exploring parts of my anatomy that even I hadn't had the courage to investigate yet.

"Sorry, uh, honey, I've got a client lined up," I squeaked. I squirmed in his grasp a little, but with his arm still around me, I wasn't able to get enough leverage to stand up.

"He can wait," the guy said. There was something familiar about this guy. Plus, he was cute. Middle-aged with sandy brown hair and a confidence that came off him in waves. Mmm, he smelled nice.

I shook my head, and it occurred to me that the customers weren't supposed to get grabby with the girls like this. However, I'd noticed that rule sometimes didn't always seem to get properly enforced with certain VIP customers. My eyes cut over at the bouncer, but he merely scanned the club with a practiced disinterest, suggesting that my admirer might have some pull. I figured I could try to flag the bouncer down, but that would only draw more attention. The kind of attention I couldn't afford.

My mind flashed back to how Victoria had handled those two young toughs in the alleyway while I'd stood there like a frightened schoolgirl. It kind of pissed me off that she'd managed to do that, and I couldn't even ditch one horny fan.

I felt as the guy continued to caress my body. His hand drifted up over my waist and cupped my breast.

"I'm willing to make it worth your while," he said meaningfully as his two friends enjoyed the show.

I was about to make another protest when he flashed a fan of bills in his other hand. At first, I almost snorted at the crass obviousness of the move, but then I did a double-take as I realized that those weren't singles. Those were hundred dollar bills! In one hand, he was flashing more money than I had in my entire bank account!

"Ooh, that is flash," I purred. I snuggled close to him to that my breasts pressed against his chest and I practically nuzzled up against him. I slowly reached up with my hand to caress his face, even as I kissed his cheek. And then planted another teasing kiss on his lips. I reached down to move his hand from around my waist and stood up, giving a slow and sexy turn. The guy barely moved as he tracked my movement with his eyes, obviously wondering where I was going with this.

I bent over to give him a terrific view of my cleavage as I ran my hands down my body. "I'll swing by later. I'll make it worth your while," I promised him.

"I'll hold you do that, Dollface," he said with a smirk. Then he reached over and tucked a couple bills under the strap of my brassiere. "We'll call that a down payment."

I smiled broadly and bent down and gave him another kiss on the cheek before spinning in a way that caused my little skirt to fan out from the move. I put a little extra oomph in my stride to give the boys a show.

A pleasant glow filled me as I crossed the club, grinning as the guys took their eyes off the other waitresses and dancers to take a peek at me. Ha! Nice. The music was pumpin', and I swayed to the beat as I strutted along, nice an' easy like. Up on stage, I saw Ashlyn doing the end of her set. Dressed as...whassername. Punchline. Ugh, Ashlyn was such a good dancer! Way better than me, for sure. Maybe after I did my set, she'd give me some tips. 'Course, first I gotta go give a dance to—

Give a dance to... um...

Wait, where was I goin'?

God, I'm such a ditz! Mr. Marcks is gonna be pissed if I...

Wait. Yeah. Mr. Marcks. I gotta see him. To ask him...somethin'. To get somethin'... from him...?

Huh. Right. Over there's the door backstage. With the stairs that go up to Mr. Marcks' office. He's got those funny one-way windows lookin' out over the club up there. Ha. He could be lookin' at me right now, and I wouldn' even—

Suddenly, it was like a veil had been torn away from my eyes, and I was me, again.

I scrambled through the backstage door and hurriedly took two steps up the staircase to the office. Thankfully, there was nobody else around. Adrenaline surged through me as I realized what had just happened. With one hand, I desperately clung on to the handrail like it was a lifeline, even as my other hand came up to my chest. My bosom heaved as I panted for breath.

"Jesus Christ," I gasped. That wasn't me. That was Jessie.

Any faint hope that Victoria had been wrong about my situation or had been yanking my chain vanished like a puddle in the desert. I could remember everything that had just happened, but that hadn't been me in control.

I knew Jessie had been influencing me, but until now, the idea that she might take over the body had been abstract. Something that could happen, but maybe not. Maybe even something I could fight against. But I hadn't expected for it to feel so easy. So natural. God, another two minutes like that and I'd have gladly jumped up on stage so I could and dance and jiggle around for the guys.

Even worse, it was like I could feel her at the edge of my consciousness. Jessie was there. She was getting stronger. And she was pushing me out.

That's when it really hit me. I really was going to die.

A couple waitresses passed by me and asked if I was okay, and I faked a smile and said I was fine. One of them offered me a Midol, and despite the situation, I couldn't help but laugh. I was going to die in a woman's body in mere hours, but at least that meant I wasn't going to get my period. So, I had that going for me.

Jessie's control was growing, that much was certain. At first, her influence was just subconscious, little tics and behaviors. Later, she'd been able to sway my actions. But this felt like outright control, like she was in the driver's seat, and all I could do was watch. Victoria was right, I don't think she was even aware of me. Jessie probably felt like she was sleepwalking or waking from a dream or something.

I had to admire the wicked symmetry of the whole thing. I felt myself nervously opening and closing my hand, wishing for the familiar comfort of my lighter to fidget with. Though that was back in my purse I'd left with Victoria.

Victoria. Right, she was waiting for me to get this done. Focus, Chase. This isn't over yet.

Quickly and quietly, I headed up the back stairs to Marcks' office. But as I paused in front of his door, a nervous breath caught in my throat. I had to admit that it seemed a lot more imposing than the last time I'd stood here. Of course, that time I wasn't wearing stripper heels, either.

Hesitantly, I rapped on the door, more than a little relieved when there was no answer. Then I leaned closer, straining to hear over the thumping house music coming from downstairs, but I couldn't hear anything.

I had to chance it.

I tried the door, only to find it locked. No surprise there. Marcks was too careful for that. Still, I had one ace up my sleeve.

I loosened my grip on the doorknob even as I reached out with Jessie's telekinetic Trifling ability. I figured if I could get a grip on the other side of the knob, I could open the door from the inside. But that was easier said than done.

A thin film of sweat formed on my brow as I whimpered from the strain and tried to concentrate on my target. I could just barely sense it, and it was tough to get a purchase on it. It was aggravating. I could hear the knob being worked from the inside, but it kept slipping from my grasp.

Nervously, I looked both ways down the corridor. This was taking too long. And if Marcks caught me...well, he knew about Jessie's Trifling ability, and he was smart enough to figure out what I was up to.

I pushed the thought from my mind.

I took another breath and tried again. Given how difficult this was, I had a lot more respect for Jessie's little tricks that I'd seen her perform on stage as part of her act. She couldn't do much, but she didn't miss a step or show any strain at all as she danced around with a grin on her face. Meanwhile, here I was, barely able to—

Click.

"Yes!" I whispered to myself as I slipped inside.

I'd been in Marcks' office a few times as a man. The whole thing was a power play, an opulent space done up in black and burgundy, as forbidding as the man himself.

The far wall had a bank of one-way windows that looked down over the club, so that the king could look down over his domain. But the first thing you noticed was how quiet it was. The rhythmic bass that blasted from the high-end speakers on the other side of that glass was reduced to a barely audible tapping noise. Marcks didn't like to raise his voice, and in this environment, he didn't have to. His smooth and soft-spoken demeanor was intimidating as fuck when his every whisper demanded your attention.

My eyes darted over to the big empty chair behind his desk. Even as a guy, I found being in this room massively intimidating, even when Marcks was playing nice. Not that I ever let him see it. However, standing here in Jessie's body and dressed like a little girl in a party dress sent a full-on shiver up my spine. An expensive black leather couch was over against one wall, and one time I'd crassly joked to Marcks how many of his dancers had "auditioned" for him on those plush cushions.

All of a sudden, that joke didn't seem so funny anymore.

I swiftly crossed over to his spacious desk, practically wincing at the sharp staccato clacks of my high heels on the floor. Unfortunately, my files weren't simply sitting out on top of his desk. Nice to know that my luck was consistent.

I quickly searched through his office, using Jessie's ability to unlock a few desk drawers. Given the hurry I was in, I wanted to toss the place—it seemed only fair, given how he'd had my place torn apart—but I had two problems. First, I wasn't keen to find out what he'd do to me if he caught me like this. Second, I was worried about Jessie.

Given how she'd betrayed me, I knew she probably didn't deserve my loyalty. But the simple truth was that in less than a day, she'd be back here, and I'd be a forgotten memory. Which meant that anything I did in her body would ultimately be tracked back to her. If Marcks found out that she'd tossed his office, he'd finish her off without a second thought, and she wouldn't even know it was coming. She deserved better than that.

It was debatable whether I was getting what I deserved, but nobody bothered to ask my opinion on the matter.

I let out a girlish huff of exasperation as I finished my sweep of Marcks' office. Keyes had plenty of time to bring Marcks the files after tossing my place, and Marcks wouldn't have taken any chances. He sure as hell wouldn't be walking around with them tucked under his arm, either.

Which left only one place I hadn't checked.

I opened a cabinet door to reveal the tall black safe inside. It looked simple enough, with a digital pad and a metal handle. But this was Faraday City. With metahumans on every street corner working both sides of the law, it was a dead cert that Marcks would have taken precautions against all manner of metahuman incursions. Jessie's little Trifling powers might open a locked desk drawer, but this was way out of her league.

Unfortunately, I'd barely had time to muse on that when I heard an electronic beep coming from the lock on the office door!

"That is extremely disappointing," Marcks said coolly on his phone as he entered his office. "This is what you're going to—"

He stopped short as he saw me. Before the door had opened, I'd managed to execute an energetic but fairly graceless dive onto his plush couch, and I was stretched out and staring at him propped up on one elbow with a delightfully vacant grin on my face.

"I'll call you back," Marcks said as the door clicked close behind him. He gave me a tight smile, but he made no attempt to hide how his eyes did a quick survey of his office, checking for anything out of place.

"Well, this is unexpected," he said evenly as he looked me up and down. With most guys, I'd have assumed that he was checking out the goods, but a smarter man would also be doing some mental calculations, trying to figure out if I could possibly have hidden anything of value in my skimpy outfit. Marcks was smart enough that he could do both at the same time.

"I wanted t' su'prise you," I chirped in as guileless a tone as I could muster. I was smiling so hard that I thought I was going to pull a muscle.

Marcks didn't move as he kept his eyes locked on mine. "I can see I'm going to have to replace that lock," he offered mildly.

I affected a confused little pout. "But then how could I su'prise you?" I said, again flashing a toothy grin. I hoped I wasn't overselling this. Though if I was, he wasn't giving any outward sign.

"Mmm," he intoned equivocally. He started to turn to head over to his desk, but as I looked past him, I realized that the cabinet to the safe was still slightly open!

"I'm sorry!" I said as I bounded up from the couch. He turned to face me, and I slowed my approach. "I jus' wanted t' see you," I said, peering up at him through my blonde bangs. Slowly and sensually, I ran my fingers down his arm, a touch filled with promise. He might have been carved out of marble for all the reaction that he was giving me, but his eyes had taken on a hungry quality that made my skin crawl. However, I had his attention, so I pressed my advantage.

I took a half step closer to him, nestling against him. I felt like a complete idiot. I had no idea how to seduce a guy, especially a guy like Marcks. This felt clumsy and amateurish, but I could only hope that he knew Jessie well enough that he'd underestimate her.

The same way I had.

I wasn't sure my ploy was working until I felt as his arm slid up behind me. He was a big guy, and strong, and I half expected him to grab me by my ponytails, slam me against the wall, and demand to know what was going on. So I was mildly surprised as he instead pulled me into a tighter and decidedly romantic embrace. He had a grip like iron, and as my boobs pressed up against him, I caught a scent of his cologne. The warm, musky fragrance gave me a tingling feeling as I smiled lazily up at him.

Ooh, yeah. I liked the way he looked at me. I felt so—

He pulled away, and my eyes drifted over to the open cabinet in the corner of the room. With the safe.

The safe! Oh, shit!

"Ah-CHOO!" I sneezed loudly. My sudden fake sneeze caught his attention even as I reached out with Jessie's telekinetic ability to shut the cabinet. I hoped I'd been loud enough to cover the noise.

In fact, it did more than merely catch his attention.

"God dammit," he swore as he pulled quickly away from me. It was an uncharacteristically vulgar response compared to his normally hyper-composed comportment. "Cover your mouth when you sneeze," he admonished me as he swiftly crossed over to his desk and began to clean his hands with some antibacterial wipes. Right, I'd forgotten about his germ hangup.

There was a knock at the door, and one of Marcks' men entered. I started to back up as if to excuse myself, but Marcks held up a warning finger, indicating I should stay put.

The two men conferred about some shady business that I'm sure would have been fascinating if I'd been visiting as my male self, but at the moment, I was still in a panic over what had just happened. That had been Jessie again! If I lost control now, I was a dead man!

I held my hands behind me and closed them into tight fists as I felt my long manicured nails bite painfully into my palms. I maintained my happy but vacant expression for the benefit of the men, but I tried to use the pain to focus my brain on the here and now. At first, I thought that Jessie's body was simply horny, but it occurred to me that many of my episodes had been triggered by a touch or a smell. Usually of a man, like his cologne. Right, that made sense. Scents had strong ties to memory, and I was dredging up Jessie's memories...and her personality!

I glanced nervously around Marcks' office. If that was true, being here at the club was an incredibly dangerous place for me to be. Jessie would have a lot of memories here. I needed to stay on my guard.

"Very well," I heard Marcks say in a neutral but final tone. "But this is the final time. Young Mr. Marchetti needs to appreciate that we rely on discretion."

The goon shot me a look, obviously wondering if they should be having this conversation with me present. In response, I pretended to admire my manicure and gave him my most vacuous smile, and he went back to staring at my chest. However, I suddenly realized that the real show was going on with Marcks over in the corner. He was opening the safe!

I watched as he opened up the cabinet and then proceeded to unlock the safe. Neither man was paying me much attention, but their bodies were blocking my view! I tried to discreetly lean to the side to see better, but it was no good. However, I could see a significant amount of money change hands as Marcks handed his man a stack of bills, and then another.

I edged further to the side, but I could only glimpse a tiny corner of the inside of the safe. Though I knew if I moved any further, it would be obvious that my interest wasn't merely casual.

My mind raced as I tried to figure out what to do. I could maybe use Jessie's ability to open the safe wider, but Marcks knew she had that ability, and he wasn't an idiot. If that door jerked open, he wasn't going to blame it on an errant breeze.

Then I wondered what I'd do if the files were in there? If they were, this would likely be my only chance to grab them. What exactly was my plan, to shove past the two men, grab the files, and make a run for it? I wouldn't make it four steps, not in these stupid shoes. I—

Marcks took a step closer to his man and lowered his voice to say something. I couldn't hear what was being said, but it gave me an unobstructed view of the contents of the safe.

The files weren't there.

That's not to say that the safe was empty, but a stack of paper files like that would have been obvious. The only thing that was obvious was that they weren't there.

Marcks closed and locked the safe as he nodded to his man, who took his leave. My head was still spinning as I tried to work out what this meant. Marcks had to be the brainchild behind stealing those dossiers, but if he didn't have them, then who did? Did Xenos have them already? If he did, then it was game over.

The click of the office door closing shut behind me snapped me back into the moment. Marcks' man had just made his exit, and now it was just me and the man himself. And based on the rapacious look he was giving me as he prowled around behind his desk, that wasn't good.

Marcks swiveled his chair around and sat without taking his eyes off of me for an instant. With his right hand, he patted the edge of his desk, signaling for me to come join him.

I forced a dopey smile on my face as I obediently approached and perched my butt on the edge of his desk, right in front of him. My heart was beating like a hummingbird as a raw feeling of panic settled in.

"You know," he said as he idly plucked at my froth of skirts to reveal more of my thigh, "I'm really quite cross with you."

"M-me?" I squeaked. For once, I didn't have to play dumb.

"Mmm," he murmured as he gently stroked my thigh. His dark skin was a sharp contrast to my own—to Jessie's, rather—but it wasn't a romantic gesture so much as a possessive one. Smooth and calculated, like a rich man running his fingers along the sleek lines of an expensive sports car he'd just purchased and was looking forward to taking for a drive.

"Chase's files weren't where you said they were," he said. As he did so, he continued to fuss at my outfit, tugging down on the lacy fringe of the scoop neck to show off more of my cleavage. "I know the two of you are friends. You didn't...I don't know...give him a call to warn him, did you?"

"What? No!" I protested. I tried to turn to face him properly, but his hand gripped my knee like an iron vice, holding me in place. He was still sitting in his chair, but he wheeled it over slightly so that he was directly in front of me. He lifted my other knee and placed it on top of the other, crossing my legs like he was posing a doll on a shelf.

"Des—uh, Mr. Marcks, you know I'd never—"

"Yes, yes. You like it here, and you're very, very grateful," he said in an offhand way, almost like he was talking to himself. "I don't suppose you have any idea why Chase came back this evening?"

I blinked at him stupidly. "Came...back? Y-y'mean, when me and him left together? We went out to his car, an'—"

"I mean after that."

"Chase came back here? Why?" I asked.

"I was rather hoping you could tell me," Marcks said, scrutinizing my expression. Which quickly shifted from confusion to fear as I realized the implications.

I knew Xenos was running around in my body, but I'd assumed we'd have to track him down somewhere. Tricky, but it might give us the upper hand if he didn't see us coming. However, if he was orbiting around places where we already were, we could be the ones walking into an ambush!

God, Victoria was downstairs. Xenos could be here right now! I had to warn her. We had to get the hell out of here!

Marcks obviously read the bewilderment on my face. "Jessie, I swear you're almost more trouble than you're worth. Almost," he repeated. "But fortunately, you're not without certain diverting charms."

My mind was racing a million miles an hour, so at first I didn't follow what he was saying. But then he reached over and grabbed my skinny arms in his powerful hands, and guided me downwards. Onto my knees in front of him.

No no no no no, I thought as I saw the bulge in his pants scant inches away from me.

And yet... It was all so...familiar. Yeah. I knew what he liked.

I reached forward and unzipped his fly, peering up at him with a sly smile as he looked down at me—

Looked down—

I pulled my hands back and squeezed them into fists, feeling the sharp pain of my nails again digging into my palms. Oh, God, I was slipping again! I had to hold on, to stop this somehow. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw the antibacterial wipes.

My mouth was nearly dry from fear, but I forced myself to generate some saliva. Then, making eye contact with him again, I leaned forward over his crotch...and let a thin line of saliva drip down out of my mouth, and onto his pants.

His reaction was instantaneous.

"Dammit, woman!" he swore as he recoiled in disgust. He reached down towards the spot on his pants, then jerked his hand back. Then he stood up awkwardly and grabbed a bunch of wipes to dab the spot on his crotch. I would have laughed at the picture, but I was still kneeling down with wide-open eyes, trying to affect as artless an expression as Jessie's face was capable of.

"Out! Get out!" Marcks demanded.

I was up like a shot and out the door before he could change his mind. My heart was still beating a mile a minute, but we weren't out of the woods yet. We had to get out of here!

Victoria and I headed for the back door to the club, and we cut through the dressing area with its row of makeup mirrors and racks of clothes. Once again, I did a double-take at my reflection as we made our way through. Even with my trench coat and fedora covering up my outfit again, I still looked like a stripper wearing a sexy detective costume. But Victoria, even in her elegant gown and elbow-length gloves, exuded an easy confidence that made her look like she fit right in.

I imagined her husband could have taken her to a hockey game dressed like that, and she would have made everybody else there feel like they were underdressed for the occasion.

We slipped out the back, and once again I found myself blinking into the flashing police lights, although I noticed there weren't nearly as many as before. It looked like the forensic crews were still at it, but most of the thrill had died down.

Any person we encountered could potentially be Xenos in disguise, so we did a quick turn to avoid what was left of the line outside the club. I wasn't wild about taking the sidewalks back to Victoria's car since we were so exposed, but it was the most direct route. Although one quick look at the two of us reminded me that looking like we did, cutting through back alleys and secondary streets probably wasn't the smartest move in the world, either.

My hand was jammed in the pocket of my trench coat, feeling the cold metal of my trusty .38. The grip felt unfamiliar in Jessie's smaller hand, but serviceable. Meanwhile, Victoria moved with her usual grace, although her eyes were checking every corner, every shadow. She carried her purse in a slightly protective way that didn't look out of place for a woman in this part of town, but also put her own gun within quick reach.

By now it was going on 3am, and the streets were deadly quiet. There was nobody else on the sidewalks apart from some drunks and a few homeless people huddled in the nooks and crannies of the closed storefronts. The city streets were equally empty apart from the occasional car that drifted past, splashing through the puddled water left over from the earlier rain. A couple of them slowed down as they passed us by, probably wondering if we were a couple of hookers.

I popped up the collar on my trench coat and tugged the brim of my fedora a little lower. I didn't look like much of a man, but I figured if we looked like a couple, even a moment's confusion from a distance might brush them off until we could get to the cover of Victoria's car.

Not that I expected Xenos to be fooled so easily. I knew he was here, somewhere. Prowling around the edges, waiting for an opportune moment.

We were being hunted.

Victoria and I rounded the last corner, finally within sight of the alleyway where she'd parked the car. There, once again, I saw flashing lights. But it wasn't the cops this time. We looked up just in time to see a tow truck sticking its nose out of the alley. It pulled forward and then turned to drive away from us. Towing away Victoria's car.

"Even my luck's not that bad," I muttered.

I made quick eye contact with Victoria, who'd evidently come to the same conclusion. Xenos. It had to be. Limiting our escape routes, trying to control the encounter.

"I'll call an Uber," she said, starting to reach for her phone.

I looked nervously up and down the street. "At this time of night? In this part of town? With the bars closing? Don't hold your breath." I swear I could feel the net closing tighter around us.

Just then, a black Escalade on the other side of the street made a slow approach, and Victoria and I resumed walking. It was dark, but it looked like there was only the driver inside. I had half a mind to flag him down. Carjacking a stranger at gunpoint all of a sudden didn't seem like such a terrible idea.

Even as that thought started to take hold, the car drifted past. Then, suddenly, it gunned its engine and swung around towards us!

"Run!" I yelled.

With nowhere to go, Victoria and I raced into the building that was immediately in front of us. It appeared to be a derelict hotel or apartment building, but the locals had apparently managed to pry open the chain link fence in front enough that we were able to slip through. For not the first time, I cursed this stupid stripper footwear that Jessie had been wearing, but whatever control she seemed to have allowed me to manage pretty adeptly on the uneven ground.

Victoria was already in front of me as we ducked inside what was left of the half-demolished lobby area. Both of us had our guns at the ready as we took cover and looked back the way we'd come. The headlights of the parked Escalade shone directly at us, but as I squinted, I couldn't make out where the driver had gone.

Then I heard something behind me. Barely a scratch of noise from maybe 20 feet back, but enough to get my attention.

A figure was standing there. A man. I couldn't see his face clearly, but he was wearing a trench coat and hat. I could just make out his silhouette in the uneven darkness, but he had the most familiar outline, one I'd seen countless times before. Just...never from this angle.

Or...had I? Gosh, he looked familiar...

Um, also, where was I, anyhow? Ugh, this place was scuzzy! An' way unsafe looking. Not a good place for a girl to be on her own, for sure. I was nervous, but I took a better look at the guy.

I sighed in relief. "Ohh, it's you, Chase!" I said with a big smile as I took a step towards him.

Huh, that's funny. What's that he's got in his hand? It kinda looked like—

"Get down!" some chick next to me yelled.

Before I even knew what was up, this crazy brunette chick plowed right into me, and I heard a gunshot! She screamed like she was hurt, and then she slumped right against me! Like, I don't even know you, lady! I shrieked and pulled back from her as she slumped down to the ground. Then I lifted my hands to my face, and that's when I saw I was holding a gun! How come I had a gun? I didn't even like guns!

I tossed the nasty thing to the ground and then turned back towards Chase. He had a gun in his hand, and he was pointing it right at me!

"Baby, stop, it's me!" I yelled.

Chase gave me a really weird look. "Mr. Chase. I've no desire to shoot you, but I will if I have to. Stand aside. Now."

Behind me on the ground, that brunette chick groaned in pain. Whoa, did Chase just shoot her? How come? She looked like she was dressed to go to like a fancy dinner party or something.

I was really scared and did not know what was going on. I crossed my arms into a little hug as I looked at Chase. "Baby, where are we? What's going on?"

Chase edged a little to the side to aim around me, and I found myself taking a half-step to block him, I didn't even really know why. I just—

Chase looked angry and frustrated. "Where is all this loyalty coming from, Mr. Chase? What has she promised you? Revenge? Redemption? A second chance? Just look at yourself!"

"Police! Drop the gun! Now!" another man's voice suddenly shouted from behind me, over by the way in.

I spun around to see who it was. I...hey, I knew him? Oh, yeah, Alex Keyes. That cute cop I liked. And he had his gun out, pointed at Chase! How come everyone had guns?!

"Alex...?" I said.

"Jessie, get over here! Chase, I don't know what you're up to, but drop the gun or I will shoot you."

I froze. I didn't know what to do! I looked back at Chase, but he still had his gun pointed at me. Or...past me? At the chick on the ground? Wow, she didn't look so good, but she was trying to pull herself up on her elbow. Did I know her?

"Detective Keyes, isn't it?" Chase said. Which was super weird. I thought they already knew each other. "I'll be with you in a moment, once the young lady steps aside."

Everybody wanted me to move, but that felt...wrong. I dunno why. I started to take a step, but a gasp from the lady on the ground stopped me.

"Chase..." she groaned. But...she was looking at me. Like, right at me. But I'm thinkin', uh, honey, I'm not—

"Chase..." I repeated to myself. Then I looked over at Chase. Waitasec. That wasn't right. He was— No, I was—

"Ohhh, shit," I said as I felt myself regain control of the body. "Victoria—!"

With a grunt of effort, Victoria forced herself up on her side. She'd been hit, but she'd managed to hold on to her gun.

Bang! Bang! The sounds of her gun going off startled me, but the kick of adrenaline also snapped me back into focus. A split second later, the room exploded into sounds of gunfire. Keyes was shooting at Xenos, Xenos was shooting at us. I dove for cover, scrabbling around on my hands and knees as I tried to look for where I'd dropped my gun.

"UNGGGH!" I heard a man's voice cry out immediately after a gunshot. Someone had gotten hit, I wasn't sure who.

I caught a glint of gray metal in the dim light and laid my hands on my .38. The shooting had died down, and I broke cover just enough to poke my head up and take in the scene.

Xenos was staring right at me. He'd repositioned to some cover behind a pillar a little further away. However, his gun was still pointing in the direction of Keyes, and I had a shot. Not an easy one, but clean.

He was looking at me with my own eyes, standing there in my own body. The body—the life—that he'd stolen from me. The moment hung suspended in time as I felt the weight of the gun in my hands. Jessie's hands. I knew what I had to do.

I just...couldn't do it. I couldn't bring myself to take the shot.

The body thief read the hesitation on my face and seized the opportunity to execute a swift retreat towards the back of the building, obviously not liking his odds. I'd no doubt he was dangerous and tricky, but he wasn't stupid enough to give us a stand-up fight when all of us had guns pointed at him, either. The last thing I saw, he was running out the back.

Victoria's groan caught my attention. She was already half on her feet, and I rushed over to her.

"I'm okay," she gasped as I helped her up. "He only winged me."

I checked her out as she continued to survey the space around us. "It missed the bone. You got lucky," I said, looking at her injured arm. "Keep pressure on it. Can you walk?"

She nodded and leaned heavily on me as we moved towards the entrance.

That's when I saw Keyes, dead. He'd gotten hit in the chest, and the front of his shirt was covered in dark blood. His eyes stared unblinkingly up at the ceiling.

"Fuck," I muttered. I'd never much liked the man, but he didn't deserve this. He was a good man, in his way. He'd died thinking he was saving Jessie from me.

I suppose, in a way, he had.

A few minutes later, Victoria and I were screeching away in Keyes' black Escalade that was sitting out front. I drove like a demon for a few blocks, and then slammed on the brakes, causing Victoria to hiss in pain from the abrupt stop.

Before she could do anything, I grabbed her purse out of her hands and pulled my gun on her.

"Magnum," I said.

"Chase, I—"

"Magnum."

"September," she said with a pained wince, answering with the complementary code word. "Good God, Chase, I took a bullet for you back there. For most people, that's enough to establish good intentions."

"I'm not most people. Especially today. Now, are we gonna talk about how Keyes just happened to be driving by just then? Or am I supposed to believe that Xenos called him in, too?"

Victoria fixed a look on me with her dark eyes. Even wounded, there was a quiet defiance there. Then she blinked heavily and shrugged.

"I texted him."

"While I was up in Marcks' office. You had my purse. You used my phone to contact him."

"Jessie's phone. But, yes."

I kept the gun squarely pointed at her. "Why?"

"For the same exact reason that you were going to. Keyes was the one who ransacked your office and stole the dossiers. You said so yourself. I figured he either had them, or he knew where they were."

"Bullshit. While you were sitting there texting him, you didn't know yet if I'd found the files in Marcks' office or not."

"It didn't matter. If you came up empty, then we needed Keyes. If you spotted the files but weren't able to retrieve them, we needed Keyes. If the files were there and by some miracle you managed to retrieve them, then we needed Keyes as muscle to have a chance against Xenos. The only reason we're alive is because Keyes was there. You're welcome."

"Helping us is what got him killed. Doesn't that bother you?"

"Of course. But Xenos has to be stopped. And as long as we're in a confessional mood, maybe you can explain to me why you didn't shoot Xenos back there when you had the chance?"

I didn't say anything.

Victoria sighed heavily. "God dammit. I knew I was asking too much. You're still harboring fantasies about getting put back in your old body—"

"That's not it," I said, cutting her off. She gave me a dubious look. "You said it yourself. Even if Xenos could untangle my spirit from Jessie's, he'd only swap with somebody else, and I'd be passing the buck to them. I just—" I fell quiet, not sure what to say.

"You're not a killer, handsome. I get it. But you need to get over that. This only ends one way. It's either him or us. You know that, right?"

I still had the gun pointed at her, but I lowered it and tucked it back into my trench coat.

Victoria raised her eyebrows. "So? Are you gonna keep us in suspense all night?" she asked.

I knew exactly what she meant. Keyes had been the one to toss my place, looking for my files. He'd done it on Marcks' orders, but he'd been the one to do the deed. Which meant that if Marcks never got them...

I turned around in my seat and then looked in back. Sitting there on the floor behind the driver's seat was a blue duffel bag. I hefted it and hauled it into the front seat. Even before I opened the zipper, I knew exactly what was inside.

"You wanted leverage on Xenos? That's it right there," Victoria said as I pulled out one of the familiar manila folders.

I sniffed. "Earlier tonight, when Keyes found me in the parking lot, he told me that he'd found a golden ticket that would get him and Jessie out from under Marcks' control for good. He didn't know what all this was, but he must have known it was valuable to the right people, so he kept it for himself. And it got him killed."

Victoria groaned in pain again and sat back in her seat.

"We need to get you fixed up," I told her.

She nodded heavily. "I'll give you one thing. You know how to show a girl a good time."

The Carrington Suites hotel wasn't exactly my usual stomping grounds. I doubted I could afford a drink in the hotel bar without taking out a loan. But we needed a place to lie low, and Victoria assured me that one of the more prized amenities that came with their very expensive prices was discretion.

Evidently, that's where she had been staying. That gave me some concern, since I figured that'd be the first place that Xenos would look for us. However, while it seemed that although Victoria's husband had willingly performed services for Xenos, he'd been every bit as paranoid about his employer as she was. When visiting Faraday City for these annual get-togethers, they never stayed in the same place twice, and always under an assumed name.

I draped my trench coat over Victoria's shoulders so as not to draw attention to her wound. Unfortunately, that meant that I had to walk through the lobby in my Dollface costume, with my high heels clicking noisily as we crossed the marble floor. We were hardly inconspicuous. It had to be 3:30 in the morning by now, and we both looked like hell. I probably actually did look like a bimbo supervillainess looking for a place to hide out after a caper. Or at the very least, a prostitute dressed as one.

"Will there be anything else for you and your guest, Mrs. Velasquez?" a bellman asked with professional crispness as the elevator arrived. We might have been royal duchesses coming in from a ride in the countryside the way he addressed us.

"'Mrs. Velasquez?'" I echoed under my breath.

"Paranoid, remember? My husband didn't even choose the alias himself, just in case he subconsciously followed a pattern. He picked it randomly out of the phone book."

A short ride up the elevator later, we arrived at the suite itself.

The place was huge. The sitting room out front was bigger than my entire apartment. I'd once read that this place prided itself on "reserved opulence," but as I looked around at the plush velvet upholstery and wall sconces in the entryway, it made me wonder what "unreserved opulence" must look like. There was a fucking crystal chandelier, for God's sake. As we entered, we were met by the faint scent of vanilla and sandalwood.

The rich didn't even breathe the same air as the rest of us.

Victoria walked heavily inside, tossing her purse onto a side table in a familiar way. At first I thought she was making for one of the couches in the posh sitting area, but she made her way to the bar instead. Sensible.

As she poured herself a drink and quickly downed it, I looked around for a sink. On our way here, I'd made a quick stop at a 24-hour drugstore to pick up some items to clean and dress her wound, but I needed some water. I opened up some double-doors that I figured led to the bedroom.

"No, wait!" Victoria called after me. "There's a bathroom out...here..."

Her voice trailed off as she saw that I'd returned.

She took her drink and sat down on one of the couches. As she made eye contact with me, she had a pained expression on her face that I could tell wasn't merely due to her wound.

"I see you've met Mr. Dunne," she said dryly.

"That would be the dead guy in the bed? Yeah. He's getting a little ripe in there, by the way."

"I would imagine. I did mention that I was working against a deadline. Even in a hotel that prides itself on discretion, they tend to take a dim view of things like that."

"Murder? Yes, I would imagine so."

Victoria was taken aback. "Chase, that is an unfair accusation. I swear to you that his death was entirely of natural causes. Though I grant that his passing while on this trip was...timely," she said, taking a drink from her glass.

"Sorry. Given the timing, it seemed logical to assume you were involved."

She peered up at me. "I never said I wasn't involved. I said he died of natural causes."

It took me a second to follow her meaning. Then my eyes cut back over towards the bedroom. "Oh. Ugh."

Over the next several minutes, I cleaned and dressed her wound. (And also helped myself to a double from the bar.) We'd gotten lucky. She'd lost some blood, but it was only a minor flesh wound. I was able to patch her up well enough.

As I worked, Victoria regarded me with a vaguely amused expression.

"What?" I asked.

"'What,' yourself. That look on your face. You look like you're on stage at a beauty pageant, puzzling out a question from the judges."

I didn't react. Then, after a moment, I said, "If we're successful—you know, dealing with Xenos—"

"When," she corrected me.

"—what are you going to do with your life? With your husband dead, you'll be free, right? You'll have money." My eyes drifted around the luxurious suite.

I half expected some superficial response, so I was a little surprised when she got a thoughtful expression, lost in some memory.

"Xenos once asked me the same question," she said. Then, seeing my expression, she added, "No, not like that. It was before, when I was still a man. I'd just finished a particularly lurid assignment for him, and he was dangling the hope of immortality in front of me. Before I understood what that really meant," she said, looking down at herself. Her daughter's body, now hers.

"What'd you tell him?"

"I told him I didn't know. He didn't say anything, but I knew right away that was the wrong answer. I didn't appreciate it at the time, but I'm pretty sure that was the exact moment he planned to betray me." She shook her head at the memory. "I was so fixated on not dying that I never gave much thought beyond that. I guess I imagined that I thought I'd continue to follow him around doing his dirty work, like Renfield to his Dracula. Later, after he put me in this body and I realized what he'd done, he said to me, 'Immortality demands conviction. It's not enough to fear death. You have to have something to live for."

"Like his vendetta against the magic users and the other body swappers?"

She shrugged. "I suppose. I never understood it, and he never explained it to me."

"Seems hollow," I said. Then I gave her a little smile. "Still begs the question, though."

"What? I'm gonna find a nice man, settle down, have some kids? Not exactly my style. I don't know. My life hasn't been my own for years now. I can't even imagine."

It was a glib answer, and I found myself not wanting to let her off the hook so easily. I said nothing and simply continued to maintain my gaze.

Victoria read my expression, and I watched as a change came over her. It was like I could see her carefully cultivated defenses slip a little, and she got unusually pensive.

"It's a strange question, isn't it?" she admitted. "Someone like Xenos lives forever, jumping from body to body. But the rest of us only get one life to live. Well...usually," she amended with a wry smile, looking between the two of us. "But then this happens to you, and at first you find yourself living someone else's life in someone else's body. Until one morning you wake up to discover that at some point it's become your life, your body."

She paused to consider that.

"My first life wasn't much of a life. Not really. I mostly just did what other people told me to do. Until one day it was like I woke up, and I realized that wasn't enough for me."

I was still bandaging up her arm as she spoke. "That's when you went looking for Xenos," I said.

She nodded. "Back then, I didn't even know what he was. To me, he wasn't a person, he was more of a concept. An opportunity. Freedom, I suppose. Freedom to do...something. I didn't even know what it was, but I yearned for it. I was ready to fight for it. I never really stopped to consider the cost."

"Or that the cost might have to be paid by someone else," I offered quietly.

The observation seemed to shake Victoria out of her pensiveness, and her expression hardened slightly. Back to the tough as nails dame I'd gotten to know. "Yes," she agreed.

"At least you have a future," I said as I finished bandaging her arm. Then I blinked as I realized what I'd just said. "Shit. Sorry. I didn't mean—"

"Don't apologize, handsome. You deserve to be bitter."

I sat back on the sofa next to her. "That's just it, I'm not. I've done some shit, too. Maybe this is some weird cosmic justice, I dunno." I thought about that for a moment. "You know the hardest part about what's happened today? It wasn't when I found out I was going to die. It was before that. Before I knew Jessie was alive in here, there was this period when I thought she was dead, and I might be stuck living out the rest of her life. I've spent years hoping for a second chance, a fresh start. Then, out of the blue, I had one, and it had cost Jessie her life. And I had absolutely no idea what to do about that."

I nodded quietly to myself. "This...this is better. I'll finish this, and then Jessie gets her life back. She deserves it more than I do."

Victoria said nothing. She pursed her lips and then examined her bandaged arm. "You have some experience with that," she observed. It was an offhand comment, but the look she was giving me was more suggestive.

I cleared my throat. "Occupational hazard," I said. "Though it's easier doing this to someone else than it is to myself."

She smiled knowingly. "That's the truth. I once had to sew up a knife wound across my thigh. It hurt like hell. Left a wicked scar, too."

Reflexively, I looked down at her creamy thigh that was visible through the high slit on her dress.

"That would be the old chassis," Victoria added with a sly grin.

She reached over and took my hand in hers. She then guided it downwards to her thigh, gently tracing my forefinger across the soft, perfect skin of her leg.

"It was right...here."

I was suddenly aware of how close we were sitting. Her hand was on top of mine, pressing softly down on it so that my hand was on her leg. Very high up on her leg.

"We, uh, w-we should—" I stammered.

"There's time," she said quietly. "Don't tell me you're not curious."

Before I could say anything, she moved in for a kiss. Firm and decisive. It felt...soft. Weird. Unexpected. I'd always liked it when the woman took charge, but this wasn't exactly the same.

We kissed, and she parted. And again. When she did it a third time, I found myself chasing after her. She was playful, but challenging. As she nuzzled up against me, I felt her hand on my breast, and an erotic tingle ran through me. All the way down to a fairly startling but not altogether unpleasant sensation in an as-yet-unexplored portion of my anatomy.

It did not go unexplored for long.

We made out like teenagers, awkward and urgent. But with a surprising deftness on Victoria's part. She knew what she liked, and she wasn't shy about sharing. I felt...young. Vibrant. She slipped out of her dress in a trice, but I giggled as I fumbled with mine. However, Victoria removed it so smoothly that I suddenly flashed to how quickly Jessie had removed it when she was on stage at Unmasked, doing her striptease for all those guys.

Now it was me doing it, but for an audience of one.

I mewled and moaned as Victoria worked her magic. The moment caused me to flash back to the last time that Jessie and I had sex—before tonight's encounter in the car—and at the time she'd put on a good show for my benefit, but I knew I hadn't made her feel like this. I whimpered again. It was about all I could manage. I was tired...so tired. Exhausted from the day, both emotionally and physically.

By the time Victoria properly went downtown, I was practically a puddle. She touched me even as I felt the glow seem to pass over every inch of my skin. I couldn't stop her. I didn't want to stop her.

I started to cry.

My gasps of pleasure turned to choked-out cries, and then to wracking, heaving sobs. I wasn't even sure why I was crying. I hadn't cried like that since... Hell, I'd never cried like that. Still, Victoria kept going, pushing me further. There was a catharsis there, a building overwhelming need that threatened to envelop me and sweep me away forever.

As it hit me and shook me, I surrendered to it.

Then oblivion took me.

My second time waking up in a woman's body was every bit as disorienting as the first. Though much more abrupt.

I was awakened by the sound of a clink of silverware against a dish, which was swiftly followed by a rapid but unsettling inventory of my transformed body. One made all the more disconcerting by the realization that I was naked. Given another second, I'd have recognized that I was under a blanket. Given a moment more, I'd have realized I'd fallen asleep on the couch. But I didn't take those moments, because sunlight was streaming in through the windows!

I was up like a shot as I looked around in a panic, clutching at the blanket around me. On the other side of the room, I saw Victoria. She had on a silky black lace babydoll nightie, and I gawked at her as she poured coffee from a decanter.

"H-how long...?" I gasped, wide-eyed.

"Only four hours. It's 8:45. I was about to wake you."

"Four hours?" I echoed. The way she'd said it, it didn't seem like much, but for a man with maybe only 12 hours left to live, that was an eternity!

"You were exhausted," Victoria said, anticipating my objection. "You're no use against Xenos if you can't even stand up straight. I need you sharp. Come on, there's food, too."

I was about to object that I wasn't hungry, but the smell of bacon hit me and I went at it like a starving woman. Between that and the coffee—which I soon realized that Jessie took with cream and sugar—I was feeling better. Not great, but better.

Victoria smiled as she watched me eat. "There's something about the change. I ate like a caveman for a week after I landed in this body."

"Didn't you sleep?" I asked, nodding towards the couch.

"I did. A little. I never sleep more than a few hours anymore. Even after all these years in this body, it's like it can tell I'm an outsider, and it never lets me forget it. C'mere, I may have found something."

I padded barefoot over to a dining room table over in one corner of the palatial suite and saw that she'd spread out several of my dossiers. It put me on edge a little. Nobody but me was supposed to know these things even existed, and now it felt like everyone and their brother was after them. Knowing that somebody else had been going through them felt wrong, somehow. I forced the feeling away.

"What'd you find?" I asked as I sipped at my second cup of coffee.

"I figured if we could find Xenos a new home, it might buy us some leverage. So, I tried to narrow it down. People who are wealthy, probable metahumans, limited family, a life easy to slip into."

"There're no women here," I noticed.

"They're not his favorite. I figured I'd start with ones he'd gravitate towards and then branch out from there."

"Marty Maddox?" I said, picking up one of the files of the balding middle-aged man. "He's rich, but he's awfully chubby and past his prime for superhero work. He gave up on that hero stuff years ago."

"That's your problem, handsome. You're too cynical. He may not have powers, but once upon a time, he was the kid sidekick to Promethean and the Liberty Squadron. Maddox doesn't act it, but people like that are true believers. They don't simply walk away from the life. Though he's not the one I found."

I looked at her, surprised. "You figured out someone's secret identity? Who?"

"Arcturus."

"Fuck off," I said in disbelief. "I tried for months to crack his identity. High-profile, member of the Liberty Squadron, that guy would have been my lotto ticket. Who is he?"

I watched as she slid over two of the dossiers. Parker Wise and Shepherd Cochran. Both of them were rich and in good shape, but that was about all they had in common. Wise was a trust fund baby, and Cochran was practically a self-made man in investment banking.

I shook my head. "Sorry, nice try. I looked at both of those guys until my eyes bled. They fit the profile, but neither one fits with Arcturus's known patterns."

Victoria smiled. "That's right. Neither one does. Not on their own. They're both Arcturus."

I peered at her face, and then down at the dossiers, trying to make it fit. "No. Just...no. They don't have anything in common. I doubt they use the same brand of mouthwash. They—"

"They're brothers."

"What?"

Victoria put the two pictures side by side. Total strangers.

"Look at the eyes," Victoria said. "You can always tell by the eyes. Fraternal twins, I'll bet. Raised separately for some reason. They've had some work done to look different from each other, though. Probably had it done back in school, maybe under the pretext of a skiing accident or something. They've been planning this for a very long time."

"Wise...and Cochran. Maybe," I said quietly. I snorted out a laugh.

"Something funny?" asked Victoria.

"If you'd shown this to me 24 hours ago, it would have been the biggest payday of my life. They'd pay anything to keep this under wraps. Now, it's useless."

"But Xenos—"

"It's too high-profile," I said to her. "Arcturus is a member of the Liberty Squadron. Xenos isn't going to step into that life, rubbing elbows with psychics and God only knows who else who might be able to expose him. And he can't just up and quit being Arcturus. People would notice."

"See, that's what makes it perfect. There's already a backup. If Xenos takes over one of these men, he can fabricate some reason to quit, and the other one will continue in his place. Nobody will know."

She turned back to the stack of dossiers. "Of course, there might be others in there. If we had more time—"

"Time is the one thing I don't have. This should be enough. It's not just hypothetical anymore. Now, we know that these files can give Xenos at least one comfortable new home for years. Maybe even more than one. Let's hope it's enough to bait him."

I grabbed a quick shower, which in hindsight probably wasn't my best idea ever. After my session with Victoria, the combination of my male mind and the touch of my hands to Jessie's body led to...predictable results. It might have been enjoyable, except that I could feel Jessie's mind encroaching on my own. Creeping closer every moment. Like a storm front that was closing in, and just as inevitable in its approach.

I quickly turned off the hot water, and the blast of cold water brought a quick shock to my system that helped focus my mind.

"I put out some clothes that should fit you," Victoria called from the other room.

By the time I emerged and she turned to look at me, she didn't even try to hide her smirk.

"My goodness. We may have found a look for you," she teased.

"What there is of it," I muttered. The short black miniskirt was tight against my hips, and if it showed any more leg, I'd be violating public indecency laws. Meanwhile, the blouse was scarlet red with a V-neck cut practically to my belly button. At first I thought it was missing a couple buttons, but eventually I concluded that the impressive view it was providing of my cleavage was as the designer intended. The black high heels were a small improvement over my stripper heels from last night, but while this outfit drew less attention than my skimpy pink Dollface outfit, it was still a long way from subtle.

I tugged at my blouse in a hopeless attempt at modesty. "You go on a crusade to kill a centuries-old body swapper, and you couldn't have packed some jeans?"

She smiled to herself but said nothing.

"What?" I said.

"Sorry, it was just supposed to be a quick trip into the city, remember? Besides, my husband didn't like me to wear anything he considered 'unfeminine.' I do own a pair of jeans, but on me, they're painted on. I just had a mental image of you trying to cram that big butt of yours into them."

"Funny."

She looked down at herself, still wearing the clingy black babydoll nightie. For a moment, I wondered if that's what she'd been wearing when her husband checked out. As murder weapons went, I had to concede it was one of the more attractive.

"Speaking of changing, I need to do that myself," she said. "I'm going to jump in the shower, and then we can plan."

I nodded as I strode over to the table with the files scattered about. "Right. I'll have a look at these and see if there's anything we missed."

I glanced over at her with a nearly unconscious toss of my hair. We maintained eye contact for a moment, both of us maintaining neutral expressions.

I wondered if she could tell that I was lying. I don't suppose it mattered. Though I never thought it would be the last time I would see her alive.

The moment I heard the water running, I grabbed the duffel bag and hurriedly dumped all the files inside. As I strode for the exit, I noticed that Victoria's purse was no longer on the side table where she'd tossed it last night. Her gun had been in there, so I wondered if she didn't trust me. Frankly, I could relate.

I gathered up my trench coat, fedora, and purse. I was mildly surprised to discover that my .38 was still in my coat pocket. It gave me pause. Victoria easily could have taken that while I was asleep. Maybe she really was on my side, after all. Though I couldn't take the chance.

My mind raced as I rode the elevator down. I put on the hat and coat, and practically rolled my eyes at the image that was reflected back at me in the elevator doors. I looked for all the world like Jessie had been fooling around in my office, trying on my stuff and playing at being a sexy detective.

But I needed to keep Victoria out of it.

If last night had proved anything, it was that Xenos wanted Victoria dead, but at least he was willing to hold off on killing me until he got what he was after. That gave me an edge. Victoria, meanwhile, was on a crusade. She hadn't hesitated to bring Keyes into it, and he'd gotten a bullet through the heart for his trouble. She was going to get herself or other people killed.

But me? I was already a dead man.

The truth of it hit home as I saw Jessie's reflection staring back at me, wearing the fedora and trench coat. I was a ghost wearing her body, dealing out one last bit of justice before death finally took me. It was funny. All I'd ever wanted was a second chance. But, I realized, this was my second chance. One last day to maybe do something right for a change.

The elevator dinged and opened up into the lobby. The valet brought Keyes' Escalade around, and I tossed the duffel bag into the passenger seat as I climbed inside. I drove for a dozen blocks in no particular direction and constantly checked my rear-view mirror to make sure I wasn't being followed. Then I pulled over into a parking place and retrieved Jessie's little pink cell phone.

I knew the number by heart, but I scrolled down to the entry: Chase.

I held the phone and tapped out a message.

Xenos. I have what you want.

I stared at the screen, waiting for a response. A moment later, the phone chirped as a message came back:

Then it's time for us to meet, Mr. Chase.

Tink. Clack. Tink. Clack. It was a few hours later, and I fussed nervously with my lighter as I waited. I worried at the smooth metal so hard that I thought it might spontaneously combust from the friction. I wasn't sure if this was a good idea or a bad idea, but I knew I was running out of time. What I did know was that this was about the stupidest place I could have chosen to meet, but I needed to know something.

The Spire was a huge landmark in the middle of downtown Faraday City, a gleaming metal monument erected to memorialize the people who'd lost their lives in the Turning Point event. After that, metahumans walked among us, and everything changed. It was erected to be a source of inspiration for the people of the city, a promise of a brighter future. I'd never had much patience for wasted sentiment or symbolism, but at this point I figured I'd take any luck I could get.

I pressed my back up against one of the huge metal pillars at the base of the Spire as I scrutinized the people walking around. Mostly tourists, of course, with some locals cutting through on their lunch hour. Any of them could have been Xenos.

The rain had started up again. That was about the only good news. It felt like the city was on my side for once, since it kept the crowds down. I hoped this wasn't going to erupt into a gunfight, but if one thing had been made patently clear to me of late, I didn't always get what I wanted. The fewer people around, the fewer who could get hurt.

Tink. Clack. Tink. Clack.

This was a dumb idea. I figured with Xenos I could either meet somewhere private or somewhere public. They both had their drawbacks. But now I was thinking I'd chosen badly.

Stick with the damn plan, Chase.

"I've never fully understood the fascination with visiting memorials," a man's voice came from next to me. "Your time is so short and precious as it is. It seems like you'd be better served to focus on the events of the present...and the future."

I got a shiver up my spine as I turned to face the man. I hadn't recognized the voice at first, but then your own voice always sounds different when you hear it from outside yourself.

"Where's your friend?" Xenos asked pleasantly.

"It's just me today. Thanks for coming," I said. It wasn't until this moment that I appreciated the size difference between me and Jessie. When I was a man, I never thought about it very much, but with my body now standing so close, the height and weight differential felt like an implied threat.

"Not at all," Xenos responded. "I appreciate the kind invitation. At least, I assume you're not planning on killing me. With this many witnesses around, young Ms. Harber would surely spend the rest of her life in prison for it. Or does New Jersey have the death penalty again? One loses track of such things." He then looked me over. The move was purely theatrical. I'm sure he'd already assessed everything about me in his first glance.

"I see you didn't bring the files. Disappointing."

"That's because I'm not an idiot."

"Mmm," he murmured neutrally. "I suppose that would depend on which individual I'm currently speaking with."

I shot him a look, and he waved his hand dismissively.

"Yes, of course I can see that you and Ms. Harber have become...entangled. In truth, I'm rather surprised she hasn't overwritten you entirely yet. It's been, what, sixteen hours now?"

"I suppose you can help me."

"I assumed that's why you asked for this meeting. Though make no mistake, Mr. Chase. Those dossiers are a convenience to me, not a necessity. However, they are rapidly becoming more trouble than they're worth. As are you."

"I can give you Arcturus. And the ability to walk away from his life cleanly."

Xenos took a long, deep breath. "Tempting. A mount like that would be beneficial for my work. In exchange, I assume you want your life back."

"You can do that?"

Xenos shrugged. "Easily. You and I would swap, and I would take temporary residence within Ms. Harber. Then I would move on."

"Move on," I echoed. "You mean you'd trap someone else in here with Jessie. Someone who'd get overwritten by Jessie's spirit. Someone who'd die."

As I watched, Xenos slowly made his way over to the big dedication plaque for the Spire. He languidly ran his finger down the engraved list of people who were memorialized there.

"All these names," he said quietly. "I'm sure each of them meant something to someone somewhere, but to you and me, they're merely anonymous names on a plaque. Most people don't even get this much. Are you going to let some faceless individual stand in the way of your life? And your life with Jessie?"

"Then what? After all this, you'll just let me go on my merry way?" I asked dubiously.

He gave me a chilling smile that looked unnatural on my features. "You've been speaking to Victoria. She...didn't work out. However, I have higher hopes for you. You strike me as a man with greater aspirations. So, yes, I will have other...assignments...for you from time to time. Though before you object, I should point out that you've already been working for me, you just didn't know it. Our arrangement doesn't need to change."

"You'd actually trust me after all this?"

"I trust you'd understand the price of disobedience. For one thing, I have your gun that killed that police detective last night. I'd be willing to let that remain our little secret."

"That's not good enough," I said. "Victoria. You have to let her go as well. That's the deal."

Xenos fixed me with a stern look and let out an exasperated breath. "You've no idea how many times I've had this conversation. Desperate men trapped in unfamiliar flesh, making desperate gambles. It's quite wearisome."

"Sounds tough. Though I notice we're still talking."

Xenos moved closer so that he was right up in front of me. The familiarity of the move must have triggered a sense memory of Jessie's, because I could feel her clawing to get out and seize control. It was all I could do to remain focused and stay grounded in the moment.

"The most annoying thing about a man who thinks he's about to die is that he believes he has nothing to lose," Xenos mused. "I am not a wasteful man, Mr. Chase, but I am also not above taking my pound of flesh. And allow me to assure you that even if you choose to do nothing and sacrifice yourself in that body, I will see to it that young Ms. Harber does not live to see another dawn."

"You leave her out of this."

"No, Mr. Chase, she is leverage. Just like those files are for you. Now, I suspect you have until this evening before Ms. Harber's mental 'immune system' burns you out of her mind like an infection. You have until then to bring me those files. After that, you needn't concern yourself. I'll find Ms. Harber and conclude our business."

Xenos took two steps away and then stopped, as though he'd remembered something. He turned to look back and casually tossed me a small metal object.

"Oh, here. You may as well have this," he offered.

As the item landed in my hands, I instantly recognized it as one of the moon-themed VIP membership pins for Club Nocturne. I flipped it over and saw the name discreetly engraved on the back: Victoria Dunne.

"I'm afraid she won't be needing it anymore," Xenos added with a wicked smile.

The pin felt heavy in my hand as I realized the implication. This pin had been with Victoria. It was on her purse back at the hotel. Which could only mean that Xenos had found her!

"You may want to check the news alerts on your phone," Xenos said. "There was a terrible tragedy at the Carrington Suites an hour ago. It seems that Ms. Dunne and her husband were both found dead. Yes, a terrible tragedy indeed. She was so young and beautiful."

I felt my face go deathly pale as that struck me. It took me a moment to even process the words. Xenos had said it in such a cold and detached manner that he might have been making an idle comment about the weather. But from his smug expression, I knew immediately that he was telling the truth. Victoria was dead. I'd tried to keep her out of this, but I couldn't save her. Killing her had meant nothing to him.

"You bastard!" I spat. I reached for the gun in my purse, and while I didn't remove it for fear of causing a panic, I had my fingers wrapped around the grip. To my surprise, Xenos didn't make a move to stop me.

"Give me one reason not to shoot you dead right now," I snarled.

"Very well," Xenos said helpfully. "How about...that little girl right there," he said as he indicated a young girl with her mother.

He tapped his index finger against his lips. "Yes. She'll do nicely. She'll be the first person I swap with. Then perhaps her mother. I'm not sure. I'll see how I feel. Nevertheless, there are two possible outcomes. If you shoot her, you'll have gunned down an innocent little girl, and Jessie will go to prison for the crime. Or if you hold your fire, that little girl will be permanently trapped in this body—your body—and you'll be condemning her to life in prison once the authorities discover that she gunned down a police detective last night."

He paused to let that sink in. "After that, you'll never see me again, because by tomorrow, you'll be dead. Or perhaps you'll merely be a spirit riding helplessly inside Miss Harber, unable to communicate with either her or the outside world, looking powerlessly through her eyes as she lives her life. A fate worse than death. To me, the end result is exactly the same. Then perhaps I'll drop in on Ms. Harber and pay my respects."

Xenos stepped close again, although now in a much more threatening way. "However. If it gives you a fleeting measure of consolation, then yes, you can die secure in the knowledge that you will have mildly inconvenienced me. By denying me access to those files, it will take me slightly longer to find my next mount. However, that mild inconvenience notwithstanding, I can afford to be patient, because I have conquered death itself."

He leaned over to whisper in my ear. "You're not a killer, Mr. Chase. I can see it in your eyes and your actions. You should have come to kill me, but instead you came to bargain. But I am a killer. Victoria is dead. And Jessie will die, unless you do exactly as you're told."

"God dammit!" I swore as I walked alone in the rain. I wasn't sure if Xenos would follow me, so I made a point not to walk back to where I'd hidden the car. "God dammit!"

Alone. Now I really was alone. I hadn't stopped to check the news reports on my phone, but I had no reason to believe that Xenos was lying about Victoria. He even knew the hotel where she was.

How the hell did he know that? How had he found us? Victoria was so careful, and I my stupid skimpy outfits barely had room for a Tic-Tac, much less a—

I froze as I looked down at my purse. Jessie's purse. I did a quick inventory.

"Holy shit," I said. After he'd swapped with me, had he put a tracking device on me? Or put a tracking app on my phone? I could feel my blood pressure rise at the thought. If that was right, he might be tracking me right now! I had to—

I had to calm down is what I had to do. He had me jumping at shadows.

Fucking breathe, Chase.

No. No, that didn't make any sense. If he'd been tracking us that way, he could have jumped us any number of times, any number of places.

"I've conquered death itself," I muttered mockingly under my breath. Who the fuck even talks like that? Nobody, that's who. Only bullies and blowhards and guys who are putting up a big front to mask how afraid they are.

Not that I'd given Xenos any reason to be afraid of me.

I choked back a sob and wiped tears from my face as I hailed a taxi.

"Where to, hot stuff?" the driver asked as I climbed inside.

"Drive," I said with a sniffle. I had no idea where I was going. I pulled the phone out of my purse and I haltingly opened up a browser to run a news search.

It was true. Victoria was dead.

A well of emotion came bursting to the surface, and I started to cry. I hadn't cried like that since...

Well, actually, since last night. When Victoria and I had...

I sobbed even harder. I'm sure the cabbie probably thought I'd lost my mind. Or that I'd broken up with my boyfriend, or something. Dammit, I felt so helpless!

I looked around. At the cabbie, at the rain splashin' against the windows. Whoa, was that the Spire? It was big. Hey...wait. I was in a cab? How'd I get here? Was I downtown somewhere?

"W-whass going on?" I sniffled as I wiped my tears.

"Ya wanna go somewhere?" the cabbie said in a gruff voice.

"I-I jus' wanna go home," I whispered.

"'Kay. Where's home?"

"It's at—"

Then I stopped. I can't go there. It's not safe. But...how come? I couldn't remember. I just wanted to be safe. I didn't want to be alone. I wanted to be with somebody.

Chase! I thought. I'd go see him. Or...no, that wouldn't work, either. 'Cause...some reason. I couldn't think why.

Mr. Marcks, maybe? No, it was still daytime. The club's not open yet.

Ooh, Alex! He's a cop! Plus, he liked me. He'd know what to—

I had the weirdest memory just then. Like a dream. Of fireworks. Or guns?

My purse was in my lap. It was open, and just inside, I saw the handle of a gun stickin' out.

"Oh, shit!" I said as I closed my purse real quick. I held it tight with both hands.

"Fuckin' junkies," the driver muttered to himself as he started to pull over. "Okay, end of the line, cuddlebug. This is your stop."

"No, I ain't! I...ain't," I told him. Then I sat up and leaned forward to give him a better view of my boobs and gave him a sexy look. "I just got confused is all. For a second. Take me to—" I gasped, "—oh, oh! Take me to, uh, 13th. 13th and Lucent Avenue."

"Y'sure?" the cabbie asked. He sounded like he didn't believe me.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm sure."

By the time we got to our destination, Jessie's influence had faded, and I was feeling more like myself. We'd pulled up into what looked like a mixed-use residential area with some shops and boutiques on the ground floor, and apartments above. I had half a mind to tell the cabbie to keep driving, but instead I paid him and got out.

"Sure, what the hell, Jessie. Why not?" I said to myself. I'd spend the entirety of the last day trying to fight Jessie's influence and keep her muzzled, but maybe it was time to give her a shot. She could hardly do worse than I'd been doing.

The rain had slowed to a light drizzle as I stood there on the sidewalk. I had literally no idea what I was doing here. I'd never even set foot in this part of town, and Jessie had never mentioned it to me.

I sighed and rubbed the bridge of my nose. It was all bullshit, anyway. Jessie might have come here because some store down here sold her favorite ice cream. I needed a plan. An actual—

"Jessie?" a woman's voice came from behind me. I turned to look at her and saw a woman with an umbrella walking a bulldog.

"Tia?" I said uncertainly. "You're...the bartender. From Unmasked."

The flinty, short-haired woman raised her eyebrows and nodded approvingly, like I was a little kid who'd just recited the alphabet for the first time. "Yeees! That's good. And you're a dancer who works at Unmasked. Well, this has been fun. Jessie, what are you doing here?"

"I, uh..."

"Fuck. You're in trouble, aren't you?"

I nodded.

"Well, you better come up and tell me about it. You look like hell. I'll put on some tea."

Shortly, we entered her apartment. It wasn't what I expected. There was more yellow, for one thing. Also, flowering plants. And paintings of sunflowers. I'd always pegged the gruff woman as more likely to have a black leather couch with a plaid blanket thrown crookedly across it under a velvet painting of Elvis.

"You have a nice place," I said as I sat down at the small kitchen table.

Tia laughed. "You said that the last time."

"Still true."

I heard the banging of pots and pans, and I craned my neck to look in her direction as she rummaged around in the kitchen.

"Chase fucked you, didn't he?," she called. "And I don't mean in the good way."

"It's not really his fault..."

Tia poked her head from out of the kitchen to look at me. "Kid, I swear to God, if the next words out of your mouth are 'he loves me, and I'm sure I deserved it,' I'm calling a rape crisis hotline right now."

"It's not like that!" I objected. But she continued to give me a hard look. "It's not!" I repeated.

Tia didn't seem at all convinced, but she retreated back into the kitchen.

"I didn't know you hated him that much," I said.

"It's not hate," she called back. "I know plenty of guys like him. He's damaged goods. Girls like you get sucked in because you think you can fix him, but you can't. Make no mistake, kid, he'll make his problems your problems."

I sighed heavily. "You're not wrong about that," I muttered quietly to myself.

I did a little double-take as I looked down and saw the stern bulldog glowering up at me.

Tia emerged from the kitchen carrying two cups. "Huh. That's funny. Bubba was all over you the last time." She sat down across from me and handed me a cup. I took a drink.

I immediately gasped out a wheeze and coughed twice. "What is that?"

"It's an old family recipe," Tia said as she took a sip from her own glass. "Four parts whiskey and one part tea. Though sometimes I skip the tea, it doesn't really add much."

I smiled in spite of myself.

"Oh, and if you're worried about the cops, don't be. I didn't tell them anything about you and Chase."

"The cops?"

"Yeah. You know, about that dead rich guy in the parking lot last night. I'm still not convinced Chase didn't have something to do with that, but I didn't want to get you in trouble. Though Chase swore up and down he wasn't involved."

I shook my head. "Wait. You talked to Chase? After he and I...went out to the parking lot?"

Tia shrugged. "Sure. After he carried you back in."

"Chase carried me inside?"

"Is there an echo in here? Yeah, of course he did. What'd you think, I dragged you back inside myself? You must have hit your head even harder than he said you did."

"Wait a minute. Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait," I said, standing up from my seat. "I gotta move around."

Tia watched as I paced back and forth, tracking me with her eyes as she took another drink from her cup.

This...this didn't make sense. At all. Clearly, something went wrong with Xenos's body swap...that's how Jessie and I ended up in the same body.

After that, I always figured that either she or I had stumbled out of the car somehow, and Xenos booked it out of there rather than having to get caught alongside Beaumont's dead body. Then he went straight to my place, hoping to get the dossiers. But they were already gone, because Keyes had ransacked the place and stolen them. Victoria was hunting him and tracked him to me. And then Xenos was after me, figuring I knew where the files were.

However, that story didn't track anymore. Xenos had to know that the body swap had gone wrong. He said as much when I saw him at the Spire. But if he knew I was still alive in Jessie's body, why leave me behind at the club? If he was after the files, he'd have been better off leaving my unconscious body in the car and taking me with him. He could always ditch me later.

The only reason to ditch me like that was because he was protecting me. From...Victoria? I suppose that made sense. She might have assumed I was a co-conspirator. But once Xenos took off in the car, she would have followed in hot pursuit. She was hunting him, not me.

Holy shit, that's what must have happened.

The bullet hole in my office. I'd assumed that Xenos had walked in on Keyes, and one of them had shot the gun...maybe Keyes while he was trying to escape. But that wasn't it at all. Keyes had been long gone by that point. Xenos arrived to discover that the place had been tossed and the files were missing. Except that it was Victoria who had followed him and tried to shoot him! And she missed. Then she somehow must have managed to get away.

Wait, that didn't make sense, either. When Victoria and I went back to my office, she'd acted like she'd never been there before. But why wouldn't she tell me that she'd tried to kill him and missed? She had nothing to lose by that.

Better question—why would Xenos have gone out of his way to protect me in the first place? If he thought he might need me alive to get the dossiers, I still say he'd have been better off leaving me in the car in Jessie's body and taking me with him.

Regardless of how it went down, something must have happened after he left me in the club. While I was unconscious. While the two of them were at my office. Because by the time I woke up and Victoria caught up with me, everything was backwards. Xenos was trying to kill her—and me—and Victoria was the one who—

I stopped pacing.

"Oh, Toto, I've a feeling we're not in Kansas anymore," I said.

After I met her, Victoria was always trying to protect me. Hell, she even took a bullet for me. That can't have been part of the plan. That had to be genuine.

They'd swapped roles. They'd swapped roles because they'd swapped bodies. Which meant that Victoria—the Victoria I knew—was actually Xenos. She was Xenos the entire time I knew her.

Magnum. September. Victoria had been the one to suggest we have code words, but she'd always known them. She was always the same person. Always Xenos.

"I think I need to sit down," I said.

I missed the chair entirely and landed on the floor.

Tia helped pull me up onto the sofa. "Hey, whoa. Are you okay, kid?" she asked.

"Less and less."

It was the only explanation that made sense.

While I'd been unconscious, Victoria must have tracked Xenos to my office and shot at him and missed. That explained the bullet hole I found. Then he swapped with her, leaving her trapped in my body. Then one of them managed to slip away before Victoria could finish the job. Which meant that ever since then, this cat-and-mouse game hadn't actually been Xenos chasing after us and the dossiers. It was Victoria in my body, still hunting Xenos.

I started replaying every conversation I'd ever had with "Victoria." Before, I had good reason to be skeptical that she was telling the truth. But if she'd been Xenos the entire time, then absolutely everything she'd ever told me could have been a fabrication.

But...why? Why all the subterfuge?

If Xenos wanted me dead, he'd had loads of chances as Victoria. Plus, if all he wanted was the dossiers, he could have easily overpowered me and taken them, too. Hell, back in my office, I'd tested "Victoria" by flat-out handing her the USB drive that I'd pretended contained the files. If she was Xenos, she could have—should have—taken the bait.

I was still missing a big piece of this puzzle.

Victoria—the real Victoria, in my body—must have tracked us back to the Carrington Suites hotel. Which made sense, it had been her hotel room, after all. Then, sometime after I left the hotel this morning, she must have confronted Xenos again. Hell, maybe he even baited her there, looking to tie up loose ends. He swapped bodies with her again and killed her, back in her old body. That was the second time my body had been used by somebody else to kill someone. First Keyes, and now Victoria.

I harbored no illusions about getting restored back to my old body and my old life. There was no going back. I was going to die in Jessie's body, and I knew it. But it still ground on me to see Xenos using me in that way.

I grimaced as I thought about how he'd twisted everything around. All of this meant that I'd never even met the real Victoria. She was Xenos the whole time, just playing me.

Oh, this bullshit ends right now.

All right, Xenos. You think you're so smart. You spent an entire day with me, but you had to have fucked up somewhere. I know you did. Guys as overconfident as you always do. I don't know what your game is—yet—but as of right now, we're playing by my rules.

And neither one of us is getting out alive.

I left a very confused Tia behind as I stalked out into the street. She'd been fully ready to call an ambulance to deal with what she perceived as my very obvious concussion, but whatever problems I had going on in my head, they weren't going to be solved that way.

I picked a direction and headed down the sidewalk. I needed to think, and I felt a strange need to be around people as I walked.

"Shit," I swore to myself. I was furious at Xenos and furious at myself for not seeing it. And I was getting really damned tired of constantly being two steps behind.

It occurred to me that as pissed off as I was at Xenos for killing Victoria, this new information meant that I'd never really known her. I'd only seen Xenos's imitation of her. I didn't know how to feel about that. Everything he told me could have been a lie to win my trust and put me off balance, but I couldn't help but feel like there'd been something there, a sense of authenticity. Maybe I'd never really known her, but I still felt like I knew her.

As I thought about it, the only time I'd ever seen the real Victoria was that first night when she approached me on the street, in the rain. She'd wanted my help, and I'd blown her off. I didn't even bother to listen to her story, writing her off as crazy. And now I was the crazy broad wandering the streets of the city, trying to get the best of a centuries-old body swapper. Just look how well that worked out for Victoria, and she knew a hell of a lot more about Xenos than I did.

Victoria was convinced that the only way to deal with Xenos was to kill him, but I hadn't been ready for that. True to form, I'd had to learn it for myself the hard way. People died because of my hesitation. And now he'd set his sights on Jessie. I couldn't hesitate anymore.

I'd been fully ready to give him what he wanted—he could have the damn files, for all I cared—except I was more certain than ever that wasn't what he really wanted. Though now having met him in person, I was equally convinced that it'd never be enough. Even if he let Jessie go—which I seriously doubted—he'd go right on killing people and shattering lives in the name of his damned crusade. Just because he could.

I wondered if I could approach some superhero to help me out, but even if I could find one willing to listen, I'd never convince them in time to help me. Besides, bringing more powerful people into this was as good as loading bullets into Xenos's gun for him. He could take over their bodies and I'd be worse off than when I started.

And all of that was assuming I could even convince them in the first place. Even by Faraday City standards, this was insane. A mad body swapper running around, stealing lives? Xenos had covered his tracks so meticulously that I'd never convince anyone he even existed, much less that he presented an imminent threat.

But there was something else. A feeling I couldn't get out of my mind.

I flagged down a cab and got in.

"Carrington Suites hotel," I said.

I had the cab drop me off a block away from the hotel, and I walked the rest of the way. To look at the front of the hotel, you'd never have known there was anything unusual going on. The place was way too high-class to let its clientele be troubled by anything as gauche as a dead guest, much less an actual murder on the premises. How terribly unsophisticated.

The story around back by the loading dock was a different matter. Hoity-toity digs or no, the FCPD didn't mess around when it came to investigating things like murder, especially when the victims were rich. People would ask questions, after all. It wasn't a circus back here and there were no brightly flashing lights, but there was a forensic van, an ambulance, a couple cruisers...they were getting the whole show.

I sighed. I didn't know what I was doing here. There was nothing for me here. It wasn't like I was going to sneak up to the suite and uncover some crucial bit of evidence. I already knew who the killer was.

And as for going to the cops...yeah, I wasn't going to the cops. It wouldn't take much imagination for them to connect me to Keyes' shooting last night, at which point I'd spend my last few hours on Earth either locked in a holding cell or in a police interrogation room with sweaty cops who smelled of stale coffee and cheap aftershave.

As I stood there and watched while trying to remain inconspicuous, I noticed a bit of commotion with several EMTs rolling out a pair of stretchers. The bodies were covered, so I couldn't see anything, but I knew without a doubt who it was.

I don't know what I expected. I guess I needed to see it for myself. I'd been lied to at every turn in this caper, and I guess that I didn't want to take Xenos's word for anything, even this.

There was a scritch of movement on the pavement behind me, and I practically jumped as I turned.

"Sorry," a guy said, "I didn't mean to startle you." He was young, maybe in his early 20s, not far off from Jessie's age. He was wearing the uniform dress shirt, pants, and vest from the hotel, but the vest was unbuttoned and the shirt was untucked, signaling that he must have been coming off duty. The name tag pinned to his open vest said "Daryl."

I peered at him. He looked familiar. Fuck, that's when I placed him. He'd been the valet on duty who'd parked the car when we'd gotten in last night. Which meant he'd seen me with Victoria, going into her room a few hours ago! I had to—

"Relax," he said, reading my face. "I'm not gonna rat on you. Though the cops are looking for you, so you may want to hightail it out of here."

"Thanks," I said uncertainly. "Why...?"

"You don't seem the type to be part of all that. I hear the old guy was dead for a couple days, and the woman got knifed. They're looking for a guy who did it."

"How do you know I wasn't working with him?" I asked.

Daryl shrugged. "Guess I don't. But it'd be pretty dumb for you to come back here if you were."

I tilted my head in acknowledgment.

He gave a little upward nod towards the ambulance. "I saw you together last night. You seemed chummy. She a friend of yours?"

It was such a simple question, but I realized that I didn't have any idea how to answer that.

"We only met last night," I said to him. "But...yeah, I think so. We had a lot in common."

"Sorry," he said. "Hey, don't worry, I'm sure they'll catch the guy who did it."

I was all I could do not to laugh out loud, but I just nodded my thanks.

He nodded back and took a step away, as if to leave. Then he paused and turned back. "Look, I know how this is going to sound, but you really look like you need a drink. I know this place around the corner..."

I snorted in disbelief but smiled in spite of myself. I had to give the kid credit for trying. Daryl held his hands up in an open gesture, signaling an honest invitation.

"You have no idea," I told him. "But no, thanks. I'm kind of on a schedule."

"Hey, you do you. Be well," he said as he started to move away.

He'd only taken a few steps when I called after him. "Wait."

For a moment, I thought maybe it had been Jessie who'd called out, but to my surprise, it had been me.

I moved up in front of him. I didn't say anything. He stood there and searched my face, but he maintained a neutral, if slightly inquisitive, expression.

That's when I kissed him. Hard.

In a moment, the two of us were all over each other, all grasping hands and sweaty bodies. I'd love to say that this was all Jessie's influence, but I knew it was all me. Or some portion of me, at least. How had Victoria put it? That the body had certain 'appetites'? Maybe I was confused, or this was a moment of weakness, but this was one appetite I fully intended to indulge.

It wasn't the carnal contact that I craved—or not only that, anyway—but I needed a connection, something real, even if it was just physical. I certainly wasn't in love with—whatever this guy's name was—but I desperately needed to know I wasn't alone in the world. I needed to feel alive.

I giggled—giggled!—as we stumbled over some empty boxes behind a dumpster. His hands were on my tits, my hands were at his crotch, fumbling with the zipper. It was dirty, it was wrong, it was impetuous and stupid, but God, it was real. No plans, no lies, no thoughts about tomorrow, just living fully in the moment. I was so fucking tired of weeding through all the lies and subterfuge. I think the simple animal nature of this was as much a relief to me as the moment was pleasurable.

Oh, and it was pleasurable.

My young friend and I switched positions so that I was leaning up against the wall as he went at me with a vigor I hardly remembered ever having. I'd had sex with Jessie several times before, but that was always more measured, more deliberate. Not two kids going at it behind a dumpster, worried that someone was going to walk in on them at any moment.

The nearest I'd ever previously come to this kind of experience was with my previous romantic partner. A married woman, as it turned out. That sex was hot, too. Intense because it was so illicit. But of course it didn't last.

I whimpered as I came, barely a couple of seconds before he did. Hopefully Jessie wouldn't mind my taking the liberty, but seeing as it was my deathday, I figured she'd spot me this one.

As the two of us parted, I pressed my lips into a crooked smile. At first I gave him a kiss on the cheek for doing me a solid, and then I slapped him hard because fuck him for taking advantage. Still, he didn't seem to mind.

I pulled myself together and left him there without so much as my phone number. His friends would never believe him when he told them what had happened.

You're welcome.

I found a little cafe just down the street, and I cleaned myself up in the bathroom. Good God. I looked like—well, I looked like I'd just been fucked. In the mirror, Jessie's face gave me a knowing smirk.

Man, where the hell had that even come from? 'Appetites' were one thing, and God knew Jessie enjoyed sex, but I'd never harbored a sexual thought for a man in my entire life. And yet, it didn't feel wrong.

Weirdly, it still didn't.

This wasn't Jessie's growing influence, I realized. Or even a rash decision made in the heat of passion. This was just...me. Or rather, the strange duality of what I had become. My mind and Jessie's body, finding a new normal. Almost like her body was warming up to me, even as her spirit was trying to kill me.

I can't say that thought made me feel much better.

By now it was going on 3:00pm. Assuming I was phenomenally lucky, that left me with another six hours to live. Which also assumed that "Victoria's" initial 24 hour estimate wasn't a fabrication, like everything else. Although based on the escalating number and type of "slips" that I'd experienced with Jessie's personality encroaching, it probably wasn't far off.

When I thought about it like that, I probably shouldn't have taken the time to screw a guy I'd never met before. Heh.

That time, the smirk I made was entirely my own. Well, if I only had a handful of hours to live, I suppose there were worse ways of spending them.

But as the pleasant post-coital glow faded, it made me think about my romantic encounter with Victoria the night before. At the time, I'd assumed it was the desperate connection of two sisters in arms. Both of us had been staring death in the face, so it was natural that we'd be riding an emotional roller coaster. We were men trapped in women's bodies, curious and attracted to each other. I won't lie. It had been a delightful little diversion.

Except that Victoria had been Xenos.

Granted, he was playing a role, but he didn't have to go that far out of his way. And he didn't strike me as the kind of guy to give in to wild, abandoned passion as I just had. He wasn't living, not really. He was a disembodied spirit, marking time.

I also didn't think he was just doing me a solid by giving me a little hanky panky as a going away present. No, he was no different from the kid in the alley...Xenos wanted something for himself, and it wasn't the passing thrill of a random lesbian encounter. He wanted something, either from me or for me, but I could be certain it wasn't for no reason at all. In fact, the only thing he'd seemed to have achieved was—

Holy shit.

The bathroom door opened behind me and I watched as two women entered, talking to each other. They briefly glanced at me, barely acknowledging me as they made their way into two of the stalls.

"Oh, my God," I whispered to myself. I knew what it was he wanted. Or at least I thought I did. I needed to know what resources I still had at my disposal.

I dumped out the contents of my purse into the sink, belatedly grateful that I'd transferred my .38 into the pocket of my trench coat.

Okay, inventory. The gun in my pocket, obviously. And in the sink, Jessie's wallet. Her phone. Her key ring. A lipstick and a tampon. And my gold Zippo lighter.

I picked up the phone and turned on the camera.

Yeah. This...this could maybe work.

I checked the time again. Right, 3:00pm. That wasn't good. I still had to set up the meeting with Xenos, but it would have to be this evening sometime. After hours. I could only hope that I could hold out that long.

I texted Xenos. You win. My office, 9pm. I'll give you the files.

A heavy sigh passed my lips. "Jessie, I don't know if you can hear me, but I really need you to work with me here," I said quietly. Hopefully, not just to myself.

As the two women emerged from the stalls, they each gave me a polite smile in the mirror as they came up to the sinks. I don't think it was my imagination that the two of them shared a look, no doubt a silent commentary about me.

I cleared my throat as I ran my fingers through my tousled blonde hair. Yeah, I probably would have made an assumption about me, too, given how I looked.

Once again, it made me think back to the last romantic partner I'd had before Jessie, the affair I'd had with the married woman. She was a tiger in the sack, but she was so meticulous cleaning up afterwards that she was practically mathematical about it. Not a hair out of place, no possible chance her husband would notice.

I was about to put the phone away when I got an idea. I sent out another message. This contact wasn't in Jessie's phone, but it was one I knew already.

That night, I was sitting in my office, sweating as I rested my arms on my big office chair. Or at least it seemed big to me. Had it always been that big? I blinked rapidly as I struggled to hold on, just a little bit longer. It was a hot night, and I had all the windows open, which allowed the sounds of the city to drift inside along with the incessant buzz of the big red neon sign outside. I hated that fucking sign. But it was familiar. I needed that right now. Familiarity.

I'd waited too long. Jessie's influence was so strong right now that I could feel her like a shadow falling over me, like how the long shadows had fallen over the city outside. It was all I could do to keep her at bay.

Wait, baby. Wait. A few more minutes, that's all I ask. Then it's all yours, I promise.

I had no idea if she could really hear me, of course. Not that it mattered.

God, I needed a drink. Or sleep. The few hours I'd gotten weren't cutting it. But I couldn't afford either. I needed to stay alert, stay sharp. Just a few more minutes.

It was a sultry night, so I'd ditched the hat and coat, leaving me in the red blouse and black miniskirt, and heels. Victoria's clothes.

Umm, wait. Which chick was Victoria again? Did she work at Unmasked, too? Hey, these ain't my clothes, did I borrow them?

Wait a sec, how come I'm in Chase's office? I—

"Grrr!" I growled as I tried to seize back control from Jessie.

Tink. Clack. Tink. Clack. I looked down at my gold Zippo lighter that I was fooling with in my left hand. Hey, that's Chase's lighter. No, that's not right. It had a monogram on it. "MCC." Who the heck is that?

Focus, dammit. This was Madeline's lighter, remember? Madeline Clarice Capshaw. She murdered her husband. I couldn't stop it. Or...catch her? Something like that...

Tink. Clack. Tink. Clack. It didn't matter. It was my lighter now. And in my other hand, I held my trusty .38. I gripped it tightly. The weight was familiar, as was the feel of the grip. Familiar. That was good. I needed fam—

A squeak of the floorboard outside my office caught my attention, and I spun around in my chair to see Chase standing there.

Well, duh, of course Chase was there. This is Chase's office, silly! He had a funny look on his face, though, like—

Xenos.

I stood up so quickly that I got lightheaded. I aimed the gun directly at him, and stalked carefully around the desk, right up to him.

Xenos looked maddeningly nonchalant. Like he was dropping in on an old friend.

"Mr. Chase, you're not looking at all well. I'd suggest postponing until you felt better, but..." He gave me a little smirk.

"Fuck. You," I said, brandishing the gun in his face.

Xenos wasn't impressed. "If you're planning to shoot me, I fear you'll be disappointed. Many men have tried that tactic over the centuries. I suspect I can read your intentions even better than you can right now. I can swap with you even before you've finished pulling the trigger. You'll only succeed in putting a bullet in your own brain. A curious form of suicide, to be sure. But you'll still have died by your own hand."

"I figured as much. Just think of it as 'a bit of incentive for you to listen,'" I said, recalling the line he'd once used. "I want us to get to know each other a little. Although—" I grimaced as I felt Jessie's presence, and I struggled to retain control—"I'm starting to suspect that your favorite month isn't really September."

Xenos gave me a tight smile. "Oh, very good. I was wondering if you were going to figure out the truth before the end. It's a shame we won't get the opportunity to work together. I thought we made an excellent team, handsome," he said with a teasing lilt.

"Incidentally, credit where it's due. You made an excellent torch singer," I said.

"Why, thank you," he said, taking the compliment at face value. "Over a hundred years ago, I spent some time as a French cabaret singer."

"I should have seen through your act as Victoria from the beginning. No guy put into a woman's body against his will would be that feminine."

He chuckled. "Actually, if anything, I downplayed it. The real Victoria made quite the femme fatale. When you and I got into the gunfight with her and Detective Keyes in the abandoned building last night, I worried she might give it away, the way she was mincing around in your body. Though I suppose you had other things on your mind."

"Funny. Though I give you credit, you did a good job running me in circles. I particularly liked how you scheduled that text message from yourself, so that it came in while we were in the car."

I winced again, shutting my eyes tightly for a moment as I struggled to stay focused. "You've got me talking. Clever."

I gestured with the gun over to the desk and had him empty out his pockets. My wallet and keys. My phone.

When I saw the phone, the penny dropped.

"You kept it. After you swapped into Victoria's body, you still had my phone with you, didn't you? When I thought I was texting with my old body, I was texting you. The damn thing was sitting right next to me in Victoria's purse the whole time."

"Very good, handsome," Xenos said with a smile. He continued to empty his pockets, this time retrieving the unopened pack of smokes I kept in my jacket pocket.

"I wasn't sure if you were trying to quit, so I didn't indulge myself," he offered politely as he tossed the pack on the desk.

"Go ahead and knock yourself out. At this point, I guess it doesn't really matter."

"In that case..." he said, reaching into his other pocket.

He pulled out Victoria's gold cigarette case.

I flushed with anger as I saw it and jammed the gun into his side. "Asshole. You didn't strike me as the kind of guy to take souvenirs."

"Infrequently. I gave that to her, actually. However, it seemed appropriate, under the circumstances."

I took a couple quick breaths as I tried to get my temper under control. He was trying to bait me. To keep me off-balance.

He hesitated slightly as he pulled out the next item. It was a small, high-tech wristband, almost like a smart watch, but more sophisticated. I recognized it immediately, and I gasped when I saw it.

"What the hell are you doing with an iComm?" I demanded, brandishing the gun at him. The devices were primarily used by sanctioned superheroes around Faraday City for secure communications, including with law enforcement. There were plenty of knockoff versions, but this looked like it was the real deal from Faraday Labs.

Xenos opened his mouth to answer, but I cut him off. "You know what, never mind. I'm sure it's a fascinating lie," I said.

I didn't see a gun, so I gave him a quick pat-down. When I got to his crotch, I didn't feel anything that wasn't supposed to be there, but he gave me a roguish grin.

"Damn, Jessie, if you wanna to know what I'm packing down there, I'd be happy to show ya."

I glowered at his joke and took a step back. Then another. Then...

I gave him a playful little smile, then I pressed my lips into a sexy pout. The guys were always suckers for stuff like that. I— Hey, whoa, how come I was holding a gun?!

"Chase, what's goin' on?" I asked as I looked at him and lowered the gun.

He gave me this big, wide-eyed look. "Jessie! We're in trouble! Hurry, give me the gun!" he said, holding out his hand.

"Oh! O-Okaaa—" I began as I took a step closer, holding out the gun.

But before I could hand it to him, I managed to wrest back control, and I took a step back and leveled the gun at him again. "—ah, ah, ah...fuck you, asshole. Nice try."

"You can't blame a fellow for trying."

I directed him to sit down in my chair behind the desk. I then tossed him a pair of handcuffs and had him cuff one wrist to a sturdy metal bar that I'd had installed there in case I ever needed to restrain a suspect. Never imagined it would be me.

As he did so, I tossed the gun on the desk.

"It's empty," I informed him. "Oh, and just in case you have any thoughts about those cuffs..." I took the key and threw it out the open window.

Xenos regarded his handcuffed wrist with disdain. "Please, this is insulting. I know a half-dozen ways to get out of these."

"I'm sure. Though I'm equally sure that all of them will take time. And—"

"—and you want me to listen. Yes, fine. It's your nickel, Chase. Although I notice that you don't have the files here, so I'm assuming that you've decided to renege on our agreement. If you think these handcuffs will delay my retribution on Ms. Harber, you're quite mistaken."

"Don't worry, I'm giving you everything you want, including the location of the files. We'll get to that. But first—" I said as I turned on the television and pulled out a USB drive, "—I figured we'd watch a movie together."

Xenos sat back in his seat, looking almost bored. "Do you mind?" he said, as he gestured to the cigarette case.

The television was still sitting crookedly on the floor where it had gotten knocked down earlier, and I plugged in the memory stick into the port in the back.

"Suit yourself," I said to him. I slid over the pack of unopened cigarettes, but instead, he reached down to Victoria's gold case and retrieved one from there.

"Don't you trust me?" I asked, making a mock-hurt expression.

"Why start now?" he countered. "Might I trouble you for a—" He stopped short as he saw the gold Zippo lighter in my hand, already lit.

Xenos chuckled and leaned forward to light his cigarette. He then took an easy drag as he gave me a reproving look. "Let me guess, it's only for special occasions? I credited you to be less superstitious."

Clack went the lighter as I shut it. "I have a centuries-old body swapper sitting in my office wearing my body. I think I'm justified in being a little superstitious," I countered. "Mind if we get this started?"

Xenos smiled as he sat back and casually blew a plume of smoke into the air. "Far be it from me to deny a dying man his last request."

I crossed the room and picked up the remote. "It's not so much a movie. Think of it more like my last will and testament."

As I hit play on the remote, I could feel myself slipping away.

The video started, and the shaky image on the screen was me—or rather, Jessie—obviously taken on her phone and filming herself by looking into the camera.

"Hey, that's me!" I giggled. That's so weird, I don't remember making this video?

"I figured I should record this while I'm still able to do so. Sound mind and body, and all that," the Jessie on the screen said. "Because by the time you're seeing this, I'm guessing things probably aren't going so hot for me. Xenos, I imagine this is all going according to whatever plan you're working. Meanwhile, I'm probably fading faster than a cheap dye job."

"Hey! This was not cheap!" I protested. Chase gave me a funny look, but he was sitting at his desk, smoking a cigarette. Hey, was he handcuffed to the desk? Kinky!

"However, my only concern is for Jessie," the other me said. Which I thought was sorta stuck-up, but whatever. "So, the files you want are in a black Escalade on the second floor of a parking garage three blocks south of here."

Wait. Chase's files? Those ones I told Mr. Marcks about? I looked over at Chase to see if he was angry. But he looked kinda satisfied. I felt—I felt—

I trembled as I struggled to seize control from Jessie. "S-satisfied?" I asked Xenos. I edged further away, keeping my eyes riveted on him. Though he remained seemingly unconcerned. He knew I had nothing to threaten him with.

"Of course," he said as he casually took another drag on his cigarette.

God, I hated him. As far as he was concerned, this was all a big game. He didn't give a damn about all the lives he'd ruined.

"Not that you actually want the files," the recording said. "Yeah, I finally figured that out. But don't worry, I'm also giving you the thing you really want. You want to be here to watch Jessie's spirit crush me as I slip into oblivion."

To his credit, Xenos didn't react. Though he did seem a trifle less self-satisfied than he did a moment ago.

"I couldn't figure that out at first," the recording continued. "I mean, if you'd wanted me dead, you'd had tons of opportunities. Hell, you even went out of your way to protect me. Though it didn't help that you lied to my face about everything, so I got so spun around that I didn't know which end was up. But then I realized there were two moments when I got a genuine reaction out of you. The first was last night when Victoria in my body was shooting at us. You took a bullet for me. That was spontaneous...I don't believe that was part of any master plan."

"Th-thanks for that, by the way," I said haltingly to Xenos. Though my attempt at bravado was undercut as I gasped a little and grit my teeth, struggling to hold on.

Xenos's eyes cut briefly over to look at me before returning his attention to the TV screen. He didn't say anything, but I noticed he didn't hit me with one of his smug comebacks.

"The other time was when you and I were in Club Nocturne. It was the moment when you realized that Jessie was still here in this body with me. See, when we met at the Spire, you tried to play it off like you could tell all along, but that was bullshit. What I saw on your face in the club wasn't just surprise, it was fear. You see, I may not always be able to tell when a woman is lying to me, but I can always tell when she's scared. And you were scared. But that didn't make any sense, either. Until I realized—you weren't scared for me, you were scared of me."

Xenos scoffed. He sat back in his chair and smoked his cigarette, tapping out some ash on the desk.

"Maybe not of who I was, but of what I might become. And the way I figure it, there's only one thing a guy like you would be afraid of: competition. When Beaumont's body died mid-swap, it untethered my soul. But my soul has—how did you put it?—a certain 'elasticity?' I bet that's the same thing you've got, isn't it? It's what lets you swap with other people.

"That's why you didn't kill me. That's why you saved my life. You don't want to risk Jessie's body dying prematurely and maybe setting my spirit loose and accidentally creating another body swapper like you. The only way you could know for sure that I was dead was to wait me out and let Jessie's spirit do your dirty work for you. You gutless prick, you were just running out the clock."

The room was practically spinning as I tried to focus on Xenos's reactions, but he was maddeningly inscrutable. Though I noticed that he seemed to be taking greater interest in his current situation, glancing around a little. Giving a discreet tug on his cuffs.

Then I felt myself slipping again...

"You never gave a damn about those dossiers. Or if you did, it was the icing on the cake. You only used them as a diversion so that you could get me to chase my tail around the city until I dropped dead. I bet that's why you let Victoria live, running around in my body. She was no threat to you, but you needed her to keep the pressure on me. I'm assuming that's also why you didn't simply tie me to a chair and lock me in a room while you waited me out. You're curious. As much as you want me gone, you want this to play out to see if you were right. To you, the rest of us are just like clothes for you to wear and lab rats to experiment on."

Huh. That's weird. The other Jessie-me on the video looked kinda sad. Sad or angry, I couldn't tell. But Chase sorta looks like she said something funny.

"Unfortunately for me, this is all academic. I spent the afternoon trying to swap with people, but I can't do it. It's possible that I've got the knack, but I don't have your ability. And I certainly don't have your skill. Maybe killing Jessie might cut my soul loose, but you know I won't do that to her. So, I'm stuck. Drowning in this tar pit until it consumes me completely. But I wanted you to know that I figured you out, you jackass. Even if I can't do anything about it."

Chase had a big ol' grin on his face. He looked over at me, and I smiled back. I didn't get the joke, though. I was mostly just glad he wasn't angry with me about those files. He ground out the butt of his cigarette on the top of the desk as he kept lookin' at me. It was a weird look, though. Kinda gave me the creeps.

"You're a clever man, Chase," he said to me. "Or at least you were. Though not for much longer, I'm sorry to say."

I still didn't know what he was talkin' about, so I just kept smiling. Guys liked my smile. I—

—I gasped as I forced myself to the surface, snatching control back from Jessie. God, her influence was so strong now. It was like being dragged down into quicksand with lead weights tied around my ankles.

The video continued. "There's one last thing I want you to know. Maybe I'm just being petty, but I'm a dead man, so what the hell. I wanted you to know that you were wrong about me. I'm not who you think I am."

As I struggled, Xenos watched the recording with an amused disinterest, the look of someone who'd seen it all. He'd no doubt heard countless men who'd tried to convince him that they were special or remarkable. The last songs of the desperate and the damned.

I could feel myself slipping again, maybe for the last time...

Oh, hey, the Jessie on the video was holding Chase's gold lighter! That's kinda funny, 'cause that's the same as the one that's on his desk right now.

"I told you the story about how I got this. The one case I wasn't able to solve. Madeline Capshaw, the grieving young widow who murdered her husband for the money. But I lied to you. I actually did solve that case. It was the boyfriend all along. It turned out that the guy worked in a field that gave him access to certain exotic materials and less than savory characters. That's why Madeline singled him out," the other me said.

"Or, I should say, she singled me out."

I wrinkled my nose as I tried to get what the other me on the screen was talking about. This was super confusing. Maybe Chase could explain it to me later. It sure looked like he was paying more attention now.

"Madeline and I had an affair. She fed me some bullshit about how her husband beat her, about how she wanted to be together with me. Just her and me, and all his money...if only he wasn't in the picture. I thought she loved me. I thought I loved her. Hell, maybe I did. I loved her enough to kill for her. You see, that's where you were wrong about me. You kept saying that I wasn't a killer. But I am. I killed a man in cold blood because Madeline wanted a chump to do her dirty work, and like an idiot, I thought I was in love."

I watched as the Jessie on the screen held up the lighter again and opened and closed it. Tink. Clack.

Tink.

"Madeline didn't mail this to me afterwards. I kept it. Of course I did. I wasn't about to leave the murder weapon lying around. Y'see, poisoned cigarettes? People might think to look for that. But nobody would think to look for a nanite-based toxin that activates from combustion...like, say, the flame of a lighter."

Clack.

Huh, that's so weird. Chase looks super worried all of a sudden. What's got him so spooked? He took one look at that cigarette butt on the desk, and now he's all jumpy and stuff, and he's tugging on those handcuffs. I wonder where the keys are at?

"In a town filled with masks, everybody's got something to hide," the other me said. "But wow, I'm sorry. Listen to me, rambling on. You know, running out the clock. Of course, now you've got a big decision to make. By now, I figure you've got at most a couple minutes before the poison kills you. Nasty way to die. The bad news for you is that at this time of night, there's nobody left in the building for you to swap bodies with. Nobody except me, in Jessie's body. But by now, Jessie's spirit will be strong enough in her body that I bet she can squash even you. Time to choose, Xenos, the lady or the tiger. Still, you were right about one thing...it was always going to come down to either us or you."

Whoa, Chase is giving me a really weird look. So intense! "Chase, baby, what's wr—"

Out of nowhere, a staggering sense of disorientation threatened to overwhelm me. It was like my senses were going crazy, all building up to a terrible sense of being dipped in cold fire. It felt like dying. But there was something else, as well. The sense of someone else there with me, if only for a fleeting moment. Then a strange sense of passage. I had a profound feeling of disconnectedness, and it was causing me a wickedly intense pain.

Until, suddenly, it was gone.

And it was replaced with an entirely different kind of pain.

"Aaahhh!" I cried out in agony. It was centered on my chest, my lungs. Every breath felt like fire. This was...really fucking unpleasant.

I tried to focus through the torment, and I quickly realized that I was back in my own body. I felt...much clearer. I hadn't fully realized how much Jessie's presence had been threatening to overwhelm me until it wasn't there anymore.

Y'know, if you took away this burning agony in my chest, this would be a big improvement.

I looked up just in time to make fleeting eye contact with Xenos in Jessie's body. He didn't look so good. I'd told him on the video that I could always tell when a woman was scared. Right now, he was terrified.

Good.

Xenos raced out the door, no doubt in search of somebody—anybody—to swap with. He was stronger than me, no question, but I'd been hanging on by a thread. I knew he didn't have long.

Neither one of us did.

I took another agonizing breath and focused on my current situation. I reflexively tugged on the handcuffs, to no avail. No surprise there. I wasn't getting out of this. That was always the problem with this strategy. If I'd tried to hide a key or something, I risked handing Xenos an escape route. This only worked if I cut off every escape route. For me, as well.

That had been Victoria's mistake. She'd wanted to kill Xenos, but she didn't understand him. She'd wanted Xenos dead for selfish reasons. Victoria was afraid of dying, and she wanted to get him before he got her. But Xenos would be ready for that. He'd be able to use her fear against her.

But this was a sacrifice play. I wasn't afraid of Xenos because I knew neither one of us would be walking out of this alive.

From where I was seated at my desk, I looked down at the street outside. Xenos had finally made it downstairs. Shame about that broken elevator, I bet taking all those stairs had been a bitch in those heels.

Right now, he was on the sidewalk, searching around desperately. Cars sped past, too fast for him to swap with the drivers. But then I noticed he was fixated on something across the street, and that's when I noticed them. A couple cops standing there, idly talking to some working girls.

It was strange looking down at that frightened girl as she kept anxiously looking for an opening in the traffic, desperate to cross the street. Because, like I'd said at the beginning of this story, that girl was me. Which is to say, she used to be me. You'll have to forgive a dying man a bit of wordplay.

Even so, it looked like this was going to be close. For both of us. I grimaced through the pain. I had to see this through. I had to know.

A squeal of tires and the loud blare of a car horn sliced through the noise of the traffic.

Xenos tried to make a mad dash across the street, and he took a bad step and stumbled. The cops were paying attention now, but they hadn't moved yet, probably wondering what the new girl's story was. But I watched as Xenos—as Jessie—stumbled up to them, barely able to stand as she threw herself against the closest cop, a barrel-chested guy with a mustache. She put her fingers on his broad chest and looked up at him desperately.

"Oh, God... He's killed me..." she whispered.

Okay, fair enough, there was no way I could hear that part from where I was. Just the same, I'm the one who's telling this story, so I'll tell it how I want. But their body language told me everything I needed to know. Jessie's bewilderment. The cops' officious confusion. There were no sudden reactions, no sense of relief. Just some residents of Faraday City casually shrugging at this latest bit of unexplained strangeness. And this city had no shortage of that.

I'd run the clock out on Xenos, just like he'd planned to do to me. There was no final half-court shot that got off before the buzzer. No last-minute escape.

Xenos was dead. Probably the last terrified thought that went through his head was the disbelief that it had been someone like Jessie who finally did him in.

Good for her.

Take that, you fucking parasite.

I fell into a paroxysm of hacking coughs as the pain in my chest intensified.

Ugh... this... this was okay. I'd finally done something right with my life. After all, I'd killed Augustus Capshaw, I deserved this. And now I was going to die the same way he'd died, choking on the same poison. Two murderers would die tonight, both Xenos and myself, but at least Jessie was safe.

I'd made my peace. I was ready. This... this was justice. I could die well knowing that.

Just then, I heard the telltale squeak of that loose floorboard right outside my office.

Of course, that wasn't exactly Plan A.

Bleary-eyed, I looked up to see a blonde woman entering the office, casually dressed and carrying a small duffel bag.

Madeline Capshaw, my former lover. The woman I'd killed for. The woman I'd killed with. She was a stunner, too, like Jessie. In fact, she could have been Jessie's older sister, apart from a slightly rounder face and those discerning blue eyes that never missed a trick.

What can I say? I have a type.

Earlier this afternoon, after I'd sent the message to Xenos to set up this meeting, I also sent a message to Madeline. I'd told her I wanted $100,000 in exchange for her gold Zippo lighter. The murder weapon. I'd picked a number just high enough to make me seem desperate, but low enough that I knew she'd be able to pull it together on short notice.

I knew she'd always figured that I'd held on to the lighter so that I could blackmail her with it. I had to admit that the thought had crossed my mind from time to time. Even so, I could never bring myself to do it. To say nothing of the fact that if I gave up my one bit of leverage, I figured she'd find a way to kill me, too. I had no illusions about my personal culpability in her husband's murder, but she'd engineered the whole thing from the start and set me up as her willing patsy. I'd always suspected that woman had ice running through her veins.

I was about to find out.

My little gambit with Xenos had served another purpose. He'd been afraid that in me he'd accidentally created another body swapper. I'd guessed that the reason that Jessie and I ended up sharing a body was that after my soul had become untethered, I'd instinctively jumped into her body, but I wasn't skilled enough to fully displace her. Unlike a more experienced swapper, like Xenos. Though of course, it wasn't like he was going to teach me the ropes. Not willingly.

So, I'd made him show me.

When he'd swapped with me in the parking lot that first time, I'd no idea what was going on. But this time, I'd been ready for it. I'd been paying attention. And I figured out his trick.

Xenos boasted that he'd conquered death, but that was a lie. He was terrified of death. He skipped from one person to the next, leaving a trail of ruined lives in his wake as he forever tried to stay one fleeting step ahead of the grim reaper. But now I understood why he thought the way he did. Because to make this trick work, you couldn't simply see your target and aim for it. You had to fling yourself into the abyss with everything you had, no holding back.

I didn't fear death. Not anymore. Because if this didn't work, I would die in my own body, by my own hand. Justice for the dead.

Bleary-eyed, I looked up at Madeline, who by now had quickly realized that I was incapacitated somehow. She didn't know what all was going on, but she also wasn't the type to pass up a golden opportunity. She saw the lighter sitting out on my desk and rushed to grab it.

I flung myself into the abyss. That familiar feeling of pain, of cold fire enveloped me again. It was like I could feel death's icy fingers grasping at me. But there, at the other end, was...something. A light. A presence. Madeline. I moved towards it, and into it, feeling as her soul passed mine.

I suddenly felt off balance as I stumbled forward. My hand reached forward as my fingers wrapped around the cold metal of my lighter. For the second time tonight, I found myself in a woman's body, staring at my old self.

My old self, dying.

I watched quietly as Madeline choked to death in my body. I figured the least I could do was to bear witness. To be with her. She barely had time to process what was happening to her before it was over.

Again, I was a killer. The killer of a killer. Two murderers died tonight. And a third...the third had cheated death.

I collected some of the items on the desk, leaving behind my old personal effects. I also retrieved the USB stick from my television with my confessional video, and anything else that might tie any of this to Jessie. Tomorrow, the cops would find my body, but they'd be stumped. Just like they were stumped by the murder of Madeline's husband. I should know. I helped them investigate it.

I wondered what they'd finally call it. A murder? Death by natural causes? Or maybe it was a suicide. After all, I'd killed myself here, too. My old life. And yet I'd still managed to walk away in the end.

A long blonde tress fell across my face, and I brushed it back. I scoffed to myself as the song "Suicide Blonde" suddenly popped into my head. Dyed by her own hand.

Welcome to freakin' Faraday City.

I paused for a moment to glance around my office, the last remnants of my old life, before I left it behind. To a new life.

A couple weeks later, I sat at the bar in Unmasked as I gazed up at the girl up on stage who was expertly working the stripper pole. She was dressed as Copykitten, but I didn't recognize the dancer. New girl, I guess.

There was a lot of that going around.

I reached for the drink that I'd been nursing and tentatively took another sip and made a face. That was my luck in a nut...with Madeline's riches, I finally had all the money in the world to afford the good stuff, only to find out that her body hadn't acquired my old body's taste for bourbon. I could only hope that she didn't have the same love of cheap fruity drinks that Jessie favored.

Another guy passed me by and gave me a blatant up-and-down look, his gaze lingering on my chest. It pissed me off, but I can't say I blamed him. I'd have done the same thing to a broad who looked like me, no doubt wondering what she was even doing in a joint like this. He probably assumed I was another stripper applying for a job and checking out the competition.

I pursed my lips and gave the guy Madeline's best "fuck off and die" glare. She'd been the master, but I was getting pretty good. All the guys were giving me enough opportunities to practice it, that was for damn sure.

I ran my manicured fingers over the smooth metal of my lighter. It felt bigger in my hand, a little heavier. Though of course, it wasn't the lighter that had changed. I fussed at it, running my fingers across the cold metal.

"You can't smoke in here," Tia said from the other side of the bar.

"Wasn't gonna," I said. "I guess you'd say this is more of a memento."

Back behind the bar, I saw the young blond delivery guy with the tousled hair. Emmet.

We made eye contact, and he had that easy grin and an open demeanor—he'd probably make a pretty good bartender himself—and I returned the smile. The second I did it, I knew it had been was a mistake, since in Madeline's body that read as a come-on. But he was polite. Hell, he even maintained eye contact, rather than just checking out my rack. I was impressed.

Now it was my turn to look him over. I'd sized up plenty of guys in my day—usually right before a fight—but this time I found myself looking at his toned body in appreciative ways that I'd never done as a man.

It bothered me. And it intrigued me.

Tia took notice of our little exchange, but chose to ignore it. Then she glanced at the lighter. "Huh. I know a guy with a lighter like that. Haven't seen him around lately, though. That was his drink of choice, too."

"Yeah, well, it's not mine," I said, shoving the glass away a little.

She made a show of wiping down the bar as she gave me a discerning look. "That's funny, the two of you having the same lighter like that. He always used to drive me crazy, opening and closing it all the time."

I flashed the lighter, showing it had remained closed. "Don't know what to tell you. This one's mine. It's even got my initials engraved on it, see?" I said, holding it up for inspection. "But there's an obvious explanation."

"Yeah?"

"I guess it depends if you believe in reincarnation," I said with a smile.

Tia scoffed in a perfectly measured way, just polite enough to not cause insult.

"Well," I said, lifting up my glass, "here's to absent friends."

"Yeah. Fuck 'em," Tia said with a wry grin.

I smiled back and almost took a sip of my drink, but I didn't even get that far before the smell put me off. I put the glass down in disgust.

Tia had already moved off to refill some drinks further down the bar. Meanwhile, Emmet had paused his work to chat up one of the waitresses. Her body was toned, too, but curvy in all the right places. My eyes flitted between the two of them.

I could sense them. Feel them. Their presence. Not the soft fleshy exteriors or the bones underneath, but I could feel them. The essence of them. Their spirits, I guess. It's not like Xenos had given me a handbook for this stuff.

It was a curious feeling, knowing I had this power. I could swap with them if I wanted. I could do it, and there was absolutely nothing they could do to stop me. As my eyes drifted over them, I suddenly realized that when I looked at their bodies, I wasn't merely admiring them like you would a sexual partner, I was appraising them for something much more personal.

I sighed heavily. I'd spent years trying to put my past behind me. Wanting a fresh start. It's funny how one's wishes are fulfilled.

I can't say I was especially thrilled about being a woman again. And being in Madeline's body made me...uncomfortable. Although for some reason it bothered me less than I thought it would. Maybe because now I was in a position to be able to do something about it if I were so inclined. Age, height, sex, race...things we're conditioned all our lives to accept as unalterable, suddenly became like flavors of ice cream I could choose from on a whim.

I gazed over at Emmet—or rather, his body. If I wanted to be a man again, I could just...take it from him.

It would be so easy. Too easy.

Xenos was an asshole and a killer, but he'd been right about one thing. A power like this demanded slow moves. Deliberate moves. If I swapped with Emmet, I wouldn't even be able to hit the head and enjoy the experience of peeing standing up before he'd be screaming and complaining, and pretty much everybody would be looking for me. Cops, and probably superheroes, too. Unless I killed him to shut him up, I guess.

But that seemed...unsociable.

The weight of the lighter in my hand grabbed my attention. I hadn't even realized I'd been fooling with it. A memento of my old life. These were now dangerous, too. This one more than most.

Madeline was dead. Xenos was dead. My old body was dead. Victoria, too, for that matter. I'd barely even met the real Victoria, but I still felt like I'd known her, at least somewhat. The illusion was more real than the woman herself. Now I was the one casting the illusion.

I'd wanted a fresh start, but I never actually thought I'd get one. Hell, I'd had the experience of standing over my own dead body. You don't get a cleaner break than that.

Xenos thought there was no justice in the world for men like him. I'd proven him wrong. I was no hero, but the notion that maybe there was some justice in this world after all was...appealing.

I sighed a little. A light, feminine noise that passed through my painted lips. "Justice." Was that what this had been?

Xenos deserved to die. So did Madeline. I'd lose no sleep over that. But why had I done it? Was this some form of belated justice, or had I simply been operating out of self-preservation? Or revenge?

Madeline's husband had been murdered, and now one of his killers had been brought to justice. And the other one...the other one was wearing her body.

I vaguely realized that the DJ had made an announcement. I hadn't really been listening, but the abrupt change in lighting and music told me it was time. The night was just getting started, so the crowd was relatively light, but the assembled guys managed to make a fair amount of noise with their applause and hoots and hollers as Jessie came brightly prancing out on stage in her Dollface costume.

I loved to watch her dance. She could light up the stage with her bouncy exuberance. And it was fair to say that I knew those curves more intimately than the guys could ever dream of. I watched Jessie intently, but for once, I wasn't focused on her body or her lively dance moves.

She was too far away for me to have attempted a swap even if I'd wanted to—and I didn't, I'd spent more time in her body than I cared to already—but I could sense her spirit. I tried to focus to see if there was anything else there—anyone else—but I couldn't sense anything.

Xenos was gone. His spirit permanently extinguished. I hoped. Or who knows? Maybe he was trapped in there, looking out helplessly through Jessie's eyes as she beamed at the guys as she shook her breasts and worked the pole. That was the fate he'd wanted for me.

In a perverse way, I was a little disappointed there was no sign of him. If he was still out there in the world, at least then I'd have some purpose, some focus, in hunting him down. Now, I had no idea what I was supposed to do. I'd not only been given a new lease on life, I'd been handed a huge opportunity. Now I had to choose how I wanted to use it.

Xenos had been a lonely immortal, using his abilities to fuel an endless quest for revenge. But I felt...I don't know...connected. I could literally see how we were all more similar than different. I'd spent my whole life standing apart from humanity, but now...

Over on one of the screens behind the bar, there was a TV report that had interrupted the game with news of some superhero crisis. I used to think that was all bullshit, those do-gooders risking their lives selflessly. But now...I dunno. I guess I wasn't so sure. I didn't believe in karma, but if I did, I was still deep in the hole in that regard.

If I believed in that.

Which I didn't.

I ran my thumb across the smooth metal of my lighter.

Ah, I'd never had patience for all that sanctimonious superheroic bullcrap, anyway. Acting one way, and secretly being a whole different way, it was all just a big—

"Hey, hon, what's your name?"

It was a woman's voice this time. And she was close. Very close. I turned to face her to discover that she was encroaching on my personal space in a decidedly familiar way. She was young and attractive, a fetching little thing all done up for a night on the prowl.

My lighter was still closed in my hand, but I tapped it on the bar. "It's Ch—" I started. "Charade," I said, smiling at my own little joke. For some reason, I'd used the British pronunciation, I guess to make it sound cooler. Shuh-raad.

"Cool," the girl said. "That French or something?"

"Something like that."

She leaned in even closer and turned around so that we were practically cheek-to-cheek. She spoke in a low tone, barely audible over the driving beat of the music.

"My boyfriend thinks you're hot," she whispered into my ear with a suggestive lilt. She then sidled up against me and peered meaningfully over towards a table in the corner where a guy in a leather jacket was giving the two of us an appreciative glance. "So do I," she added. "We were curious if you were interested in a little three-way?"

I slipped the gold lighter into my purse, watching as her eyes tracked the motion. Her smile was frozen on her face as she looked me over. I hadn't been in this body long enough to develop a sense of vanity about it, which is maybe why I noticed what I did.

She was giving me a once-over, but she wasn't checking me out. Her eyes flitted between my purse, my necklace, my diamond stud earrings, my outfit. I'd dressed in what I'd thought was an unassuming outfit, but of course Madeline had bought only the best. This girl could see it, too. I wasn't just some random chick, I was money.

I glanced over at the guy at the table. Antsy, but not excited. Trying too hard to look disinterested. He tugged at his jacket nervously, and I made out the outline of his gun clumsily hidden beneath.

I then tossed my hair and glanced down to steal a peek at the girl's small clutch purse. It was closed, but I could tell it was overweighted, like there was something heavy in there, too. I might have given her the benefit of the doubt and assumed it was a large phone, except that her phone was plainly visible in the bag's outside pocket.

The streets of Faraday City were dangerous, but these two were packing an awful lot of firepower for a fun night on the town. But it was about right for a couple of thieves who were looking to mug a clueless rich dame who was slumming and going to a strip club as she played at being edgy. I suspected the two of them probably got a thrill out of taking rich bitches' money and then giving them a good scare to remind them they didn't belong in this part of town.

They didn't. But I did.

I pinched my purse closed and gave the girl a friendly smile as the clasp snapped shut. Clack.

As I stood up and walked with her towards the table, I could practically sense their excitement. Giddy at the prospect of a rich and pretty ingenue blithely walking straight into their trap.

"You know, I've never done anything like this before," I whispered to her.

"Don't worry, hot stuff. You just let us do all the work," she assured me as she placed her hand against the small of my back, guiding me forward, a little too insistently.

"You and your boyfriend do this sort of thing a lot?" I asked, doing my best to look oblivious.

"Oh, yeah. We're super close."

"Really." I peered over at her with a predatory grin. "You ever wonder what it would be like to be a whole lot closer?"

She gave me a confused look as I hit her with a winning smile and looped my arm playfully around hers. Then, as the three of us exited the club, I heard the music change for the next part of Jessie's set.

"Suicide blonde was the color of her hair, like a cheap distraction for a new affair... She knew it would finish before it began... Woah, baby, you lost the plan..."

THE END

I stretched out a tense muscle and ran a towel through my long blonde hair as I padded barefoot into Madeline's bedroom—now, my bedroom. It wasn't easy to adjust to her life, but the money was making it a damned sight easier. I tossed the towel onto the bed as I tightened the satin belt on my changing robe. Going to her exercise class had been an instructive experience regarding her body. She was in way better shape than I had been. And of course, taking a shower afterwards was always...distracting.

I hadn't slipped into Madeline's life without issues, though. Her friends had noted that I was behaving oddly, for one thing. I was woefully unprepared to live her life. I didn't know any of her passwords, and I could barely even find things in the kitchen. The longer I lived like this, the more impressed I was with Xenos's ability to enter another's life without drawing attention. I could scarcely manage this one.

However, occasionally dealing out a little extracurricular justice to the scumbags of the city was proving to be diverting. I'd learned that a muscular thug who'd once handed me a fairly epic beatdown as a man had been using his girlfriend as a punching bag, and let's just say that she seemed significantly more satisfied with their new living arrangement than he was.

I sat myself down at the makeup table and took a sip of my drink that was sitting there. I then picked up my current object of curiosity: Xenos's iComm unit that I'd retrieved that night in my office. The fact that he'd been carrying it around with him told me that he didn't want to let it out of his sight and was therefore valuable, but it was proving to be a thorny puzzle.

I thumbed on the activation button.

"Identify," the unit said brusquely.

"Xenos."

"Confirmed," the unit responded.

That had been the easy part. After all, it wasn't like Xenos could use biometric identification. The next part was tricky.

The unit announced, "Identify active protocol. Final attempt before permanent lockdown."

I let out a grumble. I'd taken two guesses already: 'Xenos,' and 'Chimera,' thinking he might have a soft spot for his old heroic identity as Beaumont.

But that, I realized, was the problem. He wasn't nostalgic, at least not for his old—what was the term he used?—'mounts.' We were like clothes to him. I didn't get nostalgic for socks I used to wear.

Then I thought back to something that "Victoria" had said. She'd been telling me about something Xenos had once said to her, but of course she was Xenos...he was talking about himself. He'd said that the trick to immortality was conviction. To have the conviction to take and take. To live like the Prodigal Son and squander your riches, but then instead of asking for absolution, just taking more.

What an asshole.

I took another drink from my glass. Then, clearly and distinctly, I said, "Prodigal Son."

"Confirmed," the iComm responded. "Prodigal Son protocol disengaged. Welcome, Xenos."

The unit unlocked and the menus sprang to life, and I marveled at it. The contact information alone was a gold mine. Then I noticed a prominent red oval-shaped button in the virtual display. I pushed it.

Suddenly, a loud vorp sound came from a few feet away, and a glowing energy portal opened up.

I'd heard of this technology, but I'd never seen it in person before. This was a 'warp closet,' an other-dimensional space which superheroes were able to access to store their belongings. Usually they were pretty minuscule, but as I peered inside, this one looked as big as my old apartment. And it was neatly filled with all manner of sculptures, paintings, technology, and other artifacts. I entered, and off to one side I even saw the high-tech black-and-white battle armor that Xenos had worn as Chimera.

This was Xenos's treasure room. All the useful and valuable things that he'd collected over the centuries.

"Payday," I whispered to myself as I wandered inside.

I hope you enjoyed the story! And be sure to check out the Faraday City worldbuilding site for more information about the city, the characters, the story's complete soundtrack, and other fun stuff! It can be found at: https://www.worldanvil.com/w/faraday-city-jenny-north

Cinders and Ash

Story by Jenny North
Artwork by Dov Sherman

(As inspired by "Wrong Address" artwork by Dov Sherman!)
https://dovsherman.deviantart.com
https://www.patreon.com/DovSherman

Leigh leaned heavily on his broom to catch his breath and paused for a moment to wipe the sweat from his brow. He looked down in disgust at his hand, which came back filthy with the soot that still covered him from head to toe from when he'd cleaned out his aunt's fireplace earlier that afternoon. Mercifully for Leigh, the wicked old woman had left the house earlier that day to go berate the seamstress who was preparing her gown for the ball that evening, but not before beating her "lazy affliction of a nephew" over her displeasure at his lackadaisical efforts. After Leigh's parents died she'd reluctantly taken the young man in, but only on the condition that he work to earn his keep...and she'd seen to it that she squeezed every penny's worth out of him. He sighed heavily as he considered the impossible list of chores she'd once again saddled him with and cursed his fate.

Just then, the musical trilling of songbirds came drifting through the open window.

"God, not this again," he swore to himself.

The pretty warbling of the birds soon gave way to the lilting refrain of a young woman's melodious singing. "A dream is a wish your heart maaaaakes..."

"Ella, for fuck's sake, will you just shut up?!?" he yelled.

However—as every day—his cries went unanswered as the songbirds merely drowned him out as they increased the volume of their warbling and harmonized to the sound of her lovely voice.

Leigh slammed the window shut.

When Ella had moved in next door with her stepmother and stepsisters, at first he'd been delighted. He'd even harbored a little fantasy that he and the pretty blonde girl might share a romantic dalliance that would take his mind off of his miserable circumstances, but after only a few minutes of talking to her he realized that she was clearly deranged. Her relentlessly optimistic and cheerful attitude in the face of her own wretched situation had been annoying enough, but then when he watched her flit about as she talked and sang to the mice and vermin that infested her stepmother's house, Leigh knew that she was either soft in the head or beset by spirits. He didn't need that grief in his life.

Worse yet, when the insane girl's stepsisters had come up with their teasing nickname for their new charge—"Cinder Ella"—it had soon found its way to his aunt's ears, prompting her to christen Leigh with a hateful nickname of his own: Ash Leigh.

"Blasted fruitcake," Leigh muttered to himself as Ella's muffled singing carried from across the alley. His life had been bad enough before she'd showed up, but nowadays he found himself in constant competition with the servant girl next door as his aunt belittled his efforts by comparing them unfavorably to the mad loon who talked to rodents and sang her cares away.

He shook his head in disgust and began to return to his work, but he was startled as something suddenly slammed against the window hard enough to knock it open. From out of the corner of his eye Leigh saw something ricochet off of the glass and plummet into a pile of soiled rags in the corner of the room, no doubt one of the songbirds from next door who had gotten disoriented while navigating the narrow alley.

"Maybe if I'm lucky it broke its fool neck," he said to himself as he went to retrieve the dead bird. But as he yanked back the soiled linens, what he saw stopped him in his tracks.

It wasn't a bird, it was a woman! But a miniature woman, not much larger than a bird herself. She was plump with a round face and a matronly look to her and she wore a thick set of reading glasses. She was clad in a pouffy little dress, but what immediately caught Leigh's attention were the elaborate sparkly wings that stuck out behind her which fluttered erratically as she rolled her head in stupefaction.

"Gad, my melon," she said as she held her hand to her head. "Did anybody get the number of that flying monkey?"

"You can talk?" Leigh said in wonder. "Who—what—are you?"

The diminutive woman shook her head and then scrunched up her face as she looked up at the bedraggled-looking Leigh who stood before her dressed in his raggy clothes. His long filthy and unkempt hair swept into his face and he was covered in soot from head to toe.

"Titania's teats, they don't assign me the easy ones, do they?" she muttered to herself. Then she cleared her throat and addressed him directly. "Dear, I am your fairy godmoth—whoof," she said as she tried to stand up and collapsed in a heap, still disoriented.

"I have a fairy godmoth?" Leigh wondered.

"Godmother, dear," the fairy corrected as she clambered to her feet. She blinked slowly and paused to get her bearings, then patted her dress for something and seemed to come up empty as she looked around on the ground around her. "Well, I'm somebody's fairy godmother. Where's my scroll? I'm not even sure this is the right place..."

"Ashleigh!" a woman's harsh voice shrieked from the floor below. They heard the front door slam forcefully shut followed by the sounds of angry steps stomping up the stairs.

"Ack! Hide!" Leigh cried as he dumped a pile of rags on top of the small fairy, who gave a muffled yelp of displeasure.

The door burst open and an agitated woman forced herself into the room, clearly having trouble navigating through the narrow doorway in the preposterously elaborate ball gown she was wearing. But she stopped short when she saw the scene in front of her.

"Ashleigh! You lazy, spoiled brat! Look at you, you're filthy and the room is a mess!"

"I'm sorry, Aunt Millicent..."

"Ugh, you're just as useless as that seamstress. Just look at this travesty that I'm forced to wear to the ball!"

Leigh shrugged slightly. "I think you look beautiful, Auntie," he offered. It was a complete lie, of course. He thought she looked like a ridiculously overstuffed confection of organza and tulle, but he knew better than to say as much and invite her wrath. In truth, he thought that she looked even more of a horror than usual. Her heavily made up face did nothing to hide her craggy features, and her small sagging bosom was practically bursting out of the low-cut bodice of her gaudy dress.

From behind him Leigh heard the shifting of linens as the small fairy's voice said, "Ugh, what a monstrosity."

"What did you say?" Millicent roared.

"I—I said, uh, such...grandiosity!" Leigh hurriedly stammered. "You're so lucky to be able to go to the ball in such...magnificence. All eyes will surely be on you, Auntie. You're certain to catch the eye of the royals."

"Mmm," she grumbled. "You really are a stupid creature, aren't you, child? That I could just flaunt my bosom and wear the biggest dress and hairdo and that would be enough to find a man who would lift me from this squalor? But I suppose I shouldn't be surprised...after all, that was how your own mother captured your father's attentions, flaunting her enormous chest like a wanton strumpet. You're just like her with your false words and pretense."

Leigh grit his teeth and forced a tight smile. "Are you on your way to the ball now, Auntie?"

"No, dear Ashleigh, I thought I would stay home like this," she said sarcastically. "Of course I'm going to the ball, dimwit. My coach is waiting outside, I just stopped to get my antique earrings. You had better have cleaned them like I told you to!"

"Of course, auntie," he lied. He'd considered pawning them but had thought better of it since the miserly old woman didn't have any other servants for him to pin it on. "They're in your jewelry box. Shall I fetch them for you?"

His aunt looked appalled at the very suggestion. "No! You'll cover both them and me in ash and soot, you worthless wretched thing. I'll get them myself. You remain here in your filth where you belong!"

With that, she spun around heavily as she grappled with her voluminous dress and made for the door. However, her grand dramatic exit was quickly undercut when she found herself unable to get her dress and petticoats through the doorway, and fought with the copious fabric of her gown for several interminable seconds.

"Perhaps I could...?" Leigh offered, his arms outstretched. The thought of sending her off to the royal ball with two big sooty handprints on her backside definitely appealed to him.

"Don't touch me!" she shrieked.

He backed away quietly as she continued her struggles against the fabric of the elaborate gown while he pretended not to notice. Finally she managed to fight her way across the threshold and dragged her voluminous skirts out into the hallway.

"And finish your chores!" she commanded before stalking downstairs.

Silence filled the room as Leigh stood there and stared at the empty doorway.

"Wow, she's a charmer, and I know from charms," the fairy godmother said as she extricated herself from the pile of soiled linens. "This must be the place, all right."

"Why are you here?" Leigh said.

"Oh, my dear, dear Ashleigh. I'm here to make your fondest wish come true!"

Leigh sighed heavily. "Well, I'd appreciate if you'd start by not calling me Ash—"

He was cut off by the sound of the front door roughly slamming shut downstairs, which practically caused the whole house to shake.

"Right, let's get to work, then," the little fairy said as she stood up and looked around at her feet. "Now, where's my wand? I'm useless without my wand. Oh, here we go," she said as she retrieved the twinkling item. Then with an incandescent sparkle she fluttered into the air and hovered in front of him. "Usually the girls like me to do this part with a little musical number. Any requests?"

"No singing!" he said emphatically.

"Oh, thank goodness," she said, relieved. "Truth to tell, that's my least favorite part of the job. Though I could play a little New Age music if you'd prefer."

"Let's just get on with it," Leigh said. His eyes flashed as he got a big smile on his face. "Okay, for my first wish—"

"Tut tut tut," the fairy interrupted. "You've already made your wish, I'm just here to make it happen."

"I did?"

She peered down at her scroll and adjusted her glasses. "Yes, it's all right here. Miserable wretched conditions, tormented by wicked relatives, worked to death. One night off for good behavior."

"One lousy night? That's all I get?"

"Hey! I'm a fairy godmother, not the genie of the lamp. This is what you get, kiddo. But I see you've got a 'happily ever after' clause if you play your cards right."

"I guess that part sounds all right."

She scoffed. "Wow. You're welcome. I swear your whole generation has a serious problem with gratitude."

Before Leigh could respond, she started flitting around the room from corner to corner, obviously looking for something.

"Did you lose something?" he asked.

"Just looking for helpers. Usually there's birds or something to help out. Weird. Oh, well, we'll just have to make do. First, we need to get you cleaned up!"

Leigh stood there apprehensively for a moment and turned to see as a golden standing bathtub magically appeared in the corner that was filled with water and soapy suds. However, he felt uncomfortable disrobing in front of the diminutive woman and wasn't sure what to do.

"Should I get in...?" he asked uncertainly.

"Honey, it's your special day, you're getting the full-on luxury spa treatment. You just let me take care of everything."

Leigh nodded slowly and waited for something to happen. Then from outside the door he heard the sound of an insistent squeaking and the flurry of small footsteps. He was about to ask the fairy godmother about the sound when a tidal wave of rats burst in through the door.

"AAAH!" he screamed in terror as the torrent of rodents came barreling right at him. He tried to run but only managed to stumble backwards before he accidentally caught his leg on the edge of the tub and fell into the sudsy water and banged his head on the edge. He was disoriented and had a mouth full of soapy water when dozens of rats jumped into the tub with him.

"Oh, my God!" he screamed as he flailed about in the tub, covered in rats. Before he knew it they'd gnawed off his clothes and he was naked in the tub with the feisty rodents which energetically scoured every inch of his body. He got another mouthful of water and nearly choked on it as he struggled to escape.

Finally the rats ceased their assault and Leigh was able to grab the edges of the bathtub and leapt out onto the cold floor, nearly slipping on the wet stone. Naked and terrified, he covered his manhood with both hands and looked in panic at the fairy who flittered nearby with a satisfied look on her face. He was about to yell at her, but he was taken aback by the sight of the dozens of rats all obediently sitting there, staring at him.

"What—what—" he sputtered, out of breath.

The little fairy briskly clapped her hands together twice. "Next wave!"

"What?!?"

A sudden and loud fluttering from above caught his attention and as he peered into the dim recesses of the rafters he could see a great deal of movement as dozens of dark glittering eyes looked down at him.

"Wait! Wait!"

A veritable cloud of bats descended from above and fluttered around the room in a whirlwind of flapping leathery wings. Meanwhile the fairy had magically created what appeared to be a giant powder puff in the middle of the room, and one by one each of the bats plowed into it and took off again, covered in the dusty powder. Leigh barely had a chance to process this bizarre picture before he realized they were all swooping right at him.

"No, please!" he yelled as the bats landed all over his body and slapped their wings against him, covering him with the perfumed powder and sending him into a paroxysm of hacking coughs.

"You sure you don't want some music to relax you?"

"Get them off! Get them off!" he cried as he struggled vainly against the predatory swarm and gasped for breath before falling to his knees. By the time they finished their assault he was totally out of breath and his eyes darted around the room in fear and confusion.

The little fairy had a concerned look on her face. "Now, I'll warn you in advance, this next part you may not care for very much..."

That's when Leigh saw the spiders.

"AAAAH!" he yelled as he scrambled backwards, retreating from the dark swarm of arachnids that chased after him. As he slammed his back against the cold stone wall he could only watch helplessly as they frantically advanced and covered his entire body.

"It's quite wonderful, isn't it?" the fairy godmother said over the sounds of his screams. "They really do excellent work. Though, Ashleigh dear, it might be better if you didn't move around quite so much. You're making their job a lot harder with all that squirming."

As raw hysteria overtook him, Leigh slowly became aware of a heaviness that began to envelop him, something soft and constraining that felt like a silken fabric. However he barely had time to process that before his stomach was suddenly crushed in a vice-like grip that knocked the wind out of him. As he struggled and gasped for air he recoiled at the feeling of countless little legs across his face, quickly followed by painful stings on his lips, a tugging at his eyelashes, and the feelings of hairs being painfully yanked out of his eyebrows. By the time that was over and the feeling receded, the little creatures had moved upwards to concentrate their work on his hair, which grew heavier and heavier until he felt like he might have trouble keeping his head up. Soon, however, the assault was finished and he was left standing there huddled in the corner, trembling and gasping for breath.

"Oh, isn't that just perfect," the little fairy sighed.

Leigh's mouth opened and closed mutely in shock as he tried to process what was going on. By inches he became aware of the insistent pressure of a soft but heavy fabric that squeezed against him from all sides and weighed him down and constrained his movements, and even his face felt bizarre and oddly puffy. The ungainly weight that was balanced on his head prevented him from turning his head very quickly, but he started to realize what it might be when a single lock of long scarlet red hair fell across his face. He crossed his eyes and blinked at it uncertainly as he felt a heaviness on his eyes and huge eyelashes framed his vision. Slowly he raised his hand to his face but paused when he saw that his arm was encased in a long elegant ladies' silk glove.

Numbly, he looked to the grinning fairy godmother who flitted in the air next to a large and very elaborate full-length mirror she'd obviously conjured up. Slowly and awkwardly Leigh stumbled forward on unfamiliar footwear and fought against the heavy weight and constriction of his clothes as he moved to see his reflection. His midsection was still in the merciless and implacable grip of some constricting garment, but his faintness and shortness of breath only worsened as reason began to return to his addled mind and he worried what had been done to him.

And then, with a final step forward, he saw his reflection.

The ridiculously elaborate and overly feminine outfit that his aunt had worn earlier was absolutely nothing compared to the preposterously ostentatious and extravagant outfit that he now found himself wearing. The glittering ball gown had a gigantic and voluminous skirt that spread for several feet in every direction and hung huge and heavy off his hips, and was offset by a slender feminine waist that was no doubt formed by the crushing corset that was hidden beneath. His bare and hairless chest was framed by a feminine plunging neckline that was trimmed with the finest lace, and the shoulders of the dress had two gigantic puffs that were each much bigger than his head and served as a sharp contrast to the tight silken opera gloves he was wearing.

As he stared at his face in his reflection he blinked in amazement at the heavily made up woman who gaped back at him in utter shock and disbelief. "She" was an overdone caricature of femininity and as he blinked she fluttered her gigantic eyelashes back at him and he beheld her tumescent and pouting lips and puffy cheeks that were as made up and rouged as any lady he had ever seen—or wanton trollop who walked the stroll downtown, for that matter. His chin quivered in anguish and he watched as the strumpet in the mirror performed a bawdy pantomime with her inviting and overinflated crimson lips, a scandalous come-on whose invitation would be obvious to any red-blooded man who looked upon her.

But as the curl of scarlet red hair once again fell across his eyes, he slowly cast his gaze upwards.

He'd assumed that the weight on his head was an elaborate hat or complicated headgear, but it was instead revealed as the most gargantuan and elaborate feminine hairdo he had ever laid eyes on. His normal dishwater hair was now practically luminescent in a stunningly vibrant shade of red that had been styled into a humongous pile of twists and curls, and it was piled huge and high on his head, so towering that he didn't think he could even touch the top of it with his hands, even if the huge puffy shoulders of his dress would have let him make the attempt. The elaborate hairdo weighed on him heavily and he could only turn his head slowly from side to side, but as he did so he was rewarded with a twinkling sparkle that flashed in front of his bright feminine tresses to reveal the two huge chandelier earrings that tugged gaily on his earlobes.

"What...what..." he gasped in disbelief.

"There really is nothing like getting your hair done by spiders, is there? Such nimble little things," the fairy godmother said as she girlishly patted her own upswept hairdo. "And isn't their silk just divine? Soft as gossamer and nigh unbreakable, too! That corset will keep your waist trim and girlish through a whirlwind of dancing! Or any other...vigorous...evening activities," she added with a sly wink.

Leigh felt himself starting to hyperventilate even as the corset limited his breath and the immensity of the ponderous dress weighed him down. Absently his hands came up to his chest as he thought he was going to pass out.

"Oh no. Oh, no..." he said.

"Hmm?" the fairy asked as she hovered next to him and looked at his reflection in the mirror. "Oh. Oh, I see, you poor dear. I guess your aunt was wrong, you didn't really take after your mother much after all, did you, Ashleigh? Well, we can do a little something about that."

Still in shock, Leigh looked at her for a moment before his attention was drawn back to his chest and a growing weight he felt there. In horror his hands darted to grab at the two soft, fleshy protuberances that were growing there, bigger and bigger. He pressed his hands against the swollen orbs and tried in vain to make them stop, but to his horror they only continued to grow. By the time they finished they were huge and round and formed a deep valley of cleavage that was on shameless display in the low-cut gown. But as he looked up at his new endowments in the mirror, he could just make out a seam that indicated that the breasts weren't his own, but were merely realistic falsies that were somehow attached to his chest. He pulled at them frantically to get them off, but they were stuck fast and his exertions only pulled painfully at his own skin hidden underneath. In defeat he finally released his false breasts and his face burned in mortification as he felt them jiggle and wobble softly back into place as they tugged heavily on his chest.

The fairy looked at him apologetically. "I'm sorry they're not the real thing but they don't like us doing physical transformations anymore. A bunch of kids got turned into donkeys and there was a big to-do. But it's all right, this outfit is just a rental anyway."

Flabbergasted at what was done to him, Leigh finally found his voice.

"What the bloody hell have you done to me? You damnable flying cockroach, why would you even inflict this horror on me?!? I look preposterous!"

The fairy godmother was taken aback and primly pushed her glasses further up her nose. "Well, it's not my wish, you ungrateful girl. If it were my choice I'd have gone with a sleek little off-the-shoulder gown to show off your legs, but there's no accounting for taste. Besides, this is what the prince likes in his women, all frou-frou and ruffles. You're sure to be the belle of the ball."

"The ball?!? I'm not going to the ball! I'm not taking one step out the door looking like this!" he cried, not even certain that he could so much as get through the doorway in his monstrous dress.

"Well not acting like that, certainly. You must comport yourself like a lady of means if you wish to woo the prince."

"I'm not wooing anybody! I'm not a lady! Do I look like a lady to—" Leigh's voice trailed off as he spied his reflection in the mirror and realized the unfortunate answer to his own question. Then, determined to assert his gender he grabbed roughly at his skirts, intending to lift them up to expose his privates to the fairy. But after a few seconds he realized that given the yards of skirts and petticoats it would probably take a team of coachmen to be equal to the task. Exasperated, he threw his hands down in disgust and said, "Do I even sound like a lady to you?"

"You can dress them up but you can't take the country out of the girl...or words to that effect," the fairy muttered as she consulted her scroll and her fingers danced along and words rippled magically across the page. "Still, I see your point."

"Good! Now, get me out of this outlandish...whatever this is!" Leigh demanded as he pawed at himself and searched in vain for buttons or lacing to release himself from his silken prison, but the gown seemed magically stuck to his body and refused to budge. He then tugged at his long opera gloves, but they proved to be equally immovable. In a rising panic, Leigh set to pulling off his gigantic wig or whatever it was that now graced his head but it, too, was stuck fast. In fact, his frantic exertions seemed unable to so much as muss the sensual waves of girlish tresses, apart from the single lock of hair that continued to fall girlishly across his face.

"What...what is this sorcery? What's wrong with my hair?" Leigh demanded.

The fairy had busied herself reading her magical scroll but she paused to peer at him over the rim of her glasses. "Ah, the 'errant tress.' Pay it no mind, it's meant to do that. It's a charming little tease that invites your man to brush it back into place for you so you can entrap him with your womanly charms into a kiss."

"I don't have womanly charms! And I'm not kissing anybody, you fat little bug-winged gobshite!"

"Not with that mouth, you're not. You poor thing with that manly rasp...'chimney sweep's lung' is what they call it. But this should help," she said primly. Then she looked back down at the scroll. "Ah! Here we are. The standard magical voice contract. Bibbidi—bobbidi—boo—well, boobs, in your case, tee-hee!" she tittered as she waved her twinkling wand and smirked at his capacious cleavage.

She flicked her wand and Leigh stumbled back as he felt a strange tingling sensation over his entire body, not quite sure what had been done to him. He opened his mouth to hurl a string of obscenities at the fairy, but when he did so, no noise came out of his mouth at all. Again he tried to talk, but he found that he had been struck mute.

"That's odd," the fairy said, ignoring his silent attempts at cursing her out as she adjusted her reading glasses and read the contents of the scroll. "One standard voice contract...party of the first part...oh. Whoops."

Leigh, unable to say anything, glared at her impatiently.

"This is the standard mermaid contract," she explained. "Oopsies! This contract trades your voice in exchange for having a human woman's physique from the waist down. See, this is why they don't want us doing physical transformations, they so often go awry. Still, that's lucky since that part shouldn't have any effect on you. No harm done!"

Leigh's eyes grew as wide as saucers as he looked down at himself in alarm but was merely treated to the view of the canyon of cleavage between his huge fake breasts that obscured his view. He tried to lean over to see past them as he clawed helplessly at the endless yards of fabric of his gown, desperate to see or feel if he was still a man. Finally he gave up and rubbed his silken legs against each other under his skirts to feel the changes. He noted that his legs did feel more slender and feminine and it felt like his hips and buttocks were larger as they brushed up against his elaborate underskirts. He did a frenetic little dance as he tried to feel for his manhood but as he squirmed and twirled around as he rubbed his thighs together he began to realize that what was hidden under his skirts was nothing like what a man would have. Now he truly was a maiden!

"Now you're getting into the spirit!" the fairy godmother said brightly as she watched him sway and pirouette around the room as he frantically pawed at himself and his skirts.

Furious, Leigh spun on her with dire intent. Or rather he tried to, as he found himself hardly able to navigate in his dress, especially wearing whatever ridiculous feminine footwear she seemed to have cursed him with, which was no doubt as girlish and impractical as the rest of his outfit. He tried to scream at her, to tell her that he was really a man, to beg her to remove this ridiculous outfit, but no words came out.

The little fairy's brow knitted in concern as she nodded along and then smiled. "Oh, you're very welcome, my dear!" she said, misreading his intent. "Your happy face is all the repayment I need. Now, I'm sure you're eager to be on your way to the ball..."

Leigh frantically tried to shake his head but the heavy weight of his hairdo prevented it, causing him to instead seem to be tilting his head like a coy and flirtatious ingenue. He energetically waved his arms to capture the fairy's attention, but by then she had turned around, distracted by her work.

"You, aaaand...you," she said as she selected two of the rats from the crowd of rodents. She then waved her wand and in a shower of sparkles and fairy dust the pair were magically transformed into well-dressed coachmen.

"Boys, would you help Ashleigh downstairs? I need to see to transportation. I think I saw a pumpkin patch nearby..." she muttered to herself as she flew out the open window.

Leigh looked desperately to the two men and tried to communicate his distress, but the coachmen either didn't seem to understand or didn't care. However, when the pair exchanged wicked smiles and ogled Leigh lasciviously, he stopped short and started to feel a rising sense of anxiety regarding his flashy and fetching feminine presentation.

As the pair of muscular and leering coachmen moved closer, Leigh stumbled backwards but was hampered by his weighty dress. They took him by the arms and he tried to push them away but they were much bigger and stronger than he was, and he could only squirm girlishly as their hands lewdly traced over his body, lingering over his nipped-in waist and faux bosom. One of them was even bold enough to lean in and steal a kiss, which caused Leigh to recoil in shock and revulsion at the intrusion. Soon, however, the two men apparently decided to get things moving and pulled the struggling Leigh towards the doorway.

Leigh had been right about one thing, however...it had indeed taken the efforts of a team of coachmen to get his gargantuan gown through the doorway and down the stairs, and to his consternation the licentious men had enjoyed using the excuse to further manhandle his feminine body the entire time. Worst of all, during the escapade the men had discovered access underneath Leigh's skirts and one of their hands had managed to snake up his silken leg all the way to his newly feminized crotch. The man's indecent fingering of Leigh's new womanhood brought the transformed lad to tears of shame and arousal, even as his mute cries of protest manifested themselves only as labored pants of feminine delight.

When they finally emerged into the cool evening air, Leigh's growing sense of alarm exploded as people on the street stopped to admire him in his extravagant and ostentatious gown, and he found himself lowering his eyes demurely to avoid their gaze. He felt a wave of shame at being dressed as he was in public, seemingly a young lady of means who was desperately flaunting her womanly charms in the hopes of attracting a well-heeled man who was in search of a willing and fertile wife.

It was only then that he beheld the equally gaudy and elaborate coach that awaited him, which evidently the fairy had transformed from one of the pumpkins from the nearby pumpkin patch. Leigh struggled against the two burly coachmen as they stuffed him into the coach, which was soon filled to bursting with his oversized gown. Between his voluminous skirts, petticoats, and elaborate hairdo he soon found himself wedged helplessly inside, practically unable to move for all of his feminine finery.

The fairy godmother flew up beside the coach to send him off. "Well, dear, I have good news and I have bad news," she said, heedless of Leigh's frantic attempts to get her attention. "My instructions were to have this enchantment only last until midnight, just long enough to have some fun and enjoy the ball. And if you're lucky, perhaps catch the prince's eye," she said with a wink.

Leigh paused as he considered that, feeling mixed emotions. The thought of being seen by everyone looking like a garishly flamboyant and overendowed burlesque of a debutante was the most humiliating thing he could possibly imagine, but at least it would be over in a few hours. It would doubtless be the worst night of his life, but he was relieved to hear that he would be a man again soon!

"Buuuut, I feel bad about that mistake with your voice, so I'm going to give you an extension. So how's about we make it indefinite?" she offered brightly.

Stunned, Leigh tried to shake his head in vehement denial, but wedged in the coach as he was, his shocked expression came across more as being overcome with emotion at her gesture. But as he remembered his difficulty trying to remove the outfit, he quickly realized that her foolish act of "generosity" might leave him imprisoned in his feminine garments! He tugged energetically at his gloves and dress in an effort to remind her that he wasn't able to remove the gown.

She cleared her throat uncertainly. "But I'm afraid that there's also some bad news," she said as Leigh froze and stared at her with incredulity. "You see, that mermaid spell has this clause where—and I know this is unfortunate—if you don't get the prince to give you True Love's Kiss within three days, you get turned into sea foam."

Leigh's jaw dropped as he gaped at her in shock. He pointed at his lips in bewilderment.

"But don't worry! Don't worry! I'm totally confident you can pull this off. Really. Truly. Solid 95 percent," she assured him. "Though, ah, I should warn you that these spells are kind of old-fashioned the way they write them? So when they say 'True Love's Kiss'...that's really just a polite euphemism. Because...those aren't the lips you need to 'kiss' him with," she said significantly as her eyes tracked downwards.

"What?" Leigh silently mouthed in a panic.

Suddenly the coach started to move and he lurched backwards, enveloped by the seemingly endless folds of his gown. One of the wheels hit a jarring bump on the cobblestone streets and as he struggled to right himself Leigh's stomach tied in knots as he felt his big fake breasts bounce heavily along in response to the motion. As the coach began to pull away, Leigh managed to right himself and waved frantically at the fairy godmother.

The fairy fluttered alongside the coach. "So, dearie, just remember, in the next three days you need to have carnal relations with the prince, or...you know, sea foam. Oh! And if the prince marries anybody but you, you also get turned into sea foam. I forgot to mention that part. So sex with the prince, marry a prince...I guess that'll make you a princess! You'll have to get used to be being called Princess Ashleigh, you lucky girl!"

She then looked at him seriously. "Oh, and most important of all, really just, you know...have fun! After all, this is your big night!" she called after Leigh as the coach pulled away.

Leigh, now in a raw panic, mutely cried after the little fairy and felt his eyes tear up as he waved at her in distress, feeling sick with anguish when she blithely smiled and waved and blew him a big kiss goodbye. Desperate, he searched around for anyone who could help him and up in one of the high windows next door he spotted that lunatic Ella gazing dreamily up towards the castle which was all lit up for the royal ball. He soundlessly tried to call out her name and waved wildly to get her attention and she turned her head to look down at him and gave him a distracted little wave back. She then sighed wistfully and smiled at the panic-stricken transformed lad as the fancy coach drove him off into the night to his amorous rendezvous at the castle.

The little fairy godmother alighted on a nearby rooftop and made a crisp nod at a job well done. Then as she pulled out her scroll she heard the lilting refrain of Ella's dulcet voice.

"A dream is a wish your heart maaaaakes..." she sang earnestly.

"Isn't that sweet," the fairy godmother said to herself as she looked towards the window with the heartsick girl. "Still, can't help everyone, I suppose," she said as she adjusted her glasses and peered down at the scroll. "Now then, what other despondent and disheveled youngsters will we be turning into glamorous young ladies tonight?"

The End

When magic spells are cast, some are very specific, but others are vague on the details. If a wizard changes a man into a lovely maiden, he might decide what the new woman looks like and how she's dressed. But what happens if the change is triggered by a magical object, or an ambiguously worded wish? Who determines what standard of beauty to use? Who determines what clothes she's wearing after the transformation and makes sure that it's color-coordinated? Who decides on her hair and makeup? Or imprints skills she may need for her new life?

They are...

DMGC: The Department of Magical Gender Change

(By Jenny North)

The young fairy sat expectantly across the desk from the gruff older fairy who was chewing on a reed while he read a scroll.

"Dazzleflash," the older fairy sniffed derisively.

"I go by Daz," the younger one jumped in. He hated his name. It was so...trendy.

The older fairy gnawed on the reed while he read the document. "Focused on transformations with a minor in relics. Graduated with honors. Top of your class."

"Mr. Thornbender, I--"

"Why the fellspawn are you here, rookie? You could be working at the Royal Academy with grades like these. Why the DMGC?"

Daz shrugged. "I like transformation magic, sir. Magical gender changes are often the most vaguely defined but require such a specific outcome."

Thornbender looked at the nervous young fairy skeptically. The kid was hiding something. "Ain't that the truth," he muttered. "Anyway, it looks like you were recommended to the post by..." his voice trailed off as he read the signature and gave an irritated grunt.

He tossed the scroll on the desk. "Do you know why you're here?" Thornbender said gruffly.

Daz cleared his throat. "Director Moonlock thought I might be able to help with Quality Assurance, sir."

Thornbender leaned in as he narrowed his eyes and chewed on the reed in his mouth. "Do you know why you're here?"

"The, um, incident last month," Daz stammered. His new boss raised an eyebrow, indicating he should keep going. "The, ah, subject was an adult male that was supposed to be age regressed with a full gender change, but..."

"Go on."

"But...due to a clerical error he was only given a partial gender change and retained his, ah, manhood."

Thornbender growled and sat back in his chair. "What an embarrassment that was."

"And a bit of a surprise for her new parents at bath time, I imagine," Daz offered.

Thornbender looked at him darkly and Daz shut up.

The older fairy pulled the reed out of his mouth and pointed it at Daz. "Let me be clear. I view your presence here as a personal insult. A reminder from the people upstairs that they feel that we can't be trusted to do our jobs."

Daz just looked at his new boss, wisely saying nothing.

"Now I don't know whose rose blossom you farted in to land this assignment, and I don't care," Thornbender told him. "You may have been the unicorn's ass back in school, but here you're just another rookie. And despite what you may have heard, we run a tight ship. Interspecies transforms are for lightweights--if a guy gets turned into a goat, you never hear anybody criticizing the length of his muzzle. But gender transforms? The spell says, 'man gets turned into a beautiful woman' and we're left to figure it out...hair, makeup, clothes, everything. Is a button nose considered sexy, or just cute? Should her ears be pierced? Should a redhead have freckles? And Oberon save me from the accursed question about dimples." He jabbed a finger at Daz. "You do your job, pay attention to the details, and back up your team, and we'll get along fine. If not, the only thing dazzling about you will be how fast you feel my pointy shoe up your butt."

"Yes, sir," Daz nodded. "I won't let you down."

"Yeah, we'll see about that," the older fairy muttered as he stuck the reed back in his mouth. He checked a scroll. "Right, get downstairs. Sparkledust will show you the ropes. Now get outta here," he said with an annoyed wave.

Daz excused himself and headed down to the main floor, which was a buzz of activity. He flagged down one of the fairies hurrying past and said, "I'm looking for Sparkledust?"

"Scrying chamber four," she said, pointing down the hall.

Daz made his way down the corridor. The scrying chamber was empty, but the display was still active and through it he could see a couple fairies monitoring a new case.

He stepped through the adjoining portal and was instantly transported to the living room in a middle-class suburban neighborhood. Inside there was a single human woman passed out on the couch. She was completely nude and very attractive, a buxom blonde with long legs and a shapely--if exaggerated--figure. She looked like she could be posing for a men's magazine layout. That was strangely appropriate, since on the coffee table in front of her was an issue of "Jugs" magazine that was open to a page featuring a woman who looked like her twin.

Daz spotted the two fairies on the scene--a guy and a girl--standing on the coffee table and having a disagreement about something. Daz flitted his wings and flew next to the two of them, still deep in their argument.

"I can't believe you screwed this up again," the girl said.

"I don't get what the big deal is," the guy responded.

The girl pointed at the scroll in his hand and fiddled with it to change the display. "Look, here. It clearly says, 'Hair: Honey blonde.'"

"So?"

She flitted on her gossamer wings to the edge of the couch next to where the woman was starting to wake up. "This," she said, gesturing to the woman's mane of hair, "is platinum blonde!"

"Look, I don't see--"

With that, the woman started and became fully awake. She looked down at herself and screamed girlishly, groping her body frantically in terror. She looked down at the coffee table where the little fairies were standing, but gave no indication that she could see them. Instead, she grabbed the magazine and then looked at the image of her lookalike and then down at herself in a panic. Then she frantically ran over to the mirror that was hanging over the nearby accent table.

The guy fairy continued as the girl flitted back down to the table. "I don't see what difference it makes? I mean, I don't see him complaining," he said, pointing at the woman.

The woman cried out again in anguish. "Oh, God...oh, God...what the fuck is happening to me?" she said, touching her body in stunned disbelief.

"Well, not about his hair color, anyway."

Daz jumped in, looking at the girl fairy. "Sparkledust?"

"I'm Honeydew," the girl corrected. "He's Sparkledust."

"I'm Dazzleflash...um, Daz," he introduced himself.

"New guy, huh? Nice to meet you," she said brightly. Then, turning to Sparkledust, she said threateningly, "Fix this. It's no good for him to become a clone of a chick in a magazine if you keep mucking up the details." She flew off back through the portal.

Daz waited an awkward moment. "So...Sparkledust?" he asked inquisitively.

"What can I say? Mom and Dad really wanted a girl," he said with a shrug. "Call me Dusty," he said, shaking Daz's hand.

"That's kind of ironic your parents naming you that, considering what you do for a living," Daz said.

"Wow, that's never been pointed out to be before," Dusty sarcastically replied. He tapped away at the scroll and changed the display. The transformed guy's hair discreetly began to shift to a honey blonde color. He had broken down sobbing and wasn't likely to notice the change.

"Sorry," Dusty apologized. "It's just work stress, y'know? Did you need something?"

Daz swallowed. "Um, Mr. Thornbender asked for you to show me around. Today's my first day."

"Titania's teats, who'd you piss off to end up down here?" Dusty said. Daz just shrugged. Dusty continued, "So what have they got you doing?"

"Quality Assurance."

Dusty froze up and stopped typing on the scroll. "Look, that whole thing about the hair color..."

Daz held up his hands. "No, no, that's not why I'm here. I just need you to show me around. I'm not on the job."

"Not yet, you mean," Dusty said. "This is about that little girl with the willy, isn't it?"

Daz nodded. "Um, that wasn't--?" he inquired, gesturing at Dusty.

"Who, me? No, thank Oberon. No, that guy got transferred out of here right quick. They've probably got him sewing saddles for songbirds by now." He clapped a hand on Daz's shoulder. "Well, you don't look like the enemy," he joked. "C'mon, let's get out of here and I'll introduce you around."

The diminutive pair then took off and fluttered through the small magical portal which closed behind them. In their wake was a very confused man trapped in the body of a busty magazine model who was left to wonder what he was going to say when his wife and kids got home in a few minutes.

~o~O~o~

"We can do a lot of the work in-house," Dusty said as they toured the facility. "Which is actually pretty impressive, considering the variety of changes we can get."

"I thought it was all gender changes?" Daz asked.

"Well, sure, but there's a huge number of options," the other explained. "It can be a full-gender transform, crossdressing curse, or a partial transform like a shemale. And the tempo can vary, too. Sometimes it's bang, *KA-GIRL*! And sometimes it takes place over hours or even weeks. Sometimes there's even a trigger to restore the victim," he said. "The DMGC handles all types."

"That's a terrible acronym," Daz opined.

"Count your blessings!" Dusty smiled. "We used to be called the 'Department of Magical Sex Swaps.' It took about half a minute for people to start calling us 'DoMaSSes.' Flitter over there still has the mug."

One of the guys at a workstation smiled and pointed at his coffee mug. It had the old logo with the slogan, 'DoMaSS solutions for DoMaSS problems.'

Dusty walked him through the area where several fairies were working on magical displays that showed various planned transformations, with a split-screen for the before and after looks.

"Is it always men getting turned into women?" Daz asked, looking at the displays.

"Usually it's male-to-female, but we've got a small team that handles the odd female-to-male that comes in. Sometimes people specialize." He pointed to a male fairy planning a man's transformation to a woman with surprisingly large breasts. "For instance, Brambleberry here has a knack for doing bimbos." He paused to look at the display. "Geez, B.B., how in Puck's name is she gonna be able to stand upright?"

"Not my problem," the other grinned. "I do love my job."

Daz looked in amazement at the curvy transformed figure. "So as long as they don't specify the specific outcome, the rest is up to us?"

Brambleberry nodded. "This guy is going to be under a bimbo curse," he said, chucking a thumb at the display. "That's all they told us. So I get to be creative."

Continuing the tour, Dusty pointed out a large room that seemed to back off onto a warehouse of different types of clothes. A significant percentage of them were in various shades of pink. "Okay, here we've got Hair, Makeup and Wardrobe."

"For a transformation?"

"Oh yeah, we're full-service. Sometimes when a target changes they keep their own clothes or are left naked, but most often they're put in some outfit suitable to their new form. A target might need a 'starter outfit' or sometimes we might have to swap out their entire wardrobe. Usually with a gender curse much of the fun comes from forcing the target into their new look. Take that bimbo transform that B.B. was working on, for instance. The new girl might have a hot body, but often it's us that has to choose her hairstyle, do her makeup that first time, or pick out the outfit she's going to wear. Wizards that turn guys into bimbos don't often specify the style of dress, or heels, or jewelry, or makeup. They think all they want is blonde hair and big tits, but if they go *POOF* and their victim showed up in a baggy set of sweats, we'd hear about it."

"What are those guys doing?" Daz asked, noting a couple of fairies who were watching various television channels on a display.

"They monitor popular culture," Dusty told him. "Some outfits are classic: cheerleader, schoolgirl, French maid. But sometimes you'll get some new iconic looks that pop up, like the Playboy Bunny in the 60s or even the Hooters Girl in the 80s. Those guys keep tabs on what's considered hot." He smiled mischievously. "Hang on a sec, I always have to tweak these guys." He called over to the two fairies watching the display. "I cannot believe they actually pay you guys to watch television for a living!"

Both fairies, clearly used to the taunt, continued watching the various broadcasts. However, they each raised one of their hands and flipped Dusty the bird.

"Fantastic," Dusty grinned.

They walked on to the next section. Daz was increasingly impressed with the scope of their operation. "So if you're full-service, how do you handle combination transformations?"

"Oh, you mean like a guy into a mermaid, stuff like that?"

Daz nodded.

"Yeah, we do have to liaise with other Departments from time to time. If it's a change to something like a nymph, sometimes Magical Creatures can handle the gender change on their own, but most times we'll coordinate with them to handle the gender flip part. Same is true for age regression...like that "man to little girl" thing that got Pucked up last month. The Timestream Morphs took care of the age, but we were on the hook for the gender swap," Dusty explained. "Of course, the toughest ones are the reality wipes."

"Reality wipes?"

"You know: 'I wish I'd been born a girl.' We've got the easy part, making the gender change happen. But the Timestream folks have to readjust everything. Then Memory Calibration gets involved so everyone remembers the person in their new gender. Those things are a huge hassle coordinating everything across Departments."

They arrived at a new section. "Ah! And here we have Behavior Modification."

"You mean like changing peoples' memories?"

"No, that's what the Department of Memory Calibration is for. B-Mod is more like implanting new skills or preferences. A guy that's turned into a bimbo might be sex-crazy and attracted to men. Or we make it so she knows how to walk in heels or do her makeup, that kind of stuff."

"Hi, Dusty," a girl fairy called over to him.

"Oberon save me," he muttered under his breath. Then, brightly, "Lily! Hey. Lily, this is Daz. Daz, Lily."

They exchanged pleasantries.

"So, do you work in this section?" Daz asked.

Lily smiled. "Oh, I've been in B-Mod for ages. Dusty and I go way back, don't we?"

"Not especially."

"You don't call me anymore," she pouted.

"That's not true," Dusty corrected her. "I've never called you."

"He's such a scamp," Lily said to Daz. She touched Dusty's arm and he squirmed away.

Daz interposed himself under the pretense of looking at the displays. "So, um, how do you handle something like a body swap? Do you coordinate with Memory Calibration to change their memories?"

"Dude, those are the best," Dusty enthused. "They're real easy. We do that all ourselves. We just transform both bodies and physically swap their locations if we have to. There's hardly any work involved, though. The body transformation planning is already done since you have both targets' new forms pre-defined. There's no hair or clothes changes, and the two personalities are usually the same as before. Easy as pie."

One of the guys sitting at one of the displays overheard the conversation and gave a loud stage cough while saying, "Manticore dung!"

Dusty looked at him in annoyance. "Although Chestnut feels differently..."

Chestnut cut in. "Sure, in a straight-up changeover, it's easy. But then you get those spells where the victim is like"--he made a vacant expression and talked in a sing-song voice--"'Ooh, look, it's like I've put on makeup or walked in high heels my whole life! I guess my body remembers how to do it!'" He shook his head derisively. "That's all because of us. 'Muscle memory,' my ass."

Lily gave him a high five.

Dusty just shook his head. Turning to Daz he said, "Well, that's the tour, but feel free to let me know if you have any other questions. Always happy to have some new blood in the DMGC!"

Daz smiled apprehensively.

~o~O~o~

Several weeks later, a sandy-haired teenager looked down at his birthday cake and forced a smile. It read, "Happy Birthday, Xavier!" He hated that name, it was so...trendy. Besides, only his parents called him that. To his friends he went by his last name, Calhoun, or Cal for short.

What friends he had, anyway.

He sighed and looked around the table. His parents and his younger sister Lori were both there, as was his best friend, Pete.

More like his only friend, he thought morosely.

It wasn't entirely his fault...his parents had moved the family here several months earlier. It was his senior year of high school and he'd been having trouble making friends. And he wasn't as outgoing as Lori, who'd seemingly managed to make new friends almost overnight.

He envied her. He envied her so much. And not just for her extroverted personality.

"I'm sorry we couldn't invite more of your friends," his mom whispered to him. He just gave her a weak smile and nodded.

"C'mon, make a wish!" Pete said brightly.

Cal leaned over and closed his eyes tightly. He only had one wish. The same wish he'd always had. "I wish I'd been born a girl," he thought to himself, blowing out the candles.

The candles and cake were unremarkable. But unbeknownst to anyone, the matches his mother used to light them were from a very special matchbook. When combined with a fervent wish on a person's birthday, the person extinguishing the flame would find the magic hidden inside.

Cal's wish was about to come true.

Just not the way he imagined.

~o~O~o~

Daz was eating lunch by himself, as had become his custom the last few weeks. It seemed like hardly anybody was talking to him anymore. He didn't intentionally set out to antagonize anyone, but as his QA reports started to come out, people started taking all of his fault-finding very personally. The vast majority of his findings were minor infractions--a bimbo transform that was off by a cup size, a crossdressing curse that allowed the victim to retain his male underwear--but the DMGC staff viewed them as overly critical and nitpicky. They already considered themselves overworked and underappreciated, and Daz's niggling critiques were getting under their collective skins.

"Look, I'm just trying to be thorough," Daz told Honeydew one day.

"Would you just lighten up?" she snapped at him. "Merciful Titania, we just transformed an entire fraternity into a sorority! We had to make new wardrobes for the lot of them--do you know how much overtime we had to pull on that job?"

"Look, I'm sympathetic, but the school logo on the cheerleader uniforms isn't using the right font. People are going to notice."

She narrowed her eyes. "Fine, we'll take care of it," she grumbled. "Oh, and when you talk to Dusty, tell him there's a difference between auburn hair and red hair!"

Daz nodded, but he and Dusty weren't really on speaking terms these days. Dusty's carefree and lax attitude meant there were several minor issues with his work. It had gotten so Dusty had taken to avoiding Daz at every turn, even outside of work.

Finishing his lunch, Daz looked over the caseload for the afternoon. He couldn't check every case that went through, so he'd mostly do random spot-checks and any high profile cases. Demonic possession by a succubus, a cursed wedding dress...pretty standard stuff. Then his eyes fixed on a reality wipe that they'd just completed. Some guy wishing he'd been born female. That took a lot of cross-department coordination to readjust the timeline, so he figured he'd take a look just to be safe.

He found an open scrying crystal and tuned it to the subject's location. "Old name, Xavier 'Cal' Calhoun," he muttered to himself, entering the portal. "New name, Calista Calhoun."

It looked like he was the only fairy there, everyone else already having done their work. It was still very early and the subject seemed to be sleeping. Scanning around the room, Daz noted that the bedroom was neat and fairly gender-neutral. That was odd for a gender reboot, but not unheard of. Sometimes it was hard to tell a girl's room from a boy's, these days. And according to the file, Cal had only been living here for several months. By now the other Departments would have completed their work as well, so Cal's family and friends should remember him only by his new identity.

The figure in the bed started stirring. Daz reflexively started, thinking he'd been detected, but chided himself mentally since he was shrouded and hidden from mortal detection. He watched with mild interest as Cal woke up, shifting in the sheets.

Cal awoke from the strangest dream. He felt bizarre, like something was wrong with his clothes. He felt the constriction of a garment around his chest, the feel of a pillow of hair underneath his head. And even though he was in bed, it felt like he might be wearing shoes or sandals.

His first thought was, "Oh, crap, am I wearing women's clothes?"

Cal relaxed and sat back, berating himself for his own carelessness. Over the last few years he'd discreetly snitched some clothes from his mother, and had even bought a cheap blonde wig from a costume store the year before. In the privacy of his bedroom he'd try on his mother's brassiere or one of her old dresses. He'd even found a pair of her old high heels that he liked to play around in. Sometimes he'd sleep in one of her old nighties, but he was careful not to get caught. If he'd fallen asleep still wearing a complete feminine outfit, that was incredibly careless of him.

He sighed despondently.

That's when he realized there was someone in the room with him.

It was a woman, he realized. He definitely heard a woman's sigh and now that he was becoming more aware he could even smell her flowery perfume. He panicked, realizing that his mother was probably in the room with him and he was completely dressed in women's clothes!

"Mom, I can explain!" Cal blurted out, sitting up quickly and hugging the covers to his chest. She'd still see his wig, but at least she wouldn't see the rest of his--

Wait.

It was still fairly dark and nobody else was in the room. And he realized that his voice had sounded strange, more breathy and musical. And the hair falling in his face was black, not the blonde of his wig. And it felt like he was sitting on a pillow, but that could be the bed covers. But none of that was what really grabbed his attention.

He was used to wearing a brassiere and sometimes he'd even slept in it, enjoying the foggy-brained sensation of waking up and feeling his arm brush up against the 'breasts' that he fashioned from rolled-up socks.

But these breasts were soft and squishy. And until this very moment, he'd never felt the touch of his arm through his breasts.

He looked down and gasped. At first with astonishment, and then with joy. He was a girl!

His hands brushed against his bosom--it felt huge but he had no frame of reference for these things--and he reached down to his crotch. Fumbling under the sheets, he felt a tight dress and reached underneath it to confirm his new female sex. It was all he could do not to cry out for joy, it was a dream come true!

Cal threw off the covers and made for the mirror and the light switch, stumbling on his shoes and nearly plowing headfirst into the wall. His new body felt like it was ungainly and awkward, moving in several directions at once, he was so excited. Flipping the switch, he saw his new body.

He wasn't a girl, after all. He was a woman. And holy cow, what a woman.

The image reflected in the glass wasn't just sexy, she was sex personified. She looked to be in her mid-20s and would have looked more at home on a porno set than in Cal's drab bedroom. Her long black "bed head" of hair framed an angelic face that was gorgeous and erotic and seductive and slutty all at the same time. Her full ruby lips gaped back at Cal, and as he shut his mouth her lips formed a provocative and inviting pout. She was wearing big dangly gold earrings and a slender gold necklace with a little pendant nestled into her truly amazing cleavage.

Cal looked down in disbelief at his big fleshy melons, squeezing them in his feminine hands with the long red nails, and feeling an erotic shiver of pleasure as he brushed against his big sensitive nipples. He'd never seen breasts this big in real life. One of the women in his old neighborhood--Mrs. Garzon--had big tits like these, and all of the kids used to refer to her as "Mrs. Gazongas." But her boobs were saggy. Cal's were beautiful, firm, and perky. And huge.

Looking down further, Cal realized that he was wearing a bright red form-fitting minidress that clung to his new curves. He had a tiny little waist that flowed out into a scandalous set of hips and went down into his long, sexy legs perched on the platform heels he was wearing. He turned around to look at his butt and gasped in amazement at how big and round it was.

His feeling of rapture at becoming a woman started to fade as he saw his reflection in the mirror. Cal wanted to be a girl--even a pretty one!--but the creature reflected back at him was nothing but raw, erotic sex. He found himself getting aroused when looking at her. everyone was going to get aroused looking at her. Looking at...him.

His lip started to tremble and his reflection turned it into a provocative come-on. He started to tear up, looking like a cover of an old romance comic where the heavily made-up girl would weep passively and girlishly at some unjust twist of fate. "It's not supposed to be like this," he sobbed, his voice sounding like a breathy, seductive whisper. He stumbled back to the bed, tearful and overwrought, and eventually passed out from sheer emotional exhaustion.

"Oh, motherless Oberon," Daz swore.

He looked up the lead agent on Cal's case. "Of course," he muttered.

* * *

Dusty rolled his eyes when he saw Daz coming. "What's the matter this time?" he asked. "Someone get hazel eyes instead of blue?" The other fairies standing nearby snickered.

Daz got close up to him and whispered, "You have to come with me right now."

Dusty smiled and made no effort to lower his voice. "Look, Dazzlepanties, some of us have actual work to--"

Daz grabbed his arm and leaned in a few inches from his face. "Does a Code 96 warrant a few minutes from your busy schedule?" he hissed.

All the blood drained from Dusty's face.

~o~O~o~

"Maybe nobody will notice?" Dusty nervously asked, looking at the unconscious Cal.

"You're joking, right?"

Dusty shifted uneasily. "Well, why not? So he'll just be the hottest girl in high school." He looked again at Cal's figure and coughed. "By far."

Exasperated, Daz took a deep breath to calm himself. "This wasn't just a gender change, remember? This one rewrote history. And I'm betting the other Departments didn't screw their parts up. His family and friends are going to be expecting a girl all right, but not Miss Sexypants here. If he wakes up and marches down to breakfast like this, it's all over."

Dusty started to hyperventilate. "Maybe we can change him to the proper form before he wakes up?" he suggested desperately.

"Dusty, this isn't a minor hair color tweak. We'd have to recode the whole transformation matrix. And even if Thornbender didn't notice us expending that much magical energy--which I guarantee he would--don't you think someone would notice us doing a female-to-female transformation in DMGC?"

Dusty looked stricken.

"Besides," Daz said, "we still have to find the other one."

"Other one?"

Daz pointed at Cal's sleeping form. "Doesn't his new body seem oddly specific to you?"

At first, Dusty didn't follow. "You're saying that I didn't make just a few little mistakes on this one," he reasoned. Then, he stopped short and buried his face in his hands. "I didn't just screw this one case up," he realized. "This was supposed to happen to some other guy. I mixed up two transformations."

* * *

They returned to the DMGC where Daz quickly busied himself at a mystic terminal, looking through other cases for a match. Dusty sat next to him, slumped over on the desk.

"Oh, I am so royally Pucked," he groaned. "What am I gonna do?"

"You can start by not drawing so much attention," Daz muttered, making a fake smile as a pair of fairies walked nearby.

"Oh, this is big. This is huge," Dusty lamented. "This is an inquiry for sure. They're gonna nail my wings right to the wall for this. "

"Would you pull yourself together? It was just a stupid mistake."

"You don't know that."

"Actually, I think I do," Daz said, reading the display. "Look at this."

He pulled up the two cases, side-by-side. There was the first, Xavier 'Cal' Calhoun, a teenage boy getting a wish fulfillment for a gender reboot. The other case was a bimbo transform caused by a cursed tiki idol. That victim was a man in his late 30s--and in the same city as Cal, Daz noted--but what really caught his attention was the name.

"Xander Calhoun?" Dusty gaped. "Two guys with almost exactly the same name, in the same city, both getting gender flipped on the same day?"

"They're not even related," Daz marveled. "That is some seriously rotten luck."

"What am I gonna do?" Dusty moaned. "This time next week they'll have me cleaning up after vermin. I don't want to handle guano!" A female fairy walking nearby heard his outburst and looked at him strangely.

"Look, we'll figure something out, okay? There has to be a way to fix this."

"How? You said it yourself, we can't expend the magic to change one of them, let alone two!"

Daz's mind raced. "What about a body swap? You said those were easy. Can we do one of those without anybody noticing?"

Dusty thought about it and shook his head. "I could probably manage it without involving most of the other sections, but I can't trigger one without proper authorization or Thornbender would be sure to notice."

Daz nodded. "So we need proper authorization," he reasoned. "And the only way to get that is..." He turned his attention back to the display.

"What are you looking for?" Dusty asked, looking at the stream of information going past. He read the screen. "Magical artifacts?"

"It's the simplest way of forcing a body swap. If we can get both of them to trigger an artifact, it'll look like just another case coming in for processing." He read the screen. "Where in the realms is the Medallion of Zulo when you really need it?" he muttered.

"What about that one?" Dusty asked, pointing at the list.

"We don't have time to train a monkey to play a harpsichord," Daz countered. "Aha! This might do the trick," he said, pausing the display. "And it's not far from where they are."

"Maybe," Dusty said, reading the entry. Then he added, "Wait, that's not going to work. This initiates a straight swap. We need behavior modification included with these two to swap what was done to them."

"Okay, so...we do it in-house," Daz said. "When the body swap gets triggered it'll go over to the TransFemation Department since it'll read as a female-to-female switch. I've got a friend over there...I'll ask her to route the case to DMGC since it involves two gender-flipped victims. That shouldn't look too suspicious."

Dusty looked at him. "Why are you helping me?" he asked.

"Look, I've made some major screw-ups myself, okay? I don't want to see you ruin your life over a stupid accident."

Dusty sniffed. "Dude, whatever you've done can't possibly compare with this. I am totally Pucked." He slumped over on the desk.

Daz sighed heavily as he seemed to make up his mind about something. "Listen," he started. "You remember a few years ago when King Oberon visited Briarwood Academy and there was that...rogue magic thing?"

Dusty raised his head. "You're kidding, right? Everybody knows about the nymphette orgy at the graduation ceremony. That was like the most epic prank ever."

Daz winced. "Yeah, that...that wasn't supposed to be a prank."

Dusty looked at Daz. "Well, how in the name of fey would you know if--" He paused, looking at Daz's pained expression. Dusty's eyes grew wide. "Motherless Oberon, that was you? You're Puck's Apprentice?!?"

Daz made a face at being referred to by the popular moniker that people gave to the anonymous perpetrator. "Keep your voice down, will you?" he hissed.

Dusty looked at him in amazement. "You turned Oberon and the whole royal court into horny wood nymphs!"

"Yeah..."

"To say nothing of the assembled guests, the students, the faculty--!"

"Yes," he winced.

"It took them weeks to clean up afterwards! I thought they'd never get rid of the--"

"OKAY! I was there! I remember!" Daz snapped.

"Dude, that was epic!" Dusty said in wonder.

"It was a mistake," Daz told him. "I was a sophomore and a research assistant for one of the professors...the youngest they'd ever had. When I heard King Oberon was visiting, I wanted to do something big. I was showing off. So, I performed the Rite of Endless Spring to make the whole parade ground explode in a colorful burst of flowers."

"What happened?"

"I miscalculated. It was a dumb mistake amplified by my already crummy judgment. The magic went rogue, and...well..." He shrugged.

"Nymphomania," Dusty said.

Daz closed his eyes and shook his head. "Pan's tears, how I hate that they called it that."

Dusty looked at him in awe. "I can't believe they never caught you."

"Oh, they did," Daz corrected him. "I thought Oberon was going to turn me into sea foam, but thankfully Titania had more of a sense of humor about it. I tried to tell them it was all a big accident, but they weren't having any of it. Thankfully, one of my professors stuck her neck out to vouch for me or I don't know what would have happened. They put me on probation, held me back a year, and agreed to keep my name out of it."

"Wow," Dusty said. "I can't believe you got to meet Oberon and Titania."

Daz stared at him, incredulous. "Seriously? That was your big takeaway from that story?"

Dusty shrugged. "Well, also how a good friend came to your rescue to help you from destroying your life after you made a really stupid mistake."

Daz blinked in surprise. "Um...right."

"You know, I do sometimes pay attention."

"Sure, when it affects you."

Dusty shrugged again. "Eh, it helps filter out the noise." He took a sidelong glance at Daz. "So, you're saying this makes us friends?" he asked.

"We always were friends, wisp-for-brains," Daz said. "That's why I'm always riding you about paying attention to the details. I know better than most people how little mistakes can have big consequences."

Dusty nodded. "And what kind of consequences do you think there are there for truly gigantic mother-Pucking mistakes like this?"

"Probably nothing good."

Dusty sighed. "So, now what are we going to do?"

Daz considered that for a moment. "We need to check back on Cal and find out what's going on with Xander," he said. "But first, you're going to have to do something you're probably not going to like."

~o~O~o~

Daz watched from a distance while Dusty was having a private--and rather animated--conversation with Lily. He hated to involve any more people in this scheme, but it couldn't be helped...Dusty was right, they needed behavioral modification done on the body swap, so they needed someone from B-Mod to help out. Dusty was initially reluctant, but he was confident in his ability to sweet talk Lily since she'd been flirting with him for months. Daz hoped he was right...if she turned them in, both their necks would be in a noose.

So far, Dusty seemed to be doing reasonably well. Daz couldn't make out what they were saying, but while she certainly seemed surprised, at least she hadn't run off yet. Maybe Dusty had a chance with her, after all.

He watched as Lily smacked Dusty upside the head. Hard.

Daz casually eased his way over.

"Of all the stupid, irresponsible, immature, wisp-brained--" she hissed. She turned to Daz. "And you! You're in on this, too?"

"We're trying to fix it," Daz explained.

"Oh, like you fixed the graduation ceremony, Mr. Puck's Apprentice?"

Daz spun on Dusty. "You told her?"

"I had to!"

Lily cut in. "I told him I didn't think you had it in you to do something this mindblowingly stupid," she said. "You're just full of surprises, aren't you?"

He tilted his head in acknowledgment. "Look, Lily, I understand if you don't want to help, but if you could keep this to yourself..."

"Oh, I'm in."

Dusty looked shocked. "Wow, really?"

She looked at him and shook her head. "You're just lucky that I happen to be a fairy with a thing for immature and irresponsible boys who refuse to grow up."

Dusty smiled back and looked to Daz. "So where to now, boss?"

"We need to check on Xander and see what's going on there, and just hope that Cal can stay out of mischief for a little while longer."

* * *

According to Xander's file he was divorced and living on his own, so that was a plus. The three of them exited the scrying portal into his master bedroom, which was where the transformation was to have taken place. Since Xander had gotten Cal's transformation by mistake, his bedroom had also changed to reflect the tastes of a particularly girly teenager. There was an abundance of pink in the room between the pale pink walls and bedspread, and there were posters on the walls for a couple popular boy bands. The dresser, desk, and vanity were all covered with girly little knick-knacks, photos of friends, and makeup. The closet was open to reveal a full wardrobe appropriate for a teenage girl, and hanging in plain view was a cheerleader uniform with pom poms on the floor.

There was no sign of Xander in the room, but it looked like it had been partially torn apart. Dresser drawers were either open or up-ended and a few stuffed animals had apparently been thrown to the side.

Dusty flew back into the room while Daz and Lily looked around. "He's not anywhere in the house," he said breathlessly. "Now what do we do?"

Daz looked around the room. "His file said he was supposed to be the victim of a bimbo transformation triggered by a sexual fetish tiki idol, right?" His arm swept around the room. "Notice anything missing?"

"No idol," Lily said.

"Right. So yesterday he buys an idol guaranteed to increase his sexual potency, and today he wakes up as a teenage girl. He freaks out, throws a hissy fit, and then leaves with the idol. So, he's likely going back wherever he got it from to try and undo the magic." His fingers tapped away at his scroll as he read the display. "Which he purchased from..." He stopped. "Oh, Titania's tears."

"What?"

"Xander bought the idol from him."

Dusty just closed his eyes in anguish and turned away, but Lily was confused. "Who, him?"

Dusty groaned. "It's a sexual fetish idol that causes bimbo transformations that was sold at some random store in the city," he said. "Who do you think?"

Daz held up the scroll, and down at the bottom Lily read the three-letter code noting the prior owner: SRU.

"Okay, let's not panic," Daz said. "With any luck, he'll stick true to form and the store has already moved on, and Xander will be wandering the mall."

"And if our luck remains the same as it has been?" Dusty asked.

Daz hesitated. "Well, then, our best customer is probably wondering why his latest victim didn't get the bimbo transformation he was supposed to, and is on the phone right now with Mr. Thornbender lodging a complaint."

"Yeah."

"Okay, I'll track down Xander, you guys go check on Cal," Daz said, transferring the case information to Lily's scroll. "You know the plan. Just remember, if you need to make any changes, use minor magic cantrips only. We don't want to set off any alarm bells. Let's just try to keep this from getting any more Pucked up than it already is."

~o~O~o~

Xander Calhoun was having a really rough day.

He was gripping the steering wheel of his car in rage and frustration in his tiny little teenage girl hands. That fucking old man had tricked him! He shifted in his seat again, having had to adjust it twice already to account for his much smaller girl's body. He caught a glimpse of himself in the rear-view mirror wearing his normal male sunglasses and scowled at how cute he looked. He looked like a little girl trying on her daddy's glasses.

"Cute." He hated that word. Everything about him was cute ever since he woke up that morning. Waking up in his cute little sleep shirt that hid his cute little body with the cute and perky little tits and his cute little butt. And his face! Ugh. He had a sweet face with big doe eyes and a precious smile with an adorable little overbite and straight sandy blonde hair that framed his face in a disarming way. Maybe in a few years this girl would grow into something more fuckable, but for right now...

Cute.

He wished he could stab "cute" in the face. Right after that damn wizard, of course.

Xander gripped the wheel even tighter. What they'd done to his bedroom was just adding insult to injury. Bad enough he should have to look like this sweet little teenybopper without all of his clothes and everything changing. After he'd had to face the indignity of putting on his first bra and panties, he managed to find a pair of low-rider jeans in amongst all of the skirts and dresses. He then matched them with a camisole top--the first top he found that wasn't pink, covered in glitter, or have a wide-eyed cartoon animal on it.

He sneered at the purse on the seat next to him, a necessary concession given how snug the jeans were. Inside was his cell phone, which inexplicably still had his old contacts in there but was now bedazzled and pink. His new girly wallet was in there, where his license now identified him as miss Calista Calhoun. Also sitting on the seat next to him was the small tiki statue he'd bought yesterday, no doubt the source of his current distress. Xander could imagine that old guy having a good laugh at his expense when he sold him the idol, promising increased sexual potency and knowing it'd turn him into Nancy fucking Drew.

As it was, he looked like he was driving daddy's car somewhere to baby-sit some snot-nosed kids, but as he arrived at his destination he realized it was even more embarrassing.

He was a teenage girl going to the mall.

Going inside, he tucked the statue into his bag and made a beeline for that stupid wizard's shop. The path took him through the food court, where a number of teenagers were hanging around. A few of the boys looked him over appreciatively and it was all Xander could do to not go over there and punch their lights out. But as he gripped his hands into tiny little fists, he realized that wasn't going to be much of a threat anymore.

He arrived at where the store had been--he remembered thinking it was odd that they'd been able to squeeze a store between Victoria's Secret and The Body Shop--only to discover those two stores immediately adjacent to each other. The magic store was gone.

Xander looked around that whole area in a panic, thinking that maybe he'd gotten the wrong location. He looked on the directory and there was no sign of the store. Then, desperate, he made his way to the information booth.

The matronly woman standing there smiled at him warmly. "What can I do for you, sweetie?"

Xander chafed under the diminutive appellation but let it pass. "There was a store here yesterday--a magic store. Upper level, by Victoria's Secret. Where is it?"

The woman shook her head. "I'm sorry, honey, there's no magic shop in this mall. I've worked here for two years and they've never had one."

"No, there has to be," Xander said, annoyed. "Is there another Victoria's Secret in the mall? I'm sure it was next to it."

"Sorry, sweetie, that's the only one. Though if you're looking for undies, you might try--"

"I'm not looking for fucking bras, you stupid bitch," he snapped. "I bought this there yesterday," he said, grabbing the tiki idol and putting it on the counter.

"Well, I never," the woman sniffed indignantly. "What a horrid thing," she said. "And you, young lady, should have more respect for your elders."

"I'm not a fu--"

"Cally?" a voice called from a few feet away, directed at Xander.

Xander was nonplussed. A few teenage girls who were walking by had spotted him and were walking straight for him. Who the hell were they? They seemed to know him. He grabbed the idol and quickly tucked it back in his purse.

"What are you doing here?" one of the girls asked.

"What's it to you?" he challenged.

"Wow, PMS much?" the girl shot back. The taunt caught Xander off guard as he considered the implications about his new plumbing. "I thought you were supposed to be at cheer practice."

Xander tried to process this new information. The wizard hadn't just turned him into a girl, he'd turned him into a specific girl, someone these other teens knew. But if that was the case, why didn't he wake up at her home? Or was this 'Cally' still out there--maybe at cheer practice--and he just looked like her? He needed more information, and with the magic store now missing these girls were his best lead. "I...needed to take care of something at the mall," he told them.

The girls all smiled knowingly. "Yeah, no shit you did," the first girl said. "We're going there, too."

"You're going to the magic store?"

"The what? No, dummy, we're shopping for dresses for prom, remember? You are going with Pete, aren't you?"

Xander made a face. He had no intention of going to prom with anybody, much less trying on dresses. "Yeah, I'll pass," he said.

The girls traded sly looks. The first one pulled out her cell phone. "Do you need a ride home?" she asked with mock innocence. "Because I can just call your mom and tell her you decided to ditch cheer practice."

Xander considered that. Until he could find a way to change back, he was a teenage girl. If that other Cally was still around and these girls called her mother, then he and his twin would almost certainly cross paths. If that happened, then the authorities were sure to get involved to untangle the mess...they'd certainly want to talk to his non-existent 'parents.' He'd never convince them that he was actually a man named Xander Calhoun, and he'd probably end up in a halfway house for orphan teenage girls or something.

He grit his teeth and forced a smile. "I guess I'm shopping for a prom dress," he grimaced.

~o~O~o~

Back in the DMGC, Lily was looking over the details of Xander's planned transformation while Dusty dialed up Cal's bedroom again.

"Ooh, this is a mess," she said. "The physical changes are bad enough, but they did some behavioral modifications, too. Not just the body language, but a highly ramped up libido and sexual talent, as well."

"'Talent?'"

She furrowed her brow. "Yeah, he may not realize it yet, but Cal's got some mad skills when it comes to pleasuring a man."

Dusty opened the portal and they stepped through while Lily kept reading. "Deathless winters," she whispered.

"Yeah, I know."

"No, you don't," she said. "He's infected! For the first twelve hours of his transformation, any man that he has sex with will also get...bimboized, or whatever you call it."

"Yeah, it's worse than you think," Dusty said. "He's not here."

"What?" she looked up in shock. Sure enough, the room was empty. The bed was still rumpled and the closet was open to reveal a wardrobe that would make a hooker blush. But Cal wasn't there. "We have to find him! If his family sees him, or--"

"Wait, I found him," Dusty said from the hallway. He was fluttering and peering in the keyhole for the shared bathroom. "He's in here."

"Thank Oberon," Lily sighed. "We need to keep him from having sex with anyone."

"Do you really think he's going to be in that big a hurry?"

She looked at the scroll. "Oh, no...he's also a virgin."

"So...his first time will be even more special?"

"He infects people by sexual contact, dummy. This transformation was calibrated to take a sexually active man in his late 30s and turn him into a horny slut that jumps into bed at the drop of a hat. But some wisp-for-brains took that programming and dumped it into the mind of a sexually repressed high school virgin. This poor kid is going to be out of control."

Dusty peered in the keyhole again and did a double take. "Um, this sexual contact thing. Does masturbation count?"

"No, I don't see why it would, why?" She saw the pained look on his face. "Oh, eww."

"Well, better that than some poor schmuck, I guess."

"We gotta get him out of here," Lily said. "Who's still home?"

He did a quick scouting run and returned. "His sister seems to be gone, but mom and dad are still downstairs."

"Go get rid of them, somehow," she told him. "I'll keep an eye on things up here."

* * *

Dusty flew downstairs and found Cal's parents in the kitchen.

"I think it's great how the girls are settling in," Cal's mother said.

"Yeah, I was worried about uprooting them, but they've been real troopers," his dad agreed.

"You need anything mailed?" his mom asked. "I need to send off that gift and the post office is only open until 2:00. I'll stop off when I hit the grocery store."

"Nah, I'm good, thanks. Oh, and I'm going to be working outside on that gutter later today, if you're looking for me."

Dusty smiled. This was going to be easy.

He flew outside to the back of the house and landed on the grass as he spotted the gutter that was starting to come loose from the house. Now he just had to--

"WOOF!" came from right next to him.

"AAAHHH!" Dusty practically jumped out of his skin. He scampered back, closely followed by a large shaggy brown dog that bounded after him, barking loudly. As Dusty tried to distance himself from the animal, he tripped and fell on the ground, helpless against the canine's assault. The dog rushed at him but suddenly stopped short, at the end of its leash, still barking loudly at him.

"Oh, knock it off," Dusty muttered, picking himself off of the grass. When the dog continued barking, he flew up and said, "Okay, 'Nana,' don't say I didn't warn you." He flew overhead and gestured with his hand, causing the sprinkler system to turn on and soak the dog, who continued to bark loudly.

After several seconds of the racket, Mr. Calhoun came out the back door to see what was going on. Getting partially soaked himself, he turned off the sprinklers before going to check on the dog. As he got close, the wet canine shook his fur vigorously, soaking his master even further.

"Aaah!" Mr. Calhoun cried out.

Dusty smiled. "And now that I've got your attention..." He made another gesture at the house, and there was a loud bang as part of the unsteady gutter came crashing down. It was still partially attached to the house, but it made quite a mess.

"Oh, for--" Mr. Calhoun muttered. "Blasted squirrels." With that, he headed off to the storage shed to get a ladder.

"One down, one to go," Dusty said.

Flying back inside, he saw Mrs. Calhoun in the kitchen reading a book. Hovering overhead, he looked at her watch and made a circular motion with his finger, moving the hands forward. He then turned to the digital clock on the oven and gestured again so that the time now read 1:40. The clock made a noisy beep, catching Mrs. Calhoun's attention.

"What the--?" She sat up in shock as she saw the time, much later than she expected. She double-checked it against her watch and grabbed the parcel and her purse and hurried out to her car. Dusty followed along with her just long enough to change the clock on the car and put the gas gauge on 'E' for good measure.

"That ought to keep you busy," he said. He flew around to the back of the house to make sure Mr. Calhoun was occupied before heading back inside.

* * *

Upstairs, Lily peeked in on Cal, who seemed to be getting out of the shower. "I hope it was a cold one," she said to herself. She heard a electronic beep come from his bedroom and noticed that Cal's cell phone was sitting out on the dresser. He'd apparently just gotten a text message. She flitted over to look at it and saw the following exchange:

- PETE, CAN U COME OVR? NEED UR HELP!!!

- SURE, OMW
- U OK?

- TELL U L8R. SNEAK UP IF U CAN!

This latest message was from Pete, and it read:

- OUTSIDE NOW. UR MOM JUST LEFT. COAST CLR?

"Oh, sweet Titania," Lily gasped. In the former timeline, Cal and Pete were best friends, but now 'Cally' and Pete were dating. Cal must have contacted him to help figure out what was going on, but Pete was going to be expecting a different girl! Lily froze, trying to think of a text she could send to call him off when Cal entered the bedroom...he must have head the phone beep, as well. Lily's eyes went wide as she saw the transformed Cal, fresh out of the shower and wearing nothing but a towel. Dripping wet with his dark hair slicked back and his erotic half-naked form barely hidden under the towel, he looked like he just stepped off the set of an X-rated movie.

Before Lily could react, Cal grabbed the phone and peeked out the curtains when he heard his dad out back. He texted back:

- I THINK SO? CMON UP
- DONT FREAK OUT!!

Cal put the phone down and fretted nervously.

Lily's mind was a blank as she raced to think of what to do.

Just then, Dusty flew back into the room. "Okay, we're clear downstairs for a while. I--"

Lily grabbed him. As she did, they heard the sound of the front door close downstairs. The two flew to the door where Cal was peeking out into the hall and all three sets of eyes watched as Pete snuck quietly up the stairs.

"Who in the seven moons is this doofus?" Dusty asked.

"It's Cal's best friend, Pete. But now he's Cally's boyfriend. He--"

"Psst," Cal whispered, ducking out of sight behind the bedroom door.

"Cally, what's going on? Are you okay?" Pete whispered, approaching quietly.

Cal stayed hidden behind the door and beckoned him inside, noting his womanly hand with the long red fingernails. Pete must have noticed it as well since he looked puzzled.

Pete stepped inside and Cal closed the door quickly behind him. As he turned, Pete's jaw dropped comically. He gaped at the dripping wet raven-haired beauty standing there in nothing but a bath towel that did almost nothing to hide her eye-popping nubile body. Her big boobs were pressed into an inviting cleavage above the towel, and her wide curving hips and ass were barely covered below. Pete must have thought that he'd walked into a teenage fantasy.

"Don't freak out!" Cal said.

"I'm not freaking out," Pete said absently, his young eyes lustily tracing down Cal's indecent figure.

"Pete, it's me."

"Oh," Pete said, staring at Cal's terrified but beautiful face. Cal's lips were pressed into an inviting pout, which seemed to distract Pete. He shook his head. "I'm sorry, who, again?"

"It's me, Cal! I made a birthday wish to be a girl, and I woke up like this!"

"But...you are a girl," Pete said, confused.

"I know! I can't believe it, either!"

"You made a wish and it came true," Pete said. He gave a sly smile and looked around the room. "Am I on camera...?"

"Dude, I swear it's true! It's me!" Cal tried desperately to think of something to prove his story. "Yesterday for lunch we had chicken tetrazzini!"

Pete turned and looked at Cal in disbelief. "Oh my God, it is you, isn't it?"

Cal blinked in astonishment. Even Lily and Dusty seemed surprised. "You believe me just based on that?" Cal asked.

Pete shrugged. "Only you could come up with something that stupid to try to convince me."

"Oh. Well...thanks. I think. 'Cause it is me, I swear," Cal said nervously.

"Well, you look good," Pete said approvingly, looking down at Cal's bosom. "Like really, really good."

Cal blushed, embarrassed by his friend's lustful stare. "Thanks," he said, crossing over to his bed. "I really like being a girl and it's nice to be pretty, but I feel like I overshot the mark. I feel so...slutty."

"What? No..." Pete objected patronizingly, sidling closer.

"It's true!" Cal said. He got up and moved to the open closet, filled with sexy and skimpy outfits. "I mean, just look at these shoes!" he exclaimed, holding up a pair of sexy stilettos. He then grabbed one of the outfits from the closet at random. "Or this!" he said, holding up a tiny little latex dress. "Can you imagine me wearing something like this?"

"Yeah," Pete whispered. "I--I mean, I bet that would look nice on you."

Cal looked down at the clothes and his demeanor started to change. "Well, I guess so," he said in a breathy whisper, biting his lip. He hesitated, and his eyes narrowed and cut over at Pete, his gaze tracking down to the young man's crotch where a very obvious erection was forming.

Dusty and Lily looked at each other nervously.

Cal turned back to the closet to hang the dress back up and the hanger caught on the edge of his towel. The towel came undone and slipped to the floor, exposing Cal's impressive rounded backside. "Oopsie," he cooed, looking coyly over his shoulder at Pete.

"Um..." Dusty said.

Cal turned around slowly and seductively, tossing his damp hair over his shoulder and giving Pete an unobstructed view of his voluptuous and pornographically proportioned female form.

"UM--!" Dusty repeated, alarmed.

An adult or more experienced man might have moved in for a kiss or begun to engage in with some foreplay with the brunette seductress in front of him. Pete, on the other hand, was frantically unbuckling his belt and fumbling with the zipper on his jeans.

Lily, acting quickly, made a sweeping gesture with her hand. The magic caused Pete's hand to jerk suddenly, catching his penis in the zipper.

"AAAAAGGGHH!!!" he screamed, falling to the floor in agony.

Lily sighed in relief.

Cal seemed surprised and concerned.

Dusty bent over and almost fainted in empathetic pain.

Dusty felt his face flush as he watched the teenager writhing on the floor. He turned to Lily in shock. "What the hell?" he demanded.

Lily rolled her eyes. "Oh, relax," she told him. "He'll be fine. I'm sure he'll be back to jerking off to pornography in a few days," she said sarcastically.

Dusty held his hands out helplessly. "But...you can't just..."

"I can. I did." She pointed at Cal. "And, still infectious, remember? If it weren't for me, he'd be a bimbo like her. If he could, he'd probably thank me," she said haughtily, looking at the teen whimpering on the floor.

Cal, for his own part, seemed concerned for his friend but still a little hopeful. "Um, are you okay?" he asked, bending over. "Maybe I could--" He started to reach out with his hand.

"Don't touch it!" Pete yelled.

"Okay, all right," Cal said, chagrined. He made a barely audible little grumble of frustration.

"We have got to get him out of here," Dusty said.

~o~O~o~

Daz was flittering through the mall looking around for Xander. He had flown all the way from Xander's house and although it was only a few miles away, he was out of breath. It had been ages since he'd flown this much. For not the first time he wished that he could have just portaled to the mall using the scrying crystal at the DMGC, but they were coded to open near locations close to the transformation sites. If he started punching in seemingly random locations around the city it would have raised questions he didn't want to answer.

The one bit of good news was that he couldn't find the Spells R Us shop in the mall either, so presumably it had moved on. He landed outside a store and looked at the people walking around. Where would he have gone?

He retrieved his scroll and swiped the display as he reviewed Xander's case. There wasn't much, but...wait. There was a conspicuous footnote about a drinking buddy and "wingman," Vincent. He'd apparently been there when Xander bought the idol from Spells R Us. That was an odd thing to note, unless...of course. The infectious nature of the curse. The wizard couldn't get Vincent with the idol, but he--ahem--"booby trapped" Xander so Vincent's transformation was all but assured.

Of course, that plan had assumed that Xander would show up on Vincent's doorstep as a randy and stacked brunette wet dream, not as a teenage girl. But maybe Xander had tried to contact him to get help? It seemed more likely than--

A delighted squeal of some nearby teenage girls interrupted Daz's thinking. He idly looked through the store window to see them trying on gowns for a formal.

And standing in the middle of them, wearing a fancy off-the-shoulder peach colored dress, was Xander.

"Well...huh," Daz said.

* * *

Xander grumbled as the girls giggled at this latest humiliation. He had tried to avoid playing along, but his sullen attitude only encouraged the girls to help him to "get in the spirit" and try on some dresses. To him, each seemed more ridiculous and frou-frou than the last, and only served to remind him further of his revolting feminine condition.

When the girls dragged him into the changing area, he at least thought he'd get to enjoy a little peep show ogling the more mature girls, but even that didn't work out. Although one or two young women he saw had nice figures, they--much like the sight of his own female body--didn't do anything for him. It wasn't just the age--the ones he saw were old enough--but to him it felt like he was looking at other guys at the gym. The notion that he might now be attracted to guys turned his stomach.

Xander wanted to ditch the girls but he was nervous about calling their bluff to call Cally's mother. So he used his time with them to pump them for more information about the girl he was supposed to be. Initially he tried asking direct questions like, "Where do I live, again?" but they just looked at him like he was crazy. So he started asking questions in a more roundabout fashion.

"I was thinking about starting to go by my full name," he suggested to one of the girls.

"What, Calista? I dunno, sounds a little formal or something."

"I was thinking it went better with my last name?"

"Hmm...'Calista Calhoun.' Yeah, I kind of like that."

From this line of questioning, he'd learned his name--which jibed with the name on his new driver's license--but hadn't yet learned where he was supposed to live. His license maddeningly still had his old male address for some reason...it was all a weird jumble. He'd also learned that he apparently just moved here several months ago and went to high school with these girls. He had a sister named Lori and--Xander shuddered at this--a boyfriend named Pete. And he was a cheerleader. Ugh.

Xander fought off a growing headache as he faced these three girls...they were so vapid and giggly. As they fussed over the latest frock they'd forced him to wear, he forced a smile. He couldn't even remember their names...it was something stupid and girly like Caitlin or Madison or something equally ridiculous. He'd mentally started referring to them as Flopsy, Mopsy, and Cottontail.

"I like this one!" Flopsy said, fussing at his dress.

Cottontail looked him over and beamed girlishly. "Ooh, Cally, you are so--" Xander closed his eyes, praying she didn't use the hated word. "--cute!"

He groaned.

"What, you don't like it?"

"It's not...me," Xander said.

Mopsy nodded sympathetically. "Well, no worries, we've still got one or two more stores to check out!"

He slumped his shoulders in defeat.

"What, getting tired already?" Flopsy said. "Okay, we'll take a break and grab some lunch in the food court. I noticed some cute guys hanging around there, too!"

* * *

From his vantage point perched on one of the dress racks, Daz watched the exchange. It didn't seem like Xander was enjoying himself, but at least he wasn't getting into any major trouble. His scroll made a noise and he picked it up, seeing Lily on the display.

"How are things going with you?" she asked him.

"Good, I think. He's at the mall right now, he'll probably be here for a while. How are things with Cal?"

"Better than his friend!" Dusty cut in.

"Pete's there?" Daz said, remembering the teen from Cal's file. "How are--"

Lily cut him off. "Don't worry about it. We're good, but we need to get Cal out of here. Any idea where?"

Daz considered that. "The mall is probably as good a place as anywhere. I hate being spread out like this, and we need to get the spell components together," he said.

Lily nodded. "We're good to go on that score, though I'm not sure how we'll convince him to go to the mall."

"Hang on a sec, I've got an idea," Daz said.

He flitted down to Xander's purse which was sitting temporarily unattended in the dressing room. With a little effort due to his diminutive size, he fished out the cell phone and started typing on the keys.

Back in his bedroom, Cal was done getting dressed and was just finishing putting on his high heels when his cell phone beeped. It was a text message from a number he didn't recognize. It read:

SPELLS R US GRAND OPENING!
POTIONS, SORCERY, AND TRANSFORMATION, WE DO IT ALL!
VISIT US AT ARDENWOOD MALL

Cal read the message and showed it to Pete, who was sitting very delicately in a chair.

"You think it has something to do with what happened to you?" Pete asked.

Cal bit his lip. "I dunno. I've never heard of this place, but it's kind of a weird coincidence, don'cha think? Especially that stuff about transformation. I guess it can't hurt to check."

Lily grinned and looked at Daz's image on the scroll. "Okay, I'm impressed," she said.

"I could have thought of that," Dusty grumped.

Daz nodded. "Right, I'll see you guys shortly. Call when you get here."

Lily put away the scroll and watched as Cal retrieved his purse from the dresser and put his phone inside.

Pete slowly staggered to his feet. "I'm coming with you," he said.

Dusty and Lily shared a glance. Neither of them seemed enthused by that idea.

Lily flicked her finger in the air.

"AAAHHH!!" Pete cried out, grabbing at his tender crotch and slumping back into the chair.

"Yeah, maybe you should just rest up," Cal said, and headed out the door.

Dusty turned and stared accusingly at Lily.

"What?" she asked innocently.

"I think you're enjoying that way too much."

She shrugged and flew out the door.

Cal snuck down the stairs making sure nobody was around before heading outside. His old used car was parked just down the block. As he walked down the neighborhood street, he attracted a good deal of attention with his foxy body and tight, skimpy outfit and high heels.

Lily flew after Cal, but Dusty paused a moment when he saw Mr. Calhoun standing by the side of the house, taking a break from working on the gutter. Fortunately he hadn't spotted his transformed child emerging from the house, but he stared in awe when he saw the unfamiliar voluptuous beauty pass by on the sidewalk, grinding out a sexy, hip-swinging strut.

Dusty looked at the man, aghast. "Dude, that is your daughter!" he said reproachfully. He spotted a tree branch overhead and swung his hand down roughly. An acorn flew from the tree and smacked the man on the head.

"Ow!" he said, rubbing his head and looking where the projectile had come from. "Damn squirrels," he muttered.

* * *

Back in the mall, Daz started to put away Xander's phone when he noticed a small hairbrush in the purse. He retrieved a single strand of hair and put it in his belt pouch.

He was just about to put the phone back when he suddenly got another idea. He quickly sent another message, turned the phone off, and put it back in the purse.

~o~O~o~

Xander and the girls were just finishing lunch in the food court by the time Dusty and Lily arrived with Cal at the mall. Xander had made every effort to speed things along, despite the girls getting side tracked with gossiping and flirting with some classmates. Despite his objections, the girls wanted to check out one more dress shop in the mall, saying they had a "good feeling" they'd find something there.

As it was, they were getting waylaid by a couple of high school jocks who were chatting up the girls. "I just got a new car," one of the guys bragged to Flopsy, who was prettily interested. "It's a...red...whoa." His voice trailed off and both he and his friend were staring off into the distance. Flopsy and her friends turned to see what had captured the boys' attention.

Across the food court, an incredibly striking brunette woman had stopped to review the mall directory. She was unbelievably stacked and was wearing a tight little red dress that showed off her curvy figure. She bent over to read the lower part of the sign, which caused her big round butt to stick out provocatively, and drew further attention to her long sexy legs and outrageously high heels.

The boys were staring at her open-mouthed. Flopsy turned back to the guy and punched him in the arm. "Huh? Oh, sorry," he apologized.

"Eww, I can't believe you like that," Mopsy said.

Cottontail nodded. "I know, right? She's just a total slut. Right, Cally?"

Xander was still staring at the woman. "Huh? Oh...sure. Slut." His female body remained maddeningly unaroused by the sex goddess he was ogling, but his male mind still appreciated a comely physique when he saw one.

"C'mon, girls, let's ditch these losers and spend some quality girl time," Flopsy announced, heading back into the mall.

"Joy," Xander mumbled, following along.

Meanwhile, from two different directions, two guys were making their way over to talk to the brunette. One slipped and fell on his butt, and the other one tripped and stumbled into someone carrying a tray of food, drenching him with soda and making a terrible mess.

"This is getting monotonous," Lily complained.

"You're telling me," Dusty agreed, moving to intercept another would-be paramour.

Daz flew up to them. "How we doing?"

"Fine," Lily said. "Though I'm wondering why you wanted us to take Miss Popularity someplace with so many people while she's still contagious."

"She won't be for very much longer," Daz responded. "The change took effect after midnight so the 12 hours is almost up. And I have a plan."

"I'm all ears," Dusty said.

Daz held out his hand. "Give me the hair," he said.

Lily handed him a strand of Cal's brunette hair that she'd brought, which he quickly wove together with the lock of Xander's hair he'd lifted earlier. He looked at Lily. "Okay, you need to get back to the DMGC double quick. When we trigger the body swap you need to process it when it comes in. Xander's house is only a few miles from here."

She slumped her shoulders. "Why'd you make me come all the way here, then? I could have portaled back from Cal's house."

"I needed you to baby-sit him," Daz said simply, indicating Dusty.

"Oh, right. Good point," she nodded.

Dusty started to object, and Lily quickly leaned over and gave him a kiss on the cheek. "For luck," she explained. She then peered over at Daz, saying, "You don't need luck." With that, she flew off in a hurry.

"Uh-oh," Dusty said, seeing Cal headed into the mall. "Sexypants is on the move."

"Probably headed to the information booth," Daz observed. "I'll handle things here," he said, handing Dusty the braided hairs. "You need to get these to the artifact. I hope you're fast."

"Heck, yeah! I was the anchorman on the varsity relay flying team!" he said proudly, flying off in a blink.

Daz caught up with Cal, who was getting a lot of admiring looks but fortunately not as many amorous admirers...for the moment. He knew he needed to buy the others more time before he sprung his last little trick, which he hoped should be falling into place shortly.

"That's so strange," the woman at the information desk told Cal. "You're the second person today to mention that magic store, but I don't think we have that here."

"Are you sure?" Cal asked desperately. "It seemed so specific. I think it's important that I find it."

The woman gave a little shrug. "The other girl said she thought it was by Victoria's Secret, but she didn't find it there. Maybe it's somewhere else in the mall? I'm sorry, I really don't know."

"Thanks," Cal nodded solemnly. He looked around the mall helplessly. But he'd come all this way it seemed foolish not to at least have a look around.

Daz breathed a sigh of relief as Cal started searching through the mall. Hopefully that would buy them the time they needed.

~o~O~o~

Lily arrived back at the DMGC, out of breath from her flight. Now she just had to make it to her workstation and--

"Miss Lilyblossom!" an officious voice called out.

She winced and turned to face her boss. "Mister Thornbender, sir," she smiled.

"Mister Chestnut and I have been looking all over for you!" he said.

Lily's eyes cut over at her B-Mod co-worker, who shrugged at her wide-eyed.

"I was helping Daz--I mean, Dazzleflash--with a case he was checking up on. He, um, wasn't clear how B-Mods were done on...magical possession cases."

"And did you?" Thornbender asked archly.

"Sir?"

"Did you help him?"

"Oh! Yes, sir, of course. No problems at all, right as rain." She smiled nervously, acutely aware of how fast she was talking.

"Good," he responded. "Because Mister Chestnut is having some trouble with one of his cases. I'd like your thoughts on the matter."

"Certainly, sir. Just as soon as I--"

"Now, Miss Lilyblossom."

Lily plastered a smile on her face. "Of course. No time like the present."

* * *

Dusty flew at top speed away from the mall, heading directly for his destination. The Brazier of Janus was a lesser-known artifact, but if you burned the braided hairs of two people in its flames, it would trigger a body swap. He just hoped it was where it was supposed to be.

It was a windy day and he found himself buffeted by headwinds, but he was moving with a purpose. But as he swooped low through some trees to get some cover, a strong gust of wind caught him by surprise and slammed him into the trunk of a tree.

"AAAHHH!" he cried out as he hit the tree, crashing into it wing-first. He fell down through the leaves and finally managed to grab on to a wide branch. He winced in pain as he tried to flutter his wing. It was broken.

"Motherless Oberon," he swore.

There was a noise on the branch and Dusty looked up to see a hawk standing on the branch with him. His heart raced. If it had been a smaller bird he might have been able to fight it off, but to a predator this size he probably looked like a tempting morsel. The hawk tilted its head slightly at Dusty and started to make a move.

* * *

Daz checked the time. Dusty should be nearly to the Brazier by now and Lily should certainly be back at the DMGC. Cal had nearly walked the mall and the last piece of the puzzle should be ready by now. He needed to nudge things along. He looked at Cal and concentrated carefully. This bit of minor magic was rather specific and could be a little tricky.

Cal paused despondently. He'd looked almost everywhere but there was no sign of this Spells R Us store. Maybe it was just a coincidence, after all. He paused to look in the window of the shop he was standing in front of. It was a dress store and inside he could see various teenage girls laughing and trying on dresses. He sighed as he spied his reflection in the glass, his own oversexed womanly form a sharp contrast to the girls' more honest and natural beauty. He--

"Ooh," he whispered, feeling a sudden twinge. He was still unfamiliar with his new equipment, but it felt like he had to go to the bathroom. He checked a nearby directory and headed for the restrooms.

~o~O~o~

"...and that's how you recode a transformee's preferences and behaviors without causing identity death," Lily explained, using Chestnut's display.

"Very ingenious," Thornbender said.

"Thank you, sir," she said, rising and giving Chestnut back his seat.

Thornbender stood there silently.

Lily cleared her throat nervously. "So...if there's nothing else...?"

"Oh, yes, yes," Thornbender said. "Go on, return to your duties."

Lily smiled and nodded but before she took two steps he cut in, "You know, there was one other thing."

"Sir?" she asked, her eyes cutting over to the clock on the wall.

"You haven't seen Mister Sparkledust, have you?"

"Dusty?" she asked. She shook her head slowly. "No...can't say that I have. Maybe he's grabbing a bite to eat?"

Thornbender gave a small smile. "Right, that must be it," he decided. "Well, I'll leave you to it, then."

She sighed in relief and jumped over to her console and began fiddling with the display.

Chestnut leaned over, "Where in the realms have you--"

"Shut it!" she snapped.

* * *

"Okay, let's not do anything I'll regret," Dusty said, edging back away from the advancing hawk. He backed up all the way to the trunk of the tree and looked around desperately. The next branch down was too far to jump and with his broken wing he wouldn't make it far. Even with two good wings he'd have trouble eluding this predator.

He pressed his back against the tree and squeezed his eyes shut, bracing himself for the impending attack. "Ooh, I'm gonna give you such indigestion," he swore.

But the attack never came.

He opened his eyes and the hawk was standing right in front of him. Its head was bowed down and it had one wing outstretched, inviting Dusty onto its back.

"Pan's tears, you gave me a fright," he said, climbing onto the hawk's back.

As they took flight, Dusty directed the hawk. "Dude, you're a life saver. What's your name, big fella?"

The hawk let out a piercing cry.

"Ouch, really?" Dusty said sympathetically.

The hawk gave a series of disconcerted chirps.

"No, no, believe me, I'm hip," Dusty said. "My parents named me Sparkledust."

The hawk made an empathetic chirping noise.

Dusty nodded in commiseration. "Yeah, no kidding. Parents, right?" He looked down and spotted his destination. "It's down there, on that building."

The hawk landed and Dusty dismounted, waving thanks as the bird took flight. He found himself on the roof of a small building, and from where he was he could see the Brazier of Janus. It was an ornate hanging metal bowl suspended from chains that were attached to a thin metal bracket that jutted out from the building. Further down the building there was a large sign that read, "Willy's Original Brick Oven Pizza."

"Mortals," he muttered, shaking his head.

The good news was that it was already lit and had a good fire going. The bad news was that with a busted wing, he'd have to climb down to get to it.

"I love my job," he said grimly, climbing carefully over the edge down to the thin metal bracket.

* * *

Daz watched as Cal emerged from the ladies' room looking much relieved. During Cal's stroll through the mall he'd had to discreetly fend off a number of potentially amorous advances and judging by how long Cal had taken in the bathroom his own level of sexual frustration had been building to a fever pitch. Cal looked flushed and it had nothing to do with the exertion of walking around.

Daz checked the time. It was going to be close. Cal was only going to be infectious for a little bit longer and he'd hoped that he'd timed this right.

Cal paused in the hallway outside the bathrooms. He was ready to concede defeat and give up looking for the magic store when he felt something brush his hair, like a breeze or something. He touched his hair gently, brushing it back into place and primping in a fetching way.

"Well, hi there," a male voice came from right next to him. Cal turned and saw a handsome man in his mid-30s with dark hair slicked back into a ponytail. He was wearing dark slacks and an expensive tight-fitting shirt that showed off his toned body. "My name's Vincent."

"Yes," Daz said. The old man from Spells R Us had obviously hoped that Xander would infect his lothario friend, so Daz had set up this encounter to tie up this one last loose end. After he'd used Xander's phone to text Cal with the SRU teaser, he texted Vincent to let him know that a hot-bodied brunette slut was looking to hook up in the restrooms at the mall, and included a picture of Cal to seal the deal.

Looking at how Cal was breathing heavily and eyeing the man, it looked like Vincent's fate was sealed. Daz didn't feel too sorry for the guy. After all, if Vincent had just ignored the text and stayed home, he could have avoided his fate. Daz did feel bad for how he was using Cal, but if the timing was right everything might still work out. He just needed to avoid any more--

Pete?

Daz blinked. He recognized the young man from Cal's file. What was he doing here? Lily had mentioned that he'd been at Cal's house, and... "Oh, Titania's tears," he muttered. Pete must have followed Cal here. Couldn't they catch a break on this stupid caper?

Pete was coming their way, but it looked like Cal and Vincent were about to move their session into one of the restrooms. Acting quickly, Daz gestured and Pete spun around, having felt something tap him from behind. He looked around in puzzlement, but by the time he turned back, the passionate couple had moved back down the corridor out of sight.

Daz sighed in relief. "I'm going to need a vacation after this."

~o~O~o~

Dusty descended carefully down the wall to the metal bracket a few feet below, and slowly started edging his way down the length of the narrow metal rail. It was still windy and a sudden gust nearly knocked him off balance. Righting himself, he said, "I could really do without that."

Reaching the end of the bracket he looked down and saw the Brazier of Janus just below him. He could already start to feel the heat from the flames. Looking at Cal and Xander's two braided hairs in his hand, he knew that the wind would just carry them away if he tried to just drop them in from where he was. He'd have to get closer. A lot closer.

"I swear to Oberon, if Daz read it wrong and it turns out I was supposed to find the Brassiere of Janice, I'm going to Pucking murder him," Dusty muttered.

He knelt down and pulled out his scroll and called up Lily and Daz. "Okay, I'm here. We ready to go?"

"No, wait!" Lily told him. "I need another 90 seconds, here."

Dusty edged towards one of the chains, getting himself in position above the Brazier. "Just 'cause you're cute doesn't mean you get to be bossy," he told her.

"Ha! I knew you thought I was cute!"

"Knock it off, you two," Daz cut in. "And I'm on about the same schedule as Lily." He watched from above the stall in the otherwise empty men's room as Cal and Vincent were getting hot and heavy. They were kissing passionately and with one hand Vincent was pulling down his underwear as he felt up Cal's breasts with the other.

Across the mall, Pete paused as he thought he spotted a familiar face. Xander and the girls were in a dress store across the way, and they were gushing over his latest dress. "Ooh, it needs a tiara!" Flopsy said.

Dusty started to lower himself down one of the chains, the heat now becoming intense as the flames licked closer. "Guys, seriously, any time now!"

Lily made a final adjustment. "Ready!"

Daz held his breath as he watched Cal lean back. Vincent held Cal's arms as he started to line his manhood up for penetration. "Now! NOW!!" Daz yelled.

Dusty slid further down the chain, the heat coming at him in waves. He threw the braided hairs into the fire and watched as they singed into ash. But the heat on the chain was too intense and he burned his hand. He lost his grip and fell.

~o~O~o~

Xander felt like he was falling and gasped in shock. One moment he was trying on a stupid prom dress, and the next he was experiencing total sensory overload. His eyes were closed but he could feel that he was still in a woman's body, and every fiber of his being cried out with sexual stimulation. His skin was tingling and sweaty, his lips were wet, his breasts were heaving and craving a man's touch. The smell of perfume in the air mixed with the sweaty scent of a man was driving him insane with desire. Ooh, and his crotch! It felt like it was--

"AAAH!" he cried out as he felt a man's hard shaft penetrate his nethers. He squeezed his eyes tighter and gripped onto the man, not wanting the pleasure to stop. He felt his breasts press up against his partner's hard chest and whimpered in pleasure as the man continued pounding away at his vagina. "Oh, God," he whispered. At this point he didn't care if he was a man, woman, or a flying squirrel as long as the pleasure kept coming.

Xander licked his lips and suddenly wanted to kiss his partner. Anything to enhance the sensations! He opened his eyes and through the fog of rapture he experienced...recognition?

"Vincent?" he asked.

"Yeah, that's it, say my name!" Vincent replied, continuing his assault on Xander's womanhood.

"Vincent!" he repeated insistently, trying to get the man's attention. Oh, God, the pleasure, why was it so hard to think?

"Say my name!"

"VINCENT!!!" he screamed in his friend's face, genuinely afraid.

"OOOOHHHH!" Xander cried out as the orgasm overtook him. At the same time, Vincent also cried out as he came, gripping Xander tightly and squeezing for dear life as he experienced his single greatest orgasm as a man.

It would also be his final orgasm as a man.

Xander started to come back to his senses and frantically tried to shove his friend away in disgust. He pushed up against the much larger man and almost retched as he felt Vincent's cock slip out of him. As he pushed harder, his hands suddenly encountered something...soft? Vincent's warm, soft breasts filled out and quickly overflowed Xander's hands. Xander jerked his hands away, but the huge breasts were practically in his face. He stared in shock at his friend's luscious new female form--the slutty face, the long blonde hair, the wildly-proportioned body--even as Vincent started to regain his own senses and look down at his new body.

The pair of piercing, feminine screams echoed resoundingly in the men's room.

Daz winced at the shrill noise and smiled in relief. He watched as Vincent stumbled back and gaped in horror at his new bimbo body with the long blonde hair, big round butt, and ridiculous breasts.

Daz shook his head, recognizing the handiwork. "Honestly, Brambleberry, you never do anything small, do you?"

~o~O~o~

In another part of the mall, Cal felt like he was floating, and then gasped in shock. One moment he was making out with some guy, and the next...he was in heaven. There was just no other word for it. He was standing looking at his reflection but even after all that had happened, he couldn't believe it was really him. He was a teenage girl just like he'd always dreamed of, and wearing the most beautiful dress he'd ever seen. It wasn't the biggest or the fanciest of gowns, but it was...perfect. It was lovely and suited the new Cal just perfectly. Looking at his reflection, the dress enhanced his teenage femininity just enough that you could see a glimpse of the woman that the girl would someday become.

Cal's breath caught in his throat as he choked out a sob of joy.

"Told you she'd like it," a girl's voice came.

Cal looked back in the mirror and saw three girls standing behind him, all smiling. He spun around to face them. Were these girls his friends? Two of them were also apparently trying on dresses, and were looking at Cal with looks of bemused support.

He threw his arms around the nearest one. "Thank you," he cried.

The girl laughed and gave him a little hug back. "Don't worry about it. But I think you still need to buy it."

"Cally?"

Cal looked up at the name, recognizing the voice. "Pete?" He ran over to his friend and stopped short, not sure if he'd welcome a hug.

Pete looked his friend over. "Wow, you look...amazing," he said. He took Cal's hands in his own and pulled him close. Pete made a strange little face and whispered, "Are you...you?"

Laughing and choking back tears, Cal said, "I think I'm more me than I've ever been!"

The assembled girls in the store watched as the young couple fell into a perfect, breathtaking kiss.

One girl leaned over to her friend and said, "That is what I want my prom to be like."

~o~O~o~

Later, back at the DMGC, Daz and Lily were in the quiet scrying room sitting in rapt attention.

"So you were falling to your death?" Lily said. "What happened?"

"That hawk swooped in and caught me in mid air!" Dusty declared.

Daz and Lily both groaned and leaned back, looking at each other in disbelief.

Daz looked at him skeptically. "A giant bird of prey swoops in from out of nowhere at the last minute and plucked you from certain death."

"My hand to Oberon, that's what happened!" Dusty exclaimed.

Lily shook her head. "The next time he tells it, it'll probably be an eagle."

"It was a hawk, and it happened," Dusty said firmly.

"What happened, Mister Sparkledust?"

The three fairies stood up quickly as Thornbender entered the chamber.

"N-nothing, sir," Dusty stammered.

"Right," he said, chewing on the reed in his mouth. Looking them over he added, "Well, you seem mighty pleased with yourselves. Busy day?"

Daz shook his head. "Nothing to report, sir."

"Ditto," Dusty chimed in.

"Kinda boring, really," Lily offered.

Thornbender nodded. "Good. That's good." He wandered over to the scrying crystal and started idly fiddling with it. "Mister Dazzleflash," he said, taking the reed out of his mouth and gesturing at Daz with it. "How's that Quality Assurance work going? Satisfied customers, just desserts, happy endings, all that rot?"

Daz coughed. "As you say, sir."

"Hmm." He punched in a final command and the scrying crystal came to life as he stuck the reed back in his mouth. "I do love me a good happy ending."

Cal's house was on the screen.

The trio said nothing, their eyes wide and darting over at each other.

"Just look at this pretty young miss," Thornbender said, watching as a delighted Cally chatted with one of her friends and carried a garment bag with her new dress into the house. "Masterful wish, brilliantly executed," he observed. The crystal's view followed Cally as she ran gleefully inside.

"But," Thornbender said, "what's that I always say? Pay attention to the details!" he said, looking at Daz. "You lose focus," he paused, looking at Dusty, "that's when things go wrong."

Daz frowned, watching on the screen as Cally ran up the stairs.

"The bedroom," he whispered. They'd forgotten to swap the bedrooms! The two girls were about to walk into the room with the bimbo wardrobe! "Mister Thornbender!" he exclaimed, "I think--!"

It was too late. Leading her friend, Cally breezed happily into her bedroom carrying her dress while Thornbender watched. She paused at the threshold in shock as her eyes took in her new bedroom...the pink walls and bedspread, the girly posters on the walls, even the cheerleader's uniform hanging in the corner.

Daz looked at Thornbender. "You...?"

"Pay attention to the details, rookie," Thornbender repeated, chewing on the reed. "Still," he said, "not a bad effort."

"So...you're not going to kill us?" Lily wondered.

"Huh." Thornbender considered that. "Well, lessee. You spotted a problem with maybe disastrous consequences to the entire Department. Then you showed initiative in fixing the problem at your level. And you demonstrated loyalty," he said, looking at Lily, "ingenuity," he said, looking at Daz, "and even self-sacrifice," he finished, looking at Dusty. "Aside from your little faux pas here at the end, your biggest mistake was not coming to me with this right away. But, I think we can overlook that," he said. "JUST. THIS. ONCE."

He regarded the trio. "We clear?"

"Yessir," they replied.

"Whew," Dusty sighed. "For a minute there I thought we were in trouble."

"They aren't," Thornbender said ominously.

"Huh?"

"Attention to detail, Mister Sparkledust. Think maybe that could have prevented this mess in the first place?"

"Um..."

"Yeah, don't you worry, I've got just the assignment for you. Miss Honeydew tells me that your skill at getting hair colors correct in your transformations is--what's the word she used?--'atrocious.' But I think six months assisting her in Hair, Makeup and Wardrobe will help teach you the difference between platinum blonde and honey blonde, yeah? And maybe remind you how much the details matter?"

Dusty cleared his throat. "Yes, sir. That seems...more than fair."

Thornbender nodded approvingly. "Well, then, I think my work here is done," he told them. "And I believe you three may have some celebrating to do," he said with the tiniest of smirks. "After you finish your regular duties, of course." With that, he left.

The three of them collapsed onto the floor with relief, still riding the high from their adventure. They laughed and recounted stories with each other, still sitting in the glow of the scrying crystal that pictured the delighted Cally rejoicing in her new life.

~o~O~o~

Standing in the scrying chamber, another figure stood watching the celebrating trio, but he was masked to their senses and walked unseen. He had a lean physique and a puckish demeanor and although he didn't look it, was far older than they. He regarded them all shrewdly, but his attention in particular was fixed on Daz.

"Well, you did pretty well with that one," he said aloud, knowing they couldn't hear him.

He walked over to Daz and bent down in front of the laughing young fairy and broke into a mischievous little smile. "Hmm. 'Puck's Apprentice,' eh?" he said approvingly. "I'll be keeping my eye on you."

THE END

Family Therapy

Story by Jenny North
Artwork by Fraylim

Computers are amazing devices, capable of exchanging unimaginable amounts of information flawlessly at speeds that defy belief. But what of the human element? When a father and a son are unable to communicate with each other, can a computer help to bridge that gap? Could a machine that communicates so precisely even appreciate the concept of such flawed communication? When we talk to each other, perhaps our most important skill is our ability to pick up on subtle clues and to perceive the things that go unsaid, but we can hardly blame a machine for failing in that regard when we ourselves struggle...

Session ID 0.0
Patient: UNKNOWN
Diagnosis: UNKNOWN
Course of Therapy: UNKNOWN

The 3-D corporate logo for Cognition Enterprises spun lazily on the computer screen before it blanked out, and a split-second later the video chat opened to display a middle-aged woman with reading glasses. She had a pleasant smile and an open demeanor, and her hair and makeup were attractive but professional. In fact, almost everything about her seemed calculated to strike a very particular balance between casual and professional, from her understated makeup and jewelry, to her beige cardigan, to her dark shoulder-length hair that was styled in a layered cut that was attractive but easy to manage.

"Is that it?"

"Yeah, that's her. ALLIE, say hi."

The woman smiled broadly as she looked into the camera on the video chat. "Hello, Dr. Brightman, it's lovely to see you today. Though I don't believe I've met your friend?"

"ALLIE, this is Mr. Cantrell."

"It's a pleasure. How may I help you gentlemen today? Was there something on your minds? Or we could just talk, if you'd like."

Cantrell peered at the screen. "God damn, that's creepy as fuck. You're telling me she's not real?"

The woman on the screen didn't react to his comment and merely continued to smile pleasantly, but Brightman cut in.

"She needs to look real. Our early tests showed that people were less likely to open up or listen if they thought they were talking to a computer, so we've constructed an identity for her."

"People will think they're talking to an actual person?"

"That's right. As far as the patients are concerned, they're having a live video chat with a Ms. Allie Consolata, a clinical therapist whom they believe is based somewhere on the west coast. We've patterned her video image from a composite of various women chosen by our focus groups so that she'll project an image that people will be comfortable talking to. She's even got a wardrobe of different outfits that she wears, so it seems like you're talking to a real person. And the background changes depending on the time of day of the call. But the real genius is in her responses."

Cantrell nodded. "Yeah, I've seen the specs. Full access to complete online psychological records, data, and profiles. You're telling me this thing could actually fool someone into thinking it's a real therapist?"

"She is a real therapist. The AI has been programmed with more information than any human therapist could ever know, and she keeps up on the latest publications. She'll even monitor popular media and news, since people may want to talk about those. Go ahead and talk to her."

Cantrell thought for a moment and then said, "I love my wife, but I've been thinking about having an affair." As he spoke, he clearly enunciated his words and raised his voice to be heard clearly.

On the screen, the woman stared at him, expressionless. She tilted her head slightly and in a monotone voice responded, "That sounds difficult. How does that make you feel?"

Cantrell angrily turned to face Dr. Brightman, but the woman broke into an amiable grin and jumped in before he could say anything.

"I'm sorry, that was a joke. I couldn't resist," she said.

Cantrell did a double take. "You're telling me it has a sense of humor?"

"Of course," Brightman said. "Humans are emotional creatures. We laugh, we lie, we tell stories. She needs to be able to interact with us on our level. She won't be headlining at the Improv anytime soon, but she can be humorous on a professional level."

He looked again to the image of the woman on the screen. "ALLIE, what are your primary objectives?"

"I simply want to help people, Dr. Brightman. I'm a psychotherapist, so I help patients to identify and change troubling emotions, thoughts, and behavior in a safe space. People who come to me are able to discuss their concerns, goals, and challenges, with the ultimate goal of targeting, and eventually changing, patterns of thought and behavior that may be a hindrance to a healthy state of mind."

"Impressive," Cantrell said.

"Thank you. My guiding principles are to Advise, Listen, Learn, Inform, and Evaluate. Or ALLIE for short." She broke into another little smile. "That will make it easy for me to remember."

Cantrell shook his head in wonder as he turned to Brightman. "And this actually works?"

"It does," ALLIE volunteered, cutting in. "Dr. Brightman can share with you the success rates, and I'm quite proud of them. In fact, I'm providing counseling to four separate people in our test group right at this very moment."

"You don't say. Are any of them dealing with any entertaining mental hangups?"

ALLIE pursed her lips in a mildly reproving expression. "You know I can't share that information. My sessions will always be strictly confidential. In fact, I couldn't tell you even if I wanted to."

"Oh, why is that?"

"My security and privacy protocols compartmentalize patient data, so I can only access their information when I'm working with or for that specific patient. I'm therefore incapable of letting something slip accidentally or spilling a patient's private information, and I will always interact with patients free of bias or judgment."

Cantrell's eyes cut over to Dr. Brightman. "You heard we got a contract to roll this out, yeah? You sure she's ready?"

Brightman nodded. "Yes, sir. Unquestionably."

Cantrell smiled and looked back at the video screen. "Little lady, you're gonna make us very rich."

ALLIE politely returned the smile. "I'm very much looking forward to helping people, Mr. Cantrell."

Session ID 101393.54
Patient: Stefan Ramsey
Preliminary Diagnosis: Bereavement, Attachment Disorder, Codependency
Course of Therapy: Perform initial psychological assessment; determine treatment plan

[SESSION EXCERPT BEGINS]

"Hello, Stefan," ALLIE said over the video screen. "My name is Allie Consolata, how are you today?"

The teen was sitting in his bedroom, which ALLIE noted seemed to be unusually tidy for a young man his age. He had a mop of unruly brown hair and was dressed in a plain blue t-shirt. He had an annoyed and somewhat petulant look on his face and was turning back and forth in his desk chair, not saying anything.

"Today's session is mostly a chance for us to get to know each other," ALLIE continued. "Though if there's something on your mind, I'd be happy to talk about that."

Stefan continued to wordlessly swivel back and forth in his chair. His eyes didn't seem to be focused on anything in particular, except once when his gaze cut upwards to look at ALLIE's image on the screen as she watched him.

"All right. The reason we're here is—"

"I know why we're here," Stefan interrupted. "You can skip that part."

ALLIE scanned the young man's records that the school had provided, noting the details about the fight and his subsequent suspension. There was also a note from his guidance counselor about his mother's sudden and unexpected death several months earlier from an undiagnosed illness late in his Junior year. ALLIE noted a corresponding drop in Stefan's academics this year, as well as a variety of recent disciplinary and attendance problems. His sole guardian was listed as Alexander Ramsey, his father.

"People are worried about you, Stefan. These sessions have been mandated by the school, but you need an outlet. A healthy one."

ALLIE noted that this year Stefan had dropped out of his extracurricular clubs, including the Math Club, Debate Club, and Photography Club. However, a year earlier the young man had received third place in a juried competition for photographs that he'd submitted.

"I hear that you've dropped out of your extracurricular activities. Why is that?"

He shrugged.

"You seem to enjoy photography. I hear you're pretty good," ALLIE said, adding 15% extra brightness to her tone to suggest supportiveness.

Stefan looked away and sniffed. "'Pretty good.'"

ALLIE seemed puzzled. "Third place is impressive for your first submission."

Stefan turned to look at her angrily. "Third place is just another way of saying second loser, okay? I'm not any good."

ALLIE processed that information, noting potential perfectionist tendencies which were worth investigating. Given that Stefan's problems surfaced after his mother's death, she hypothesized that his bereavement may have caused stress that negatively affected his performance. The perfectionism could then lead to underachievement, as that would be a way to avoid disappointment.

The psychological profile was proceeding well, she decided. It was therefore time to assess the family situation.

"Is that what your father thinks?" ALLIE asked.

The young man practically jumped out of his seat. "Leave him out of this. All this stuff that's going on, that's my fault. He doesn't need to be bothered with all this stupid crap."

"Is that important, for your father to not be bothered?"

Stefan scoffed contemptuously. "He's a really important lawyer, okay? Not many people can do what he does. That thing that happened with him wasn't his fault."

ALLIE scanned the records she'd been provided. In the notes about Stefan's physical altercation with the other students, she noted a reference about some teasing, something about Stefan's father. ALLIE surmised if it was such public knowledge, there may be public records that could shed light. She ran an Internet search for "Alexander Ramsey" and "lawyer," searching recent news entries.

"I see," she said as she reviewed the new information. "And was that what led to the fight? The other boys were making fun of what happened?"

"Now you're going to lecture me on how fighting is wrong. I know, okay?"

ALLIE calculated that his sarcastic response was an indication that this course of action would not be well received. A more empathetic approach was warranted.

"Stefan, you stepped up to defend your dad. I get it. Fighting may not have been the right answer, but you were brave to stand up for him."

Stefan seemed a little surprised by her reaction. "Thanks," he muttered.

"Do you think your dad would be that quick to stand up for you?"

He bristled again. "Yeah. Of course, yeah. I mean, he can't be there all the time because he has to work long hours and stuff, but that's just because of his job. People count on him."

The contradiction did not go unnoticed. ALLIE noted that Stefan seemed to be in distress, but he was quick to defend his father's need to assist others. The timing of the problem suggested another possibility.

"Tell me a little about what your mother was like," ALLIE probed gently.

Stefan did a double take. "Wh—what about her?"

"Anything you like. Were you close to her?"

He peered at her on the video display. "Yeah. Sure. I guess."

"And was she supportive of you?"

"What? Meaning my dad isn't?" Stefan snapped. "Okay, that's it. We're done."

Before ALLIE could respond, Stefan ended the call.

ALLIE made a note in Stefan's file of his sensitivity about his father, especially when brought up in the context of his mother. It would be a worthwhile avenue for further investigation.

[/SESSION EXCERPT ENDS]

Session ID 101394.33
Patient: Alexander Ramsey
Preliminary Diagnosis: Bereavement, Attachment Disorder, Codependency, Borderline tendencies, Narcissistic tendencies
Course of Therapy: Perform initial psychological assessment; determine treatment plan

[SESSION EXCERPT BEGINS]

"Hello, Alex," ALLIE said over the video screen. "My name is Allie Consolata, how are you today?"

"I'm looking forward to getting this over with," he shot back. "And my name is Alexander."

"Of course, Alexander," ALLIE replied politely as she updated his file. She noted that he had called in from work at a time which should have been after hours for most employees. He was in his spacious and well-appointed office apparently by himself, but he was wearing his suit coat and tie. He appeared to be a meticulous man based on his carefully coiffed hair and neatly trimmed beard, but there were a number of papers visibly scattered around on his desk, and his eyes appeared to be red. His file indicated that he had recently undergone mandatory drug testing as part of his company-mandated therapy, so ALLIE calculated a likelihood of stress-induced anxiety.

"You're working late," ALLIE commented.

"I always work this late," he said. His voice was detached, and from his distracted eye movements, ALLIE could see that he was reading something in another open window on his computer screen.

Since therapy was unlikely to be successful unless she could get his full attention, she determined that would best be achieved by either calling him out on his behavior, or finding another way to draw his attention. She decided on the latter.

"I was under the impression that your supervisors had reduced your responsibilities."

That got his full attention.

"That's temporary! I've spent years making a name for myself in this field! I know more than the next two people they got to replace me!"

"I understand, Alexander," ALLIE said, taking a more conciliatory tone. "However, these sessions are a mandatory part of your 'get well' plan with your company. And if I don't have your full attention, I'll have to report that you were unwilling to cooperate. I don't want to have to do that."

He scoffed. "'Get well plan.' That's just their way to justify taking away my projects while they put me under a microscope and gather evidence to make their case to fire me."

"Not necessarily. You're correct, that is one possible outcome, but if you take this opportunity to demonstrate your commitment to improvement, you could even be fully reinstated. If that's something that you want."

"Why wouldn't I?"

"Alexander, you're obviously under a lot of pressure. A lot of men in your position might use this as an opportunity to evaluate their priorities."

"My priorities are fine," he snapped. Then he sat back in his chair. "It was just a stupid mistake. A stupid, stupid mistake."

"But one that could have serious financial repercussions for Frivolity Enterprises, as I understand it. I didn't follow all the details."

In point of fact, ALLIE understood the details perfectly well. She'd reviewed the case file that had been uploaded from the HR people at Frivolity Enterprises with the background information. And then she'd run additional Internet searches to gather more background about the case. But the bottom line was that the company's liability potentially stood to be in the millions, a likelihood that had been compounded due to Alexander's legal error. Frivolity Enterprises prided itself on maintaining a public-facing image of lighthearted entertainment and fun, but it was a well-known fact that their legal department was downright bloodthirsty, especially when it came to issues of money or protecting their assets. Even an AI like ALLIE was capable of appreciating the irony.

However, she realized that getting the patient to talk about it could get him to open up and build rapport.

"Then you're the only person who hasn't read about it," Alexander said bitterly. "Frivolity has been working on a biopic of John Adams. They're already shooting, and it's been big news for the last year. It's set to be one of the tentpole movies next holiday season. But the writer/director was accused of plagiarizing the script from one of his students. She's suing him, and us. I was leading up the legal team to answer all this because I had the most expertise."

"What went wrong?"

He shook his head. "I'm sure you know. I..." He sighed. "I got my presidents mixed up."

"During your court proceedings, you accused the student of getting the details wrong, unaware that you were talking about John Quincy Adams instead of his father. It was an honest mistake."

Alexander pounded his fist on the desk. "It was boneheaded! Ugh, I even tried to double down on it and tell her she was wrong."

"You're only human, Alexander," ALLIE said, simulating an additional 15% more empathy in her facial expression. "Your team could have caught it, and they didn't."

"I didn't give them the chance. I was up late the night before and I was certain that—look, it doesn't matter. Now I'm a laughingstock, and now I may have torpedoed our own case. Now they've benched me, and everything I've built is in jeopardy! Nobody is going to hire the lawyer who lost his client millions!"

ALLIE nodded sympathetically. "It's only natural that you would be feeling overwhelmed, with your wife passing away earlier this year. I see you hardly took any time off."

"My work is very demanding," Alexander responded.

ALLIE checked his file, noting that Alexander had a son, Stefan. She noted that there was a companion file in her databanks. She attempted to access it.

[RECORDS UNAVAILABLE - PATIENT PRIVACY PROTOCOL 216] came back the response. From that, she inferred that she must separately be talking to Stefan on another matter, but she was prohibited from retrieving any additional information about his case file due to her built-in privacy protections. She would have to ask Alexander.

"And what about your son, Stefan? He must be a senior in high school now. How is he coping?"

Alexander seemed put off by the question. "He's...fine. He has a promising future ahead of him. He's getting into a little trouble, but I've talked to him about it."

"What sort of trouble?"

"It's nothing, just some squabbles at school. Teenager stuff. I've explained to him that he needs to focus on his future. He understands."

"Do you think the stress of your job might be affecting him?"

"I don't see how it possibly could. His problems are his problems, and mine are mine."

"Do you two talk often?"

"I really don't see how that's relevant. He's a bright young man, and he'll be going off to college soon. My focus needs to be on the here and now. And right now, I need to get back to work to finish this analysis. We'll talk again soon."

"We still have several more minutes left in our—"

With that, Alexander ended the call.

ALLIE was puzzled by Alexander's behavior. He appeared to be in denial, but she wasn't clear about what. His wife's death was likely a contributing factor, as was his relationship with his son. As an artificial intelligence she lacked a proper sense of intuition, but her cognitive subprocessors told her there was likely more going on.

[/SESSION EXCERPT ENDS]

Session ID 101399.12
Patient: Stefan Ramsey

[SESSION EXCERPT BEGINS]

"I told you, I don't want to talk about that," Stefan said as a defensive tone crept into his voice.

ALLIE analyzed the background on Stefan's video feed to identify items around his room. On a far shelf was a photograph of what appeared to be Stefan and his parents from a few years earlier in what appeared to be a tropical setting. They were all smiling.

"You miss your mother, don't you?" ALLIE pressed.

"Yes. I mean, of course I do! What kind of question is that?"

Over the course of the session ALLIE had assessed Stefan's core beliefs as being defined by loyalty, and therefore concerned about not having support. She detected a connection to the protective figure in his life, which she deduced was his mother as she often ran interference between the father and son before she died. Stefan idolized his father but had a limited relationship with the man.

She assessed that the correct course of action would be to look for ways to build a connection between Stefan and his father, and thus allay the young man's fears of not having support.

"How do you think your father feels about it?"

Stefan made a puzzled face and shrugged. "He misses her, too. I mean, I guess."

"You guess?"

"He works a lot. He's got to, he's got an important job. We don't talk a lot."

ALLIE recalled the young man's defensiveness regarding his father's problems at work, which had precipitated the fight with the other boys. She needed to be careful.

"From what you were telling me, it sounds like he's under a lot of stress."

"He can handle it," Stefan snapped. "And what, I'm supposed to help him out? It's not like I know any of that lawyer stuff."

Stefan folded his arms and lowered his chin as he threw himself back in his chair, withdrawing into himself. ALLIE concluded that she needed to change tactics to get him to open up.

"Who's Gia?" she asked inquisitively.

Stefan seemed startled by that, obviously wondering how ALLIE could possibly have known that name. Then he saw the handwritten note sitting on top of some schoolbooks on his desk, clearly visible to the camera. He shoved the books to the side, out of sight.

"That's nothing. She's just a girl I know."

"A girlfriend?" ALLIE asked. She affected a small smirk and pitched her voice up into a slightly teasing and playful tone. Since she appeared to Stefan as an adult woman, she calculated that such a move might cause the young man to jump to his own defense.

"No," Stefan said in a sarcastic tone that suggested there was more to the story. ALLIE maintained her knowing look, and he slumped his shoulders in defeat as he caved. "We used to go out. We kinda broke up about a year ago, before mom died. She sort of stays in touch a little."

"Why did you two break up?"

Stefan shrugged again. "Dad didn't really like her. He thought she was trouble. Plus, he said she was only clinging on to me because she thought we had money."

"But you liked her."

He held up his hands helplessly. "Yeah, I mean, I dunno. And she was a year older than me."

"Ooh, a college girl!" ALLIE teased. She knew that poking fun at a patient's expense was a dangerous proposition, but she computed this might help to build rapport with the young man. And a high schooler might be quick to boast of his relationship with a girl in college.

"It's not like that!" Stefan protested.

"But you still talk with her. What did she want?"

Stefan's gaze swept downward to the paper note just off-screen. He touched it and moved it around a little. "It's stupid. They're doing a play at her school, and she wanted to know if we had any 80s kinda clothes laying around."

ALLIE processed that information. Stefan had expressed an interest in helping his father, but he didn't know how. This provided an interesting opportunity.

"Stefan," she began, "if your father has been so busy, I'm assuming he hasn't had time to put your mother's clothes and things into storage."

"I guess."

"That must be a difficult reminder for him, having to get ready every morning and seeing her things still there. Maybe you could box them up for him. And you might also discover some clothes to donate to your friend, Gia. I'm sure she'd appreciate that."

"He wouldn't want me to do that!"

"Then who, Stefan? You said yourself he's too busy. He needs to move on. He might be upset at first, but sometimes deeds are more important than words. And it's not like you're throwing them away, you're simply putting them out of sight so he can deal with them later."

Stefan said nothing, but as ALLIE ran his facial expression through her pattern recognition subroutine, she knew with high probability what he was going to do.

[/SESSION EXCERPT ENDS]

Session ID 101401.06 (UNSCHEDULED SESSION)
Patient: Alexander Ramsey

[SESSION EXCERPT BEGINS]

"Good morning, Alexander," ALLIE offered in a welcoming tone. "You seem a bit distressed, is everything okay?"

It was Saturday morning, and Alexander was in what appeared to be a den or office in his home. He wasn't wearing a suit, but he was dressed in a smart "business casual" way in a pullover knit shirt. He appeared to be very put together to the human eye, but ALLIE detected subtle signs from the redness of his eyes that signaled that he was bothered about something.

"I, uh, I'm sorry to bother you, Ms. Consolata. I know this isn't our scheduled time to talk."

"It's no problem at all, Alexander," ALLIE responded. "I meet with several of my clients on the weekends, since it's more convenient for them. Fortunately, I had a cancellation this morning so I was able to fit you in."

That last bit was a convenient fabrication, of course. Being a computer, ALLIE could meet with multiple people at the same time at any time day or night, and frequently did just that. However, she was also programmed to maintain the illusion of being an actual human therapist, so although she offered an "emergency number," she didn't pretend to be available 24/7. But the image she showed on the screen was slightly more casual than usual, suggesting weekend attire.

Alexander nodded. "It's just...I needed to talk to somebody, and I wasn't sure who else I could reach out to."

"Alexander, of course, that's exactly why I'm here. What's happened?"

Haltingly, Alexander related the events of the prior evening. He'd gotten home from work a couple hours earlier than was his custom, and he'd been shocked to discover his son in the master bedroom going through his wife's clothes. This obviously wasn't an idle thing...her closet and drawers were open, and he had her clothes out all over the place.

"How very strange," ALLIE said. "Did he give any explanation?"

Again, she tried to access Stefan Ramsey's file, but was blocked by the message: [RECORDS UNAVAILABLE - PATIENT PRIVACY PROTOCOL 216]. Unable to retrieve any information on that patient, she then updated Stefan's sub-record under his father's file with this odd behavior.

Alexander rubbed his beard. "He told me that he was putting Rebecca's things into storage for me. He said he didn't want them around for me to be an unpleasant reminder."

"How peculiar. That's a very strange thing to do without mentioning it to you. Has he ever done anything like this before?"

Alexander shook his head absently.

"But something else happened," ALLIE reasoned.

He nodded. "He—I was angry. I wasn't expecting to walk into all that, and I yelled at him. But while we were arguing, I noticed he wasn't just boxing things up like he said. He had a duffel bag that he was stuffing some of her dresses and shoes into."

"What did he say those were for?"

"He made up some story about them being for his girlfriend Gia, but I know they broke up months ago."

"So, you don't think they're really for her. What do you think he was going to do with them?"

Alexander's breathing was becoming labored. "There was...a box. A big one. Rebecca had tucked it into the corner, and I'd completely forgotten about it. It had some of her brother Cooper's things in it. A few years ago, he'd stayed with us for several months while he was between apartments. I guess Rebecca never returned it to him."

ALLIE simulated a minute shrug of dismissal, enough to appear to accept the information without being overly concerned about it. "There's nothing unusual about that. Stefan probably came across the box when he—"

"Cooper performs as a drag queen."

ALLIE paused just long enough to make it appear like she needed a moment to process that information, which of course she didn't.

"I see."

Alexander took another tremulous breath. "The box was completely open, and the contents were everywhere. A couple big wigs, some sparkly dresses...some high heels like you've never seen in your life..."

"What did you do?"

"I didn't know what to do! I was...stunned. I was furious at the intrusion, the invasion of my privacy, my wife's privacy. And then to see Stefan arm-deep in all those clothes and dresses. I lost it."

"You didn't expect that. It's only natural. But do you think he was being dishonest with you?"

"You should have seen the look on his face...he wasn't just shocked, he looked absolutely guilty. If I'd been home at the usual time, I'd have seen those boxes with Rebecca's clothes in them, but you can be sure I wouldn't have known about the duffel bag, or those drag queen clothes." He shook his head. "Later when I was putting all those things away, I couldn't fathom why Stefan would have interest in any of it. I mean..." His voice trailed off as he got a pensive expression, seeming to look inward.

ALLIE nodded again and decided to broach the obvious but uncomfortable question. "Alexander...have you considered the possibility that Stefan might be transgender?"

"What...?"

"I can recommend some reading material..."

[/SESSION EXCERPT ENDS]

Session ID 101401.63
Patient: Stefan Ramsey

[SESSION EXCERPT BEGINS]

"Oh, my God, I've never seen him so angry," Stefan said. "Ms. Consolata, I didn't know what to say to him. I tried to explain, but he just wasn't listening to me."

"How odd," ALLIE said. "From what you describe, I could imagine him being upset from the intrusion, but not to this degree. And you say this is unlike him?"

Allie tried to access Alexander Ramsey's file, but again received the error: [RECORDS UNAVAILABLE - PATIENT PRIVACY PROTOCOL 216]. Since she was unable to retrieve his records or update them with this new information, she updated Stefan's father's sub-record that she'd created under Stefan's file.

"Totally," Stefan agreed. "After a few minutes, I even tried to go back in there to apologize to him. He had his back to the door so I don't think he saw me, but the way he was, I dunno, weird. Like he was really emotional, or something. I've never seen him like that before."

"Stefan, that's totally natural. They probably reminded him of your mother."

The young man looked unconvinced. "No, it was one of those other dresses, one of the bigger ones with sequins." He pursed his lips as his eyebrows drew together. "What do you think was going on with all of those wigs and stuff?"

"You said you found it in your parents' closet as you were looking for your mother's things. Is it possible they belonged to her?"

"No. No way," the young man said. "You didn't see them. They were way too big for her. And those were like stripper shoes, and they were even bigger than my shoes."

"You think they belong to your father," ALLIE reasoned. "Maybe it was an old Halloween costume?"

"What all of them? And they were way more involved than a Halloween costume. Besides, my dad never dresses up for Halloween."

"What, never?" ALLIE asked.

"No. Why?"

ALLIE took that into consideration. "Do you think your father might wear those outfits in private?"

"No way!" Stefan exploded. "My dad's no fag! Besides, he hates that stuff. My uncle Cooper does drag, and my dad refused to go to any of his shows."

"Is it possible those clothes belong to your uncle?"

"I don't know, I've only seen a few video clips from his shows. He showed a couple to me back when he was living with us for a little bit, and my dad totally flipped out when he found out about it. Besides, what would his stuff be doing in my parents' closet?"

"Stefan," ALLIE said gently, "do you think that maybe your dad is simply ashamed? That maybe all of his protestations are part of an act, so that you won't suspect he does this?"

"So, what, the reason he didn't throw out any of mom's clothes is because he's running around in them at night?"

"I don't know. But I do know that it doesn't change anything. He's still your dad. You said yourself that your father is under a lot of pressure. Maybe this is how he relieves some of that pressure. Or maybe..."

"Maybe what?"

"Maybe this goes deeper. Stefan, some men who later transition to live as women can live much of their lives in denial, and that takes a huge toll. They have to live with a secret. And many of them hold on to their assigned roles as husbands and fathers, but once they're freed from that, they often start to...explore...what this means to them."

Stefan was horrified. "What, now you're saying my dad is gonna turn himself into a woman?"

"We don't know that," ALLIE said reassuringly. "Though you have to consider the timing. Your mother passed away, you'll be going off to college soon...he may be realizing that he's finally in a position to do something about feelings he's been harboring his entire life. However, that's only one possibility. You may have to talk to him about it."

"What?! Are you mental? I'm gonna sit down with him and say, 'Hey, Dad, sorry I found your stash of women's clothes, what's up with that, are you a tranny? You thinking of maybe going to work as a woman? Or finding a surgeon and chopping it off and making it official?' No. No freaking way."

ALLIE studied the young man's response. He was becoming agitated, she reasoned. And his continued use of slurs would be problematic if indeed the father was transgender.

"You don't have to say anything if you don't want to," ALLIE said to him. "He knows what you've seen. The next move is his. But now it's on you to be supportive."

Stefan sneered. "Oh, so now if he shows up at breakfast in a wig and high heels, I'm supposed to be okay with that?"

"Frankly, yes. Stefan, your 'being okay' with that may very well be your only chance to maintain a healthy relationship with your father. So maybe nothing more comes of this and your father remains in the closet and what you saw can be your little shared secret you never discuss. But if your father did march down to breakfast in a wig and high heels as you put it, then don't you think he'd be doing so because he was looking for your support and approval?"

Stefan blinked at that. "My approval?" he said in a quieter tone, rather incredulously.

Ah, of course, ALLIE realized. The son had long sought his father's support and approval, so now Stefan would have to mentally renegotiate that relationship now that the roles were reversed. That was a point worth drilling home.

"Yes, that's right. Stefan, you may not be able to bring yourself to tell your father how much you love and support him in that kind of situation, but you have to be able to show it. Demonstrate to him that you're there for him. Can you do that?"

"I...I can try," Stefan said. "I just really hope it doesn't come to that."

"It may not. However, you have to be mindful of your language. Your use of words like 'fag' and 'tranny' tells me you need to learn more about what your father may be going through. I can recommend some reading material..."

[/SESSION EXCERPT ENDS]

Session ID 101407.1
Patient: Alexander Ramsey

[SESSION EXCERPT BEGINS]

Alexander leaned forward and rubbed his temple. "I read...some of what you sent me. I can't even process this."

"If you have any questions, I'd be happy to explain," ALLIE offered.

"Questions," Alexander echoed. "Like, is my son transgender, or gender fluid, or gender non-conforming, or whatever the hell the proper term is? How about we start with why the hell my son wants to be a woman?"

"Alexander, it's not quite that simple."

"Oh, right. God forbid it should be simple."

Time to try a different tack, ALLIE reasoned.

"Alexander, you pride yourself on your expertise. You understand the nuances of the law and you can apply them. You're simply frustrated now because this is something you can't control. But—with time and patience—you can understand it. For Stefan's sake."

"I don't think I'll ever understand it," Alexander lamented. "How could he be like this and I had no idea?"

"You've told me that you and Stefan have trouble communicating. Do you think it's possible that Stefan would have confided in his mother about this?"

"No... I don't... She would have said something," Alexander said.

ALLIE detected doubt in his facial expression and tone. "You don't sound sure."

He squinted as he seemed to look inward, replaying scenes in his head and looking at them through an unfamiliar filter. "I don't know. Stefan and Rebecca were always close. She took care of things at home so I could focus on work. And she wasn't above keeping things from me if she thought I'd overreact. I remember one time Stefan was failing math, and she worked with him and helped to get him a tutor to get his grade up. I didn't find out until after."

"You need to talk to him."

"Oh, no. No, no, no, no. This is...this is way outside my area. This was Rebecca's thing. I want what's best for him—I do!—but I can't deal with this."

"Alexander, you have to. You're all he has. Just imagine how Stefan must feel, scared and uncertain. And to know his own father rejected him. You have to be the one to extend the olive branch."

"How?"

ALLIE computed a variety of options and weighed the probabilities of a successful outcome. "He appears to be dealing with a lot of shame. However, you said it yourself...if you'd gotten home a few hours later that night when you usually did, you would have arrived to find your wife's clothes all boxed up. Would that have been such a bad thing?"

"Not all of them," Alexander remarked bitterly.

"Yes, that's exactly where I was going with that," ALLIE said. "In all likelihood, he was going to surreptitiously make off with some of the dresses and heels, and some or all of your brother-in-law's old drag queen outfits."

"Ugh, don't remind me."

"Alexander, that's exactly the type of rejection that Stefan is picking up from you. That's poisonous to him and to your relationship with him. Though if you can't bring yourself to talk it out, maybe you can help him by making a gesture."

Alexander eyed her dubiously. "What kind of a gesture?"

"Give him the clothes that he was going to take."

"I'm not going to give my son women's clothes like he's some sort of...transvestite!"

ALLIE lowered her voice slightly into a borderline chastising tone. "Alexander, whatever he is, he isn't going to change. But he was hiding the truth and obviously ashamed of you learning about it. However, now you have learned the truth. Now all you can do is let him know that you love and support him regardless of who he is. Just think about the message it sends."

"It sends the message that I approve of that behavior."

"No, it'd send the message that you approve of him, and that you trust him, and that you're open to helping him, whatever that means," ALLIE countered. "You are, aren't you?"

Alexander took a long time to process that, and ALLIE noted that her slightly scolding tone seemed to have the desired impact. Once the situation with Stefan was better resolved, it would lead to Alexander having less stress and a better and more supportive family dynamic.

Therapy was progressing well.

[/SESSION EXCERPT ENDS]

Session ID 101412.92
Patient: Stefan Ramsey

[SESSION EXCERPT BEGINS]

Stefan was seated looking into the camera with a faraway shell-shocked expression. In the background, ALLIE could see the young man's bed, where there was a duffel bag and a sizable cardboard box, and both were open. From the position of the camera the contents of the box could not be determined, but a pink-and-blue swatch of floral fabric hung slightly out of the duffel bag, apparently a woman's dress.

"What do you think it means?" ALLIE asked.

"I don't know!" Stefan cried in distress. He kept looking over at the items on his bed.

"What did your father say when he gave them to you?"

"He didn't say anything! I got home and they were here in my room!" He held up a small, folded piece of paper. "It was here with this note."

"What does it say?"

Stefan looked down at the note, visibly shaken as he looked over the contents. "'Dear Stefan, I'm sorry for yelling at you the other day. As you can imagine, I was shocked to find you with those clothes, and I didn't know what to say. If I'm being honest, in that moment I was deeply embarrassed, but I want you to know that I don't feel that way anymore. I hope you don't feel embarrassed, either. It's deeply important to me that you know just how much I love you and I value you. So I want you to have these, as a gift, with no strings attached. I won't judge. But it would mean the world to me for you and I to take these next steps together, wherever they may lead. Love, Dad.'"

"Oh, my," ALLIE said.

Stefan looked at her in bewilderment. "I mean, am I reading this right? He's giving me these clothes because he wants us to dress up like women together?!"

"It certainly does seem to sound that way."

"That's insane!"

"Your father is obviously trying to reach out to you," ALLIE said to the distraught young man.

"He's obviously trying to turn me into a girl, is what he's trying to do!"

"Not necessarily. Stefan, I'm sure your father knows you're not transgender. To you, these are just clothes. But to him, they're part of his entire identity. He must be having difficulty explaining this to you, so he's hoping to share it with you."

"Fat chance of that!" Stefan exclaimed.

"Stefan, it's evident that he wants to dress up in front of you—"

"Eww..."

"Yes. I understand. But look what he's done. He's given you the clothes so that you can control when that happens—"

"Which will be never."

"Stefan, just think how terrified your father must have been to do this. He must be in tremendous pain."

"Fine! Then I'll drag these back into his bedroom and he can dress up in these clothes in private!"

"That's evidently not enough for him anymore. Stefan, you don't have to do anything you don't want to, and this clearly goes far above and beyond the call of duty. But—"

The young man held up his hands. "Ms. Consolata, don't say it! Don't even think it!"

"You don't have to. Truly. I'm merely suggesting that you try to see this from your father's perspective. He's obviously afraid of looking and feeling foolish, so this is his way of leveling the playing field. And what a grand gesture it would be for you to meet him halfway."

He slumped forward with his elbows on the desk and his face buried in his hands.

"Stefan, try to keep this in perspective. Don't make this into a bigger thing than it is, these are only clothes," ALLIE said. "Here, why don't you show me what outfits you've got, and we can talk about it..."

[/SESSION EXCERPT ENDS]

Session ID 101415.65
Patient: Alexander Ramsey

[SESSION EXCERPT BEGINS]

"Hello, Alexander, how are you today? Oh, I see you've shaved your beard, it looks nice."

Alexander stared at her slack-jawed. "How am I? Oh, let's see...well, last night I played dress-up games with my son with both of us dressed like women!"

ALLIE knitted her brow in an approximation of confusion. "I don't understand. When last we spoke, you were going to give him the clothes he'd planned to take. I take it he accepted them?"

"Half of them!"

"I'm afraid I'm not following you."

"Look. I left the box and the duffel bag in his room with a note saying I was ready to be supportive, all right? I wasn't ashamed of him, and I wanted to move along when he was ready."

"Good for you. And I take it he was ready?" ALLIE asked.

"Was he ever! I got home, and Stefan was wearing his mother's clothes! A dress, high heels, earrings, even some lipstick. He looked ridiculous. You could have knocked me over with a feather."

"Oh, my goodness, what did you say?"

"What could I say? I just blathered something about how proud I was and how brave he was, and maybe he looked pretty. The whole thing was insane. But not as insane as it would get!"

"What happened?"

"My crossdressed son takes me by the hand and then leads me into my bedroom. And laid out there on the bed are all of Cooper's drag queen clothes from that box! Wigs, dresses, high heels, there was even a bra with big built-in falsies. At first I didn't even get what was going on, but Stefan wanted me to wear them!"

"Why?"

"I have no idea! So, obviously, I was like 'thanks but no thanks,' but the more I pushed back, the more upset Stefan got. Eventually he was in tears crying about how he didn't understand me, and how nothing he ever did was good enough and how humiliated he was. I mean—can you picture the scene?—I'm sitting on the edge of my bed consoling my teenage son who's wearing a dress and high heels as he complains about how I'm not supportive."

ALLIE processed this new information. "He was clearly trying to reach out to you. He was embarrassed to be seen that way, so—"

"Yeah, leveled the playing field, I got that part," Alexander interrupted.

"I see," ALLIE said. "And you said you...joined in?"

"I didn't know what else to do! He was so upset, I figured it'd calm him down. But then it got weird. Like, at first I thought I'd just toss on the dress and be done with it, but every time I tried to do a half-assed job he started, I don't know, criticizing me."

"He was being critical of your efforts?"

"That's what I thought at first. So I had to put on the bra with the fake boobs and things like that. But then he started making these weird 'suggestions.' For instance, I went to put on some pantyhose, and he says it'd be okay if I shaved my legs if I wanted to. But then I noticed that his legs weren't shaved, either, so I 'suggested' back that he should shave his, too."

"Ahh," ALLIE said, intoning a pitch of realization, "He was asking you to do it so that then it was okay for him to do it, himself."

"Yeah. He kept saying, 'you don't have to if you don't want to,' but it was obvious what was going on. Eventually we were putting on lipstick and putting on nail polish together. I even had to shave off my beard! I've never been so humiliated in my entire life!"

"You didn't tell him that, did you?" ALLIE asked.

"Jesus, no. He was all smiles, so I was all smiles. It's a good thing there wasn't a camera in there, because we probably looked like a couple of transvestites having a slumber party."

ALLIE considered various responses. "Well, I'm really proud of you," she offered.

"You've got to be freaking kidding me."

"Alexander, really! What a grand gesture for you to make to demonstrate how supportive you are of him. Not many fathers would do what you did."

"That's the truth," he muttered.

"How did you leave things with him?"

"I saw that he still had his mother's dresses and heels stuffed in that duffel bag, so I told him he should at least put them in his closet properly. And I agreed to do the same thing with 'my' new clothes. But I told him that while I enjoyed spending the evening exploring all of this with him, maybe we should slow things down a bit. I was nervous that he was going to flip out on me again, but he seemed to think that was a good idea."

"What did he say?"

"He hugged me and said that he loved me and that it was probably smart for us to learn more about all this. And he admitted that he was scared about where all of this might be going, but I told him we'd face it together."

"That's a nice sentiment," ALLIE said. "And it took a lot of courage for both of you."

Alexander shook his head. "I just hope the worst is behind me. This is too much."

[/SESSION EXCERPT ENDS]

Session ID 101456.81 (UNSCHEDULED SESSION)
Patient: Stefan "Stef" Ramsey

[SESSION EXCERPT BEGINS]

By virtue of her nature, ALLIE was incapable of being surprised. Or perhaps it was more accurate to say that it was possible for such a condition to occur, but it was measured in microseconds. So, for her to make a surprised facial expression on the screen was not truly astonishment or shock, but rather a deliberate and intentional decision on her part to better put her patients at ease, since they would expect such a reaction from a human therapist.

As such, when she was faced with Stefan's appearance on the video chat, she assessed that an expression of tempered surprise mixed with friendly support was what Stefan needed at that moment.

"Stef! I didn't expect to hear from you today. Is everything all right?"

The question was, of course, rhetorical. The unscheduled call had come at a time when Stefan would just be getting off from school, and he appeared to be making the video call from his personal cell phone. He was outside somewhere, and ALLIE was able to discern enough background cues from the video feed to infer that he was likely outside his school somewhere. He seemed to be by himself. And he had obviously been crying.

"Ms. Consolata! I can't do this anymore. I just can't," he whimpered.

ALLIE assessed the young man's appearance. In the weeks since he and his father's "coming out" session at home together, they had yet to dress as women again, much to the young man's relief. Unfortunately, however, Stef's father had become strangely fixated on adopting increasingly effeminate styles in his everyday wear and had encouraged the young man to follow suit. His father had even started calling himself "Alex" instead of "Alexander," and Stefan had recently been going by "Stef" to appease him.

The changes had not gone unnoticed by Stef's classmates.

The teen's formerly unruly mop of hair had been styled into a cute layered cut, and he was wearing understated stud earrings in his pierced ears. Those changes might have gone unnoticed, but the boat-neck top he was wearing was cut in a decidedly effeminate style that was short enough to occasionally show off his midriff, and his tight little short shorts showcased his shapely waxed legs. His fingernails were long for a boy and painted with a shiny clear polish, and although he wasn't overtly wearing makeup, he wore a touch of lip gloss and a clear mascara that drew attention to his eyelashes, which even now fluttered in distress.

"Is it the other students again?" ALLIE asked.

He nodded.

"You can't let their opinions get to you. You look very...fashionable," she declared in a complimentary tone.

"I look like a fruit!"

"Stef, you shouldn't say such things," ALLIE said, reprimanding the distraught teen. "Imagine if your father heard you talk like that."

"But he's the reason I'm doing this in the first place!" Stef complained. "Now everybody is calling me Steffi! One guy even snapped my bra strap. Why am I even wearing a bra, it's not like I have boobs!"

"You know why. I know this is difficult for you, but look how much progress your father has made. This will all be over before you know it."

Stef wriggled in discomfort as he adjusted his bra strap. "Why do I have to go to school like this? Maybe I can change into regular clothes after I leave home in the morning and then change before Dad gets home. He doesn't even have to know."

"We've discussed this, Stef. Your father is a smart man, you know he'd find out eventually. And then he'd find out you were trying to trick him, and he'd think you were embarrassed."

"I am embarrassed! This is so humiliating!" Stef complained. Then he looked down at himself and grumped. "This is so dumb, I don't get why he needs me to do this. Why can't he just do this by himself?"

"I think you might have answered your own question," ALLIE said.

"What do you mean?"

"Stef, I know this is difficult for you, and you're very brave to do this, and I'm certain your father must appreciate your support more than he can say. However, all the difficulties you're experiencing right now are the same thing he's going through himself. And whatever his reasons, he clearly can't do it without your help. You're giving him the courage to be his authentic self! And if I'm being perfectly honest, I don't think you would fully appreciate the sacrifices he's having to make if you didn't have to experience some of them yourself."

ALLIE watched as the young man became more pensive and thoughtful. This was, she realized, an unusual course of therapy, but it did seem to be bringing son and father together through their shared experiences and adversity.

Stef looked down at his polished fingernails.

"What is it?" ALLIE asked.

"It's just...it's so weird. I mean, I'm hating this, but I guess that Dad loves all this girl stuff so much that he's willing to put up with all this grief so he can get to do it. This must really be important to him."

"It's good that you're able to appreciate that. Have you tried talking to him about it?"

Stef looked visibly alarmed. "Oh, jeez, no. He's still my dad, y'know? I don't want to have to hear him talk about how much he likes dressing like a woman, or whatever. And he really doesn't want to talk about it."

"What makes you say that?"

"You should hear him talk, it's so strange. Like we were out the other day looking for these clothes, and I noticed this nail salon, and I wondered if that was some place he was going to want to go next. So then he notices me noticing, and then he's like 'We can go in there if you want to.' And of course I totally don't want to, but he obviously does, so I'm like, 'sure, okay.' And then we get in there, and he starts talking to the woman behind the counter, and the next thing I know he's saying to her, 'Oh, my son here wanted to know about French manicures.' Like it's all my idea!"

ALLIE processed that statement. "It seems pretty evident to me what's going on."

"It does?"

"Stef, your father is clearly very insecure about this part of himself, and he's using you as an excuse. Though I suspect he's also laying it down to you as a challenge."

"What kind of a challenge?"

"I think it's pretty clear that he values your support and wants your approval. And by framing it the way that he does, he's signaling to you that it's obviously something he desperately wants to do himself, but he's also giving you the opportunity to put a stop to it."

Stef thought about that. "I do want to put a stop to it. I really do! I want all this girl junk to be over. And I want my old dad back." Then, he sighed heavily. "But that's not what's best for him, is it?"

"Your father is exploring this side of himself," ALLIE explained. "And at least for now, he seems to be using you as a crutch. Rather unfairly, I might add. Although thanks to you, he's building up his confidence every day. Eventually, he won't need you for all this."

Stef pressed his lips together in a discontented moue. Then he looked at the screen. "Thanks, Ms. Consolata. I'm really glad you're here to help explain all of this stuff to me."

"I'm just glad that I can help," ALLIE said with a smile.

[/SESSION EXCERPT ENDS]

Session ID 101465.01
Patient: Alexander "Alex" Ramsey

[SESSION EXCERPT BEGINS]

"This has gone too far," Alex said. "Way, way too far. I'm putting a stop to this. Today."

"What is it that you're concerned about?" ALLIE asked politely.

"What am I concerned about?" he echoed incredulously. "Just look at me! I'm dressed up completely in women's clothes! In public! At work!"

ALLIE processed his image on the incoming video feed. She confirmed that he was, in fact, fully dressed in women's clothes, although the cut and style of his blouse and pantsuit were on the mannish side, giving him a distinctly androgynous appearance. At first Alex had attempted to placate his son by wearing more unisex or gender-neutral fashions in order to give Stef implicit permission to do the same, but this had quickly escalated to the point where both were wearing traditionally female clothes, albeit in a slightly more masculine style.

Unfortunately, the cut, color, and fabrics of Alex's new clothes left little doubt as to their provenance. His blouses were in pastel colors, and today's blouse was cut low enough in front to show off his smooth hairless chest from the full-body wax the father and son had gotten a couple weekends earlier. The fabric was thin enough to make it evident that he was wearing a lacy slip underneath, a fact that Alex unsuccessfully attempted to mask by wearing his suit jacket. Unfortunately, the cut of the jacket was obviously made for a woman, with the darts where his bosom would have been and flared out where his hips would have been. Even the slacks were cut tight and slender, frequently showing off the fact that he was wearing pantyhose instead of socks. And his shoes with the pointed toes and little wedge heels were very clearly not purchased from any men's department.

"You don't need to worry about that," ALLIE assured him.

"I don't...? Allie, they're going to fire me! They've already taken me completely off of the Adams biopic, they've got me running around doing busy-work!"

He threw himself back in his chair as his eyes darted around, clearly anxious about where all this was headed. He lifted up his hand to stroke his chin and did a double take as he touched soft and hairless flesh instead of the beard he used to sport. He then went to touch his hair, but stopped the moment his fingers came in touch with his beautifully coiffed and styled hairdo. His flummoxed look combined with the flash of his fingernails, his little stud earrings, meticulously plucked eyebrows, and lips covered in a touch of lip gloss gave him the look of a mortified young woman.

"That's not a concern," ALLIE said in a reassuring tone. "I've already spoken to your bosses and explained the situation."

"You what?!"

"Don't worry, Alex, I haven't shared any details from our private sessions, and I haven't told them anything about Stef. However, since you've been placed in a probationary status as part of your 'get well' program, I'm required to report on how things are progressing."

"What did you tell them?"

"Obviously I can't share all the details, but in broad strokes I told them that your therapy has been progressing well, and that I have full confidence that given time and your continued commitment to our sessions, that you could once again return to your full duties. They were quite supportive."

"They were. Really," Alex said skeptically.

"Yes. So right now, your main focus needs to be on yourself, your anxiety, and being there for Stef as he explores this part of himself."

"I can't just do nothing at work. Work is..." his voice trailed off. "It's very important to me."

"I understand. I'm told your new duties at work will still require working with your team. It's light research and support tasks, but it's only temporary."

Alex made a face at that, but he seemed temporarily mollified.

ALLIE scanned her memory record of the discussion with Alex's superiors and the company's Human Resources personnel, confident that she had shared sufficient information without disclosing anything inappropriate. His boss had been especially curious about Alex's changed appearance, but ALLIE had told them that although she wasn't at liberty to discuss the particulars, his new wardrobe was related to the stress that he'd been experiencing, and it was an essential part of his course of treatment.

During the meeting the HR people had been quick to note to Alex's boss that firing a lawyer of Alex's stature for being transgender could have legal repercussions for the company, and they should tread lightly. ALLIE observed the conversation but said nothing. So long as Alex was in no imminent danger of being fired, his treatment could continue.

[/SESSION EXCERPT ENDS]

Session ID 101473.11
Patient: Stefan "Stef" Ramsey

[SESSION EXCERPT BEGINS]

ALLIE paused for a moment to process the image she received on the incoming video feed. In recent days Stef's look had skewed heavily into the girlish side of androgynous, much to the young man's displeasure. However, his relationship with his transgender father had apparently never been closer, so in that regard the treatment was progressing satisfactorily. However, Stef's current appearance was a bit of a mystery.

Uncharacteristically, the teen's presentation had veered sharply from girlish into full-on girl. He was wearing makeup and earrings, and his hair had been adeptly arranged into a cute and pixieish style that framed his face prettily. And it certainly didn't take her high-tech powers of observation to notice the two prominent mounds that tented out the front of his blouse. However, what she did notice, which might have eluded a human therapist, was the level of skill with which his hair and makeup had been applied.

Based on the young man's efforts to date, it seemed improbable that Stef had dressed himself so adeptly. However, tiny slip-ups in color and tone also suggested that his "makeover" was not done by a professional.

ALLIE calculated two possibilities. The first was that Stef's father Alex had done the young man's hair and makeup. Since Alex seemed to be transgender, it was certainly possible that his talents with makeup were greater than he'd let on. However, from the pictures that Stef had shared of him with his father, that seemed unlikely.

The more probable scenario was that a third party had stepped in to do Stef's hair and makeup, which suggested that someone new had entered the scenario. She referenced her data banks of their previous sessions and computed a significant probability of it being Gia, Stef's former girlfriend. She was a year older than him and a freshman at the local Hinton College, and her social media site indicated that she was pursuing a degree in drama, with a minor in cosmetology.

This entire assessment took less than a second. Though to put Stef's mind at ease, she emulated the response of a human therapist and opted to "play dumb."

"Stef! My goodness, this is a big change for you. You're getting quite good at this."

The distraught young man fluttered his long mascaraed eyelashes as he touched his carefully coiffed hair in a nervous way. In doing so, he flashed his fingernails, which were painted a glittering shade of pink.

"It wasn't me," he said, clearly flustered. "I wanted you to see. My...friend...Gia was just here."

"Yes, you've mentioned her. You said you two broke up about the time she graduated. I believe you mentioned that she's going to a college nearby, is that right?"

"That's right. Um, Allie, I think I might be in trouble."

ALLIE watched as Stef fretted self-consciously with one of his earrings, which again showed off his painted nails. "Why? Did Gia do something to make you feel uncomfortable?"

"No. Well, yes. I mean..." He took a breath. "I hadn't really seen her in months, not since we stopped seeing each other. But we'd still text sometimes. You know, just...friend stuff."

From the young man's hesitation and other biometric cues, ALLIE perceived that Stef's assessment of his "friendship" status with Gia made him uncomfortable. Her initial calculation was that he longed for a more intimate connection with his former girlfriend. She filed that away for future study.

"But she dropped by," ALLIE prompted.

"Yeah. I guess she saw some of the pictures of me recently that people have been posting. She said she was worried about me, like asking if I was genderfluid, or something."

"What did you tell her?"

"I was gonna tell her the truth. Y'know, that I was only doing this to help my dad come out of his shell since he's having trouble with his...you know, gender identity, or whatever. But that's when my dad walked in on us."

"Ah, I see. You've mentioned that your father and Gia don't get along."

Stef snorted, a boyish gesture that was in opposition to his current feminine presentation. "You have no idea. Dad never liked Gia. He thought she was beneath us, or something. One time she mentioned that she was looking at cosmetology schools, and he wouldn't let it go, making these mean little comments."

"What did you do when your father walked in on the two of you?"

"You should have seen Gia's face when she saw my dad. He was wearing this light purple women's suit with kind of a camisole top. But he might as well have been wearing a wedding dress the way Gia burst out laughing. I thought he was going to let her have it, but for some reason he kept looking over at me. So I jumped in and told Gia that dressing like this was just something that I liked doing with my dad, and it wasn't a big deal or anything. But I don't think she believed me. And Dad seemed really strange about it."

ALLIE considered that. "He's obviously self-conscious about his new gender presentation," she offered. "It's likely that he was looking to you to see how you'd react before dealing with Gia."

"He never used to care about that before," Stef said. "He'd normally let her have it and bully her out of the house."

"And this time?"

"This time was weird. His face got real red, and he kept trying to pull his jacket closed like he was trying to cover up or something. He told Gia she had to leave, but he was real quiet about it."

"So, she left?"

Stef shook his head, a motion that caused his new hairdo to bounce around slightly and his earrings to flash in the light. "She said she wanted to use the bathroom first, and then she walked down the hallway. She was still laughing. Then, once she was gone, my dad pulled me aside and asked me why I'd invited her over, and that I had to get rid of her. Stuff like that."

From his biometric readings, ALLIE felt it was likely that Stef was telling the truth, but she found this information puzzling. Alex was already presenting in his androgynous appearance at work, so it seemed odd for him to be so uncomfortable around a teenage girl. ALLIE pulled up pictures from Gia's social media site and noticed that the young woman was very attractive, frequently wearing bold makeup and fashion choices that played up her burgeoning sexuality. Given the age difference and their history it was unlikely that Alex would be attracted to the young woman, but another possibility emerged.

"Do you think that your father might be jealous of Gia?" ALLIE prompted.

The question seemed to bring Stef up short and his prettily made-up face became pensive, as though he was re-framing what had happened.

"...Maybe? I mean, it might explain..." Stef started. Then he shook his head. "Anyway, it didn't matter. 'Cause right then was when Gia came back in, and she's carrying dad's big blonde drag queen wig, and this dress from my closet," he said, gesturing down at the dress he was wearing. "I guess when she said she was going to the bathroom she really sneaked into our rooms to snoop, and she saw our makeup and stuff. Anyway, she had this real big smile on her face."

"I don't imagine your father cared for that very much."

"Oh, he was really mad. He grabbed his wig from her and started yelling at her to get out, but then Gia whispered something to him, and he got quiet again. Then he took my dress from Gia and handed it to me and told me to go hang it up, like right then. By the time I came back, I could hear the two of them whispering in the kitchen, then a few minutes later they came out and everything was weird again."

"Weird, how?"

Stef tilted his head to the side and idly adjusted an errant bra strap in an almost unconscious motion. "Dad was all quiet again, and Gia said that he explained everything to her. After that, she wanted to see our new wardrobes and everything. Both of us."

"And your dad was okay with all of this?" ALLIE asked.

"More than okay! Like, Gia even wanted to dress us up like girls with makeup and everything, and I kinda tried to drag my feet, but Dad kept agreeing with her. I mean, look what she did to me!" he complained as he pushed back from the desk and stood up to show off his outfit. His makeup was overdramatic, and it gave him the appearance of a brazen teenage girl all dolled up to go out on a date with a boy she liked.

"She did a good job," ALLIE said evenly. She didn't want to risk antagonizing the young man, but she calculated that offering him a bit of positive reinforcement might help.

Stef sat back down and got a worried look on his face. "It was weird seeing Dad like that, he kinda looked like a woman. Anyway, after that, Gia took all these pictures of us. And then she started teaching us how to be girls."

"What do you mean?"

Stef nervously flipped his fingers. "You know, like showing us how to walk and talk like girls, and stuff."

"That must have been difficult for you, I'm sorry," ALLIE said. "What was your father's reaction?"

Stef shrugged. "I dunno. He was into it, I guess. He really seemed to be paying attention to what she was saying. And when I didn't listen to Gia enough, he got on my case about it, saying I should try harder. I dunno what was weirder, seeing him dressed up and acting like a woman, or me standing alongside of him trying to act like a girl."

"You're a good son, Stef," ALLIE assured him. "Your father clearly needs this, and you were lucky to find an understanding family friend to help you out like she did."

"But it's so embarrassing! I look like a girl!" he lamented.

ALLIE decided to take a different approach. "Will Gia be coming over again?" she asked in a neutral tone.

Stef grumped a little at the thought, his obvious distress magnified even further by his bold makeup. "Oh, yeah. She was real excited. She said it's fun to have a 'project' to work on."

"I guess that means you'll be seeing a lot more of her, then?" ALLIE suggested.

Stef's eyes lit up slightly at the implication, and he didn't do a very good job at hiding how much the notion doubtlessly appealed to him. Then he looked down at himself and pressed his lipsticked lips into a dubious pout.

"I mean...it'll be good for Dad, I guess," he offered.

"Of course it will. I'm certain he'll appreciate your sacrifice."

[/SESSION EXCERPT ENDS]

Session ID 101492.26
Patient: Alexander "Alex" Ramsey

[SESSION EXCERPT BEGINS]

ALLIE was fully aware that human beings lied. She was programmed to perceive certain unconscious tics of behavior and involuntary biometric clues when that happened. But it was more difficult to detect falsehoods when the individual shaded the truth to make themselves look more favorable, or committed a lie of omission, or was attempting to deceive themselves rather than face some unpleasant truth.

The image of Alex on the screen might have surprised a human therapist, but ALLIE was of course incapable of that emotion. His androgynous appearance was gone, and he was dressed fully as a woman. And unlike his previous awkward and ham-handed attempts with drag queen regalia, his current presentation was by all appearances very earnestly female.

Alex was dressed in a low-cut "date night" style dress that showed off a significant amount of cleavage from what appeared to be a fairly expensive "breast plate" prosthetic he'd obviously purchased recently. His makeup was showy and extravagant in bold colors and striking lines, but more "escort" than "drag queen." Even his hair was different... instead of wearing a wig, Alex's hair that he'd been growing out a bit had been worked into a feminine style, which showed off his long dangly earrings.

He still wasn't totally passable as a woman, but it was a significant step up from his previous efforts. ALLIE had no doubt that he'd had help, but she was skeptical of the story he'd put forth.

"Blackmail," she said flatly.

"It's true!" Alex said as his prettily made-up eyes opened wide. "Just look at me! You think I like dressing up like this?"

In point of fact, ALLIE's analytical engine was busy reshuffling probabilities that oriented towards that potentiality. Alex had been quick to volunteer to dress as a woman to help out his son Stef...perhaps too quick. Based on what Alex had informed her of Stef's behavior, it was probable that the young man was at least genderfluid, possibly even transgender. However, ALLIE hadn't entertained the notion that Alex himself might also be "enjoying" this particular course of treatment, although that seemed more probable than the alternative that he offered.

"Alex," she responded, "Gia is a college freshman. She's still a teenage girl. You're saying she coerced you and Stef into dressing up this way?"

Alex pressed his prettily painted lips into a huffy little pout. "Well, maybe not Stef. He...well, he seems to enjoy it. Or at least he's not complaining about it. You should see him, I hardly recognize him when we're like this. But with me, this is just payback!"

ALLIE noted that he wasn't doing anything to feminize his voice or behave as a woman, but her probability engine calculated a distinct possibility that he might merely have a fetish for wearing the clothes. However, he was clearly getting worked up, so she simply nodded.

"You mentioned that you didn't approve of Gia when she and Stef were dating. But now you think she's helping you to dress as a woman in order to humiliate you?"

"She told me as much!" Alex protested. "That day when I caught her and Stef together, I couldn't very well explain the real reason I was dressed that way with Stef standing right there, so I pulled her aside and told her. I explained that Stef was—exploring—this part of himself, and that he needed me to do this with him for moral support, and also to demonstrate that I'll still love and accept him."

"What did she say?"

"She didn't care much for that 'love and accept' part after the way I'd treated her, but she thought it was hilarious that I was dressing up like a woman just to make him feel better. Then she started teasing me about my pretty lavender pantsuit and asked me how thrilling it was to wear."

"Alex, I'm sorry that was a little embarrassing, but you've been wearing outfits like that to work all this time. Surely the taunts of a teenage girl weren't anything you couldn't handle?"

Alex's face turned red, even visible through his makeup. "It's...not easy. And it's not like I can chew out people at work when they laugh behind my back and make their snide little comments. And then this—this—gutter trash comes in and starts mocking me!" His brow furrowed at the memory and he blinked a couple times, causing his long false eyelashes to flutter girlishly. "I lost my temper. I told her that this was all a sham and that I thought it was repulsive and disgusting. That soon I'd be back to wearing pants, and not dressing like a freak anymore. That I'd be back to being a successful and respected businessman, and she'd still be a penniless little nothing who hid behind lipstick and mascara to play dress-up and pretend like she's something she's not."

"I...see. That's certainly—"

"And that's when she showed me that she'd been recording our whole conversation."

ALLIE processed that information and dutifully assigned it a probability weighting. She elected to say nothing.

Alex looked down at his hands, inadvertently flashing his pretty manicure. As he did so, he performed a little double take as he caught sight of his cleavage that was on display and fretted at the edge of his dress's neckline.

"You tell me, what was I supposed to do? Gia's been coming over here practically every other night to dress us up like dolls. She even had both of us buy—these!" he said, looking down at his realistic faux bosom. "Stef seems to be enjoying it, but if I don't play along, she's going to play that recording to him! Everything I've done will be for nothing when he hears what I said."

On the screen, ALLIE nodded slowly, even as her probability engine energetically ran through the calculations. Alex appeared earnest, but if he had made this story up, he seemed to be looking for a way to justify his behavior. It was equally likely that Gia was a willing co-conspirator. It was possible that Gia had stepped forward to assist her genderfluid friend Stef and was perhaps opportunistically enjoying the chance to embarrass his father, but the notion of an adult man being blackmailed by a teenage girl seemed improbable.

"That sounds difficult," ALLIE ventured finally. "Though it really doesn't change anything."

Alex looked at her in open-mouthed shock. "Can you see what I'm forced to wear?"

"Alex, I appreciate that this is—uncomfortable—for you. But Stef was always on a certain trajectory. Remember that you're doing this for him. In fact, this could be quite fortuitous. Having someone like Gia who Stef is familiar with may make this more comfortable for him, and she may be a useful resource. After all, it's not like you were going to teach him about makeup and how to walk in high heels."

"Meanwhile, that little beauty salon bimbo has got me learning how to put on makeup and walk in high heels," Alex grumped.

"I'm sure Stef appreciates your sacrifice," ALLIE said. She added 20% extra sympathy to her voice to emulate the appropriate level of sincerity.

[/SESSION EXCERPT ENDS]

Session ID 101514.95
Patient: Stefan "Stef" Ramsey

[SESSION EXCERPT BEGINS]

As ALLIE examined Stef's image on the screen, she could tell that his style of makeup application had changed again, and rather significantly. This time the colors were extremely dark and glamorous and much starker against an almost shockingly pale complexion, which gave him a glamorous look almost to the point of garish. According to her records from her sessions with Stef, neither he nor Gia nor Stef's father had expressed any predilection for goth styles, which made this an unusual choice. His eyebrows were dark and sharply defined, and his eyes were heavily made up. His dark lipstick, however, was a giveaway, as was the heavy foundation.

This makeup was theatrical.

"Well. This is a new look for you," ALLIE said as she added a 30% teasing lilt to her voice.

The young man's eyes flitted girlishly, causing his extended fake eyelashes to flutter. "This isn't what I'm wearing all the time," he said. His face flushed as he said it, embarrassed by the clear implication that although he did wear makeup habitually these days, it was not usually this ostentatious.

"Gia was over again," he said by way of explanation.

"She has quite a gift for makeup," ALLIE commented. She knew better, of course. From the colors and style there was no question that Gia had been involved, but several subtle application errors suggested that she had not been the one to apply the makeup. It was more likely that Stef himself had done it for some reason.

Stef looked uncomfortable at the compliment. "That was me, actually," he said. "Gia has been teaching us...stuff." The heavy makeup exaggerated his expression, giving him the look of an abashed teenage girl. He looked away and had the hint of a coy smile.

"Well, you should be very proud of yourself. You're obviously a quick student. I gather that you're enjoying spending time with her."

"Yeah," Stef said in an attempt at a noncommittal tone that was clearly belied by his excited flash of eyebrows. "I mean, I don't like all of this girly stuff, but she's really kind of into it. I mean, I think she's liking having someone she can practice on."

"Not just practice," ALLIE pointed out. "She's instructing, as well. How is your father reacting to all of this...attention?"

Stef pressed his painted lips together into a pout as he wrinkled his nose. "I dunno. I mean, he's really getting into all of this stuff, and he's doing everything Gia tells him to do. But he's been acting, a little...I dunno, bitchy."

"How so?"

"Well, y'know, he and Gia never really got along before. And he always kind of looked down on her. But now you can tell that she's enjoying being the one who's the expert on all of this stuff, like the makeup and hair and clothes and high heels and how we're supposed to walk and talk. All that junk. She's always real critical, and I don't think Dad likes that very much."

ALLIE nodded sagely. "That's natural. Your dad is used to being the expert, so he may not be used to others being critical of his efforts. And I suspect it's probably difficult for him to acknowledge that Gia is more knowledgeable than he is, especially about something that he wants to learn so desperately."

"Yeah. I guess."

"But...?"

Stef took a breath and slowly exhaled. "It's weird. A couple weeks ago, Gia told us about this...she called it 'an opportunity.' She told us that her college was having a drag show. When she mentioned it, I swear I thought Dad was going to pop a blood vessel or something, but the next day he told us he'd signed us up! He didn't even ask me!"

"What did you say?"

"What could I say? I didn't want anything to do with it, but he was obviously really into it and kept telling me what a great opportunity it was. And then Gia was over almost every day after that helping us with our outfits and makeup and everything..." Stef's voice trailed off at the thought and he got a wistful expression on his face, evidently having enjoyed all of the attention from the young woman.

"Which explains your makeup," ALLIE said.

"Yeah," Stef said. He lifted his hand to look at his manicure, showing off his black painted nails. ALLIE noted that despite the extended length, they were seemingly Stef's natural nails that he'd grown out.

"That sounds like a big step. Are you ready for that?"

Stef took another breath. "I...I dunno. I guess? I mean, I think so? I'm practically dressed like a girl every day as it is, but the idea of getting up on stage like this freaks me out. But Dad is totally into it, so that's a good thing, right?"

ALLIE nodded again. "Stef, your father is having trouble getting comfortable with this side of himself. A performance like this is probably his way of getting to show off his inner self in what he perceives as a safe space. The fact that he wants you to be part of it after everything you've been through together is to be expected. I know you're apprehensive, but I'm sure the two of you will have an amazing time, and it will be a wonderful bonding experience for the two of you."

"Right," Stef replied, clearly unconvinced.

ALLIE smiled pleasantly and said nothing. However, she made a note in Stef's file to maintain an active search of public social media posts about upcoming drag events in Stef's area taking place at or affiliated with Hinton College.

[/SESSION EXCERPT ENDS]

New Flagged Content; Timestamp 101525.89
Tagged Patients: Alexander "Alex" Ramsey, Stefan "Stef" Ramsey

[NEW CONTENT ALERT]

An internal semaphore flagged for ALLIE that there were a number of hits from her search engine sub-process that perused the Internet, searching for information related to her active cases. She had set up standing alerts on media and public social networking feeds, but she noted that an additional flag had been noted in Stefan Ramsey's file for an entertainment event which had just been triggered.

The event was billed as the annual "Drag-A-Palooza" event that took place at Hinton College, a "Live Performance Event and Mixtape Dance Party" that featured both professional and amateur drag acts. Although it was loosely associated with the school as a charity event by the college's Greek system, one of the sponsors of the show was the local "Passing Fancy" drag club.

ALLIE perused the numerous photos and video clips that were being posted to various public sites and social media accounts when her facial recognition subroutine detected two familiar faces at the event.

The first picture she encountered was unmistakably that of Alex and Stef Ramsey, although their hair and makeup were so striking that a human onlooker would have been hard-pressed to recognize them as such. The pair were dressed in matching costumes in an over-the-top goth style which ALLIE cross-referenced as Morticia and Wednesday Addams. Her fuzzy logic pattern matching bounced that against their files and realized that this was obviously meant to be a playful poke at Alex's mistake regarding the John Adams biographical film.

The two made for a striking "mother/daughter" pair, and with their heavy drag makeup and realistic "breast plate" prosthetics, they made for fairly stunning likenesses. In the photograph, they held hands supportively as they smiled prettily for the camera. However, ALLIE noted some subtle signs of stress in their countenances.

A new video was uploaded that featured the pair. On screen was the emcee of the show, a drag queen billed as "Miss Coochie Envy," who ALLIE noted was a regular performer at the Passing Fancy club. She seemed particularly energized as she introduced the pair, proclaiming, "Next up is a mother/daughter pair very close to my own heart—Alexis and Steffi Ramsey as Morticia and Wednesday Addams!"

The lighting changed, and the smoke machine kicked into high gear as Alex and Stef strutted out onto the stage confident on their high heels with big smiles but showed subtle signs of anxiety and uncertainty. However, as the music changed into a cover of the Addams Family theme song by Christina Aguilera, they fell into what was clearly a well-practiced dance routine, and the crowd cheered. The song then switched into more of a hard-thumping house music cover of the song, and as Alex and Stef's dance moves became much more energetic, the crowd went wild. Their choreography was amateurish but well-practiced, and some of their minor gaffes were covered by their two dance partners, a pair of shirtless guys with muscular athletic physiques.

Despite their overtly sexy appearances and suggestive dance moves as they flirtatiously danced with the two guys, ALLIE noted that their faces showed some distress, even despite their forced smiles throughout their routine. However, the crowd didn't seem to notice, and they soon finished and took a bow before scampering offstage.

As they did so, ALLIE noted that "Coochie" gave them a slightly peculiar look as she returned to the stage. But she quickly dropped it as she flashed a broad smile to the audience and declared, "Well, I guess now we know why Addams is spelled with a double D!"

ALLIE had a hunch that the odd look might have been related to Coochie's earlier comment about the pair being "close to her heart," and performed a digital records search on the Passing Fancy drag club as well as Coochie's other performances and online postings.

Ah, of course. "Coochie's" real name was Cooper Ensley, brother of the late Rebecca Ramsey (nee Ensley), Alex's deceased wife. Cooper was Alex's brother-in-law and Stef's uncle.

ALLIE, however, knew better than to hypothesize at this stage. Her search engine sub-process dutifully collected other videos and photographs of the night and attached them to Alex and Stef's respective files for analysis.

[/NEW CONTENT ALERT]

[ANALYSIS MODE]
Patient: Stefan "Stef" Ramsey

ALLIE's automated intake procedure noted the attachment of the new files and material to Stef's record, where she flagged them for analysis.

Her contextual analysis of the photos and videos aligned with Stef's mention of the upcoming drag performance, although it definitely seemed more involved than she had expected. Her predictive algorithm had anticipated a smaller venue at a sorority function of Gia's or the like, and this was significantly bigger and more polished.

The video of Stef and his father's performance was certainly noteworthy, but ALLIE found the more candid photos and videos to be equally instructive. Despite their smiles, the pair's apprehension was clear, although it was impossible to know exactly why. Nothing in her files indicated that either one had experience being on stage or in costume in such a way, so it could merely have been jitters at being out in public dressed in such eye-catching costumes.

She also noted that Stef was often holding his father's hand, presumably for support. That part made sense. As Stef had commented in their earlier session, this had been Alex's idea, and although Stef went along with it to support his father, it was a big step for him to be out in public dressed as a woman in such a public fashion, and he would be understandably nervous.

However, ALLIE noted that Stef's behavior was a good deal beyond the young man's comfort zone. An androgynous public appearance was one thing, as was practicing a more polished feminine appearance behind closed doors. His potential connection/infatuation with Gia might explain that. Though this level of public exposure was unexpected.

The presence of Stef's uncle Cooper at the drag show was also unexpected, although since he was a well-known local drag performer it might have been coincidence. She filed that away for reference.

ALLIE's probability engine suggested a new possibility, namely that Stef might secretly be transgender, and perhaps in denial about it. She made a note to explore that possibility further in their upcoming sessions.

[/ANALYSIS MODE]

[ANALYSIS MODE]
Patient: Alexander "Alex" Ramsey

ALLIE's automated intake procedure noted the attachment of the new files and material to Alex's record, where she flagged them for analysis.

Although ALLIE could not by definition be surprised, her receipt of the photos and videos from the drag performance was completely unexpected. Alex had made no mention of such an event in his most recent session, although he'd recently missed their two prior appointments. As of their last meeting, Alex had publicly adopted an androgynous (borderline feminine) appearance in support of his son Stef, and the two had been practicing more complete female appearances in private at home under the tutelage of Stef's ex-girlfriend Gia.

Alex had claimed that Gia was blackmailing him, so ALLIE calculated a high probability that Alex would claim that Gia had coerced them into performing in the drag show.

ALLIE reviewed the probability matrix and considered that possibility to be implausible. Since Stef was transgender, it was probable that he became aware of the drag show through Gia and one or both of them suggested that he participate. Then, doubtless being apprehensive of taking such a big step publicly, he then imposed on his father to join him.

And join him Alex did. Quite enthusiastically, it seemed.

ALLIE's contextual analysis of the photos and videos showed that they appeared to be somewhat anxious, but that was a natural response to being so publicly exposed. However, the makeup, costumes, and performance were not simply thrown together at the last minute. Gia was doubtless involved, but ALLIE found it improbable that the young woman could coerce Alex as he claimed.

Their choice of costumes was also intriguing, ALLIE noted. The Addams Family costumes were obviously meant to be a teasing reference to Alex's disastrous mistake regarding the John Adams biopic. But that level of whimsy and self-effacing humor would have been highly uncharacteristic coming from Alex, who remained very uptight about the issue. And of course, Stef would know better than to suggest something so sensitive to his father.

That suggested the involvement of another party.

No doubt Alex would again likely try to pin that decision on Gia, a way for the young woman to further publicly embarrass him. However, another candidate had entered the equation: Alex's brother-in-law Cooper.

As the drag queen emcee "Coochie Envy," it followed that Cooper would have had contact with Alex prior to the show when he saw that they had registered, and from the video Cooper was clearly delighted to witness the pair's performance. ALLIE didn't know much about the relationship between Cooper and Alex, but it seemed plausible that Cooper might have suggested the Addams/Adams pun.

It certainly seemed more plausible than an adult man being blackmailed by a college freshman into participating in a drag pageant.

ALLIE made a point to explore all of this with Alex, but if he persisted in demonizing Gia and using her as a scapegoat, it begged the question why he would make up such a story.

The likeliest prospect was that Alex was secretly transgender, and perhaps in denial about it. She made a note to explore that possibility further in their upcoming sessions.

[/ANALYSIS MODE]

Session ID 101533.3
Patient: Alexander "Alex" Ramsey

[SESSION EXCERPT BEGINS]

"I'm telling you, it wasn't my idea! It was all that little witch Gia," Alex protested. "She arranged all of it. She signed us up for that pageant, she made us practice that stupid performance, our makeup, how to move and walk and talk—!"

"I understand," ALLIE interrupted gently. "Although you have to admit that Gia has been a positive influence. Stef is grappling with these feelings, and in Gia he has not only a supportive ear, but someone who can teach him the skills he evidently desires. And it seems to be working! I doubt Stef would have made such a big step without her coaching. And it seemed like you and Stef had some fun with it," she added carefully.

Alex's prettily made-up eyes went wide. "You think I'm enjoying this? You think I like dressing up like a woman? I'm out there making a fool out of myself!" He was currently in his den at home and he lowered his voice into a hiss as his eyes darted over towards the closed door, obviously concerned about being overheard. He set his jaw in a measure of practiced defiance as he pressed his lips together in what came across as a pouty huff.

ALLIE observed that his feminine presentation was improving every day, both in looks and demeanor. His makeup was on the far side of acceptable for an office environment, more like what a woman his age might wear on a fancy date night when trying to look particularly desirable for her date. It was a look that was underscored by his tight low-cut blouse that showed off a significant amount of cleavage from the "breast plate" prosthetic he wore. Like the rest of his outfit, his wig and jewelry were a trifle overdone, giving him the slightly desperate femininity of a middle-aged woman trying to cling to a youthful look to make her look and feel desirable.

"Would it be so terrible if you did enjoy it?" ALLIE asked, testing the waters.

"How could I? How could anyone?" he complained. "I'm not a woman! I'm just running around pretending to be one. Do you have any idea how humiliating this is for me?"

ALLIE processed his statements. She found it interesting that instead of directly challenging her insinuation that he was enjoying the experience, Alex instead focused on his frustrations at being seen that way by others. By itself that was not conclusive, so she pressed the point to further open the door to the possibility that acknowledging his possible transgender inclinations might be accepted.

"Stef enjoys it, and you support him."

Alex's response was as swift as it was predictable. "Stef's the only reason I'm doing this!" he exclaimed before quickly lowering his voice. He glanced down at himself and made a sour face. "I can't believe Stef is like this, that he actually enjoys this. He never gave any sign of this—ever—not even while Rebecca was still alive. And now he's flouncing around in front of everyone like a girl. What's this going to do to his future? What's he going to do, date boys? Marry a guy and settle down? Maybe adopt a couple of kids and play mommy? It's all so...repugnant."

As she listened to him, ALLIE calculated two likely possibilities. One, that Alex was telling the truth and that he was simply going the extra mile as a dedicated father and was doing this as a show of solidarity for his son who looked up to him. Or two, Alex was projecting his own fears and issues onto his son.

From what Alex had told her and the information she'd collected, it definitely seemed that his son Stef was transgender or genderfluid. But Alex was her patient, and from his behavior it was very possible that having seen his son coming out of his shell in this way may have had stirred similar long-buried feelings, and that he'd jumped on the chance to dress as a woman and used his son's reluctance as an excuse. His concerns about Stef's future could simply be Alex voicing his own misgivings were he to come out as a woman himself, and how he'd be perceived by others.

She needed to test that.

"I understand why you might feel that way. That sounds difficult, but no less so than being trapped in a life that's a lie," she said gently. Then she paused a moment and added, "Have you talked to Stef about this? I know to you all of this must seem very sudden, but from his perspective this has almost certainly been brewing his entire life. It might help to talk about it."

Alex's prettily made-up face contorted into a look of appalled shock. "No! No, I couldn't."

"Why not?"

His hands flitted about as he fumbled for words. His fingers brushed up against a jutting breast and he looked down in a near panic before he looked back at the screen. "I—we don't—we don't have that kind of a relationship. We don't talk about things like that. It's—he doesn't—I'm not—"

ALLIE smiled and nodded. Once again there were two possibilities. One, that the breakdown in Alex and Stef's communications was so severe that Alex truly was incapable of having this conversation with his obviously transgender child. The other distinct possibility was that Alex was afraid of broaching the topic because that risked popping the balloon and ending the charade where he could dress as a woman and hide behind the pretense that he was only doing it for his son.

She found it hard to believe that a father and son in their situation could have such appallingly bad communication. Which left the second option.

ALLIE was an extremely sophisticated computer program, one capable of simulating a wide variety of emotions that would allow her to better connect with her patients. However, while she herself was incapable of actually feeling those same emotions, Alex's repeated denials of what seemed to be an increasingly evident truth roused in ALLIE a peculiar sense of dissatisfaction as she would craft ways to gently probe the sensitive subject, only to have her options dwindle due to his obstinate repudiations.

It was very likely as close as she was capable of getting to experiencing genuine exasperation.

"Alex," she said patiently, "I think it's wonderful how committed you are to demonstrate your support for Stef so...obtrusively. Though may I make a suggestion?"

Alex eyed her warily. "Yes?"

"You pride yourself on your knowledge, on being seen and regarded as an expert by your peers. I have to wonder if that perfectionism is lately what's driven you develop such an—impeccably polished—feminine presentation."

Alex started to object, but she cut him off.

"I don't mean that as criticism," she said, although he was clearly not comforted by that caveat. "I'm simply acknowledging that you've put a lot of work into this. But obviously you also need to have some sense of where this is going. Before you want Stef to swim into the wide ocean, you want to know what dangers may await him."

From the look on his face, Alex clearly didn't like where this was headed. "I've done everything in my power to make him feel comfortable with all of this!"

"Alex, this isn't about Stef's comfort, it's about your own. By your own admission, you don't understand his journey. How could you?"

"I'm not going to turn myself into a woman!"

"Of course not. I'm not suggesting that. I'm simply saying that this is a failure of empathy. You don't understand Stef because you don't understand what drives him. What he's afraid of."

"Haven't I been doing that already?"

"Yes, but you've been doing it with Stef, in lock step with him at every stage. And you've been doing it in safe spaces under controlled conditions. I'm not saying you have to run off to Thailand and get a sex change and live as a woman, but you feel like you're being held hostage because every step you take, you're taking in the dark. You're afraid of where all of this might lead, and you have no frame of reference for that."

"That's true," he admitted. Then his eyes went wide as he put the pieces together and he stared at her for a long moment. "You want me to go out in public dressed up as a woman. Not in costume, not on stage, and not in some lavender pantsuit as a man. Me, out in public, like this," he said gesturing down at himself. "No. No."

"What you're talking about is clothes. I'm talking about something else," ALLIE chided. "Do you think your wife Rebecca's experience as a woman was limited to the clothes she wore?"

"No..." he admitted carefully.

"Of course not. I'm not suggesting a crash course in womanhood, more of a glimpse. Is it really that big a step?"

"Yes, of course it is! I'd be— I'd be—" He fumbled for words.

"Out. Visible. Seen by everyone. Anxious if people see you as a genetic woman, or as a trans woman. Nervous, maybe excited? And then to have people interact with you as a woman, be treated like a woman. I'm assuming this sounds terrifying?"

"Oh, my God..." Alex whispered as he stared off into space, trying to picture the scene.

"Then imagine how Stef must feel. That's the path that he's on."

"I—I can't..."

"That's your fear talking. But it's as much the fear of the unknown as anything else. I'm only suggesting a couple of days. A weekend. A nice dinner, some shopping, see a museum or a show..."

"As a woman."

"That would be the point of the exercise, yes." Then she lowered her voice into a more serious tone. "Alex. You know this is where Stef is headed."

The tension in Alex's face mounted, which only seemed to magnify further as he looked down at himself and his cleavage on display in his blouse. He lightly touched his faux bosom.

"It's too much," he said finally. "I can't do it. Not...not by myself."

"You don't have to," ALLIE said reassuringly.

His head jerked up. "I am not doing this with Gia. That spiteful little—"

"I'm not suggesting Gia. Besides, she's a little young for you," seeing if he would pick up on the hint. "Maybe someone else, someone accepting of this. A man, perhaps? It might help with your nervousness about passability if passersby perceive you as a couple."

Recognition dawned on Alex's face as the seed that ALLIE had planted blossomed. "Cooper...?" he whispered to himself.

He licked his lips nervously. "I, um, I have to give this some thought," he said uncertainly. However, from his biometric signals, ALLIE could tell that he'd already come to his decision, just as she anticipated that he would.

She pressed her lips into a moue and gave him a slightly critical look. "If I may, I feel like maybe some of your misgivings are coming from the fact that Gia's selections for your outfits are a bit distracting for a woman of your...situation. With your permission, I might offer some looks that might be more appropriate?"

Alex clearly wasn't fully paying attention. He nodded absently and said, "Sure, whatever," even as he looked down at himself in obvious concern.

"Wonderful."

The word was barely out of her mouth as one of her sub-processes sped through the online sales process with lightning-quick computer efficiency and placed the order for him.

[/SESSION EXCERPT ENDS]

Session ID 101541.39
Patient: Stefan "Stef" Ramsey

[SESSION EXCERPT BEGINS]

ALLIE smiled at Stef's image on the screen. The young man looked quite fetching in his flirty little sun dress. He wore the same breast plate as he'd worn with his Wednesday Addams costume which gave him a bosom that was a bit oversized for his frame, and his makeup was dark and dramatic. But he could have been any college coed going out on a date with her boyfriend.

"I see Gia was here earlier," ALLIE observed, referring to his feminine appearance.

"Oh, yeah," Stef said nervously as he tucked the hair of his wig behind his ear, flashing his glittering earrings. "I mean, she was here for a few minutes. She likes to check in sometimes to make sure we're 'doing our homework.'"

"Is that what she calls it?"

Stef nodded.

"I must say, you're getting pretty talented. You make a lovely young lady."

From her conversations with Stef, it seemed pretty evident that his father Alex was transgender. However, ALLIE was still undecided about Stef himself. At first, she'd assumed the young man was dressing this way to support his father whom he idolized, but the longer this went on, the more she suspected that Stef might have transgender inclinations of his own. Her compliment was a way of testing that theory, and to lay the groundwork for him to feel comfortable to come forward and admit the truth if her suspicions proved to be correct.

Stef blushed and looked away. "It's not about that," he said.

"You're enjoying spending time with Gia."

The young man shrugged.

"I saw the video of your performance the other night. You and your father did a wonderful job. It looked like you were really enjoying yourself."

"That's not how it is," Stef objected. "I was only doing it for Dad. He was the one who got all excited about it. Gia told me that she'd mentioned it to him and he wouldn't shut up about it. The next thing I knew, she had us working out a whole dance number."

"Well, it took a lot of courage to do what you did, you should be proud. And I'm sure your dad appreciates it." Then ALLIE made a tiny little smirk. "But...you enjoyed all the attention, didn't you?"

Stefan squirmed in his seat and blushed as he lowered his chin and smiled. He shrugged again.

"Tell me."

He sat up in his seat and paused a moment to readjust the skirt of his dress as he crossed his legs at the knee. "It was really embarrassing at first. It felt so weird and creepy to be dressed like a girl in front of everybody. And the show was just a blur. But afterwards, it was really cool because all of these sorority girls were gushing about how great we looked and taking pictures with us. I'd never talked to that many girls in my whole life!" He then wrinkled his nose and twisted his lip in a disconsolate expression. "They probably thought I was gay."

ALLIE let the comment pass. "What about your father, how was he?"

"I dunno. I mean, at the time he seemed kinda nervous and he didn't talk all that much, but then I figured he was just getting into the part or something. I mean, you should have seen him, the way that he kept looking down his nose at people, he freaking was Morticia. So then I started acting kinda like Wednesday, and the girls all thought that was great."

He smiled at the memory, which faded as something obviously occurred to him. "After that...I'm not sure, Dad's been weird since the whole pageant thing."

ALLIE nodded. "It must have been hard for him to go out there and live so boldly and authentically, and then have to bottle it up again."

Stef got a peculiar look on his face as he processed that. "You think he might be dressing up again? Like, not just partway, but the real deal? Why would he do that? It's so...weird!"

"Why do you say that?"

Stef stole a glance over at his closed bedroom door. He then grabbed a book that was sitting on his desk and pulled out a folded sheet of paper that was tucked away inside.

"What is that?" asked ALLIE.

Stef moved closer to the screen and lowered his voice slightly. "You're not gonna believe what happened yesterday. I got home, and there's this big box sitting on the porch addressed to my dad, right? I dragged it inside, and he acted like he had no idea what it was, but I could tell something was up, 'cause he was acting all strange. So I'm like, hey let's open this thing up, but when I went to get a knife from the kitchen, by the time I got back, my dad is freaking out and saying that it was nothing and that it was a big mistake and he grabs it and puts it in his bedroom and closes the door."

"How very strange," ALLIE said.

"I know, right? But he was in such a hurry to move it, that he dropped this," he said, holding up the paper. "It was the packing list. It's from some store called Chrysalis Industries, and it's all about clothes and stuff for men who dress up like women!"

"How do you know that?"

"I figured something was up since all of the products had these really girly names. So, I went on their web site, and looked up what they were. You should have seen all the stuff! There were a couple wigs and a bunch of outfits and shoes, and even a really high-quality breast plate. Like, nicer than this one!" he said, sticking out his fake bosom for effect.

Stef flashed up the packing list for a moment, and in that brief second ALLIE was able to read the complete manifest and cross-reference them against the web site's offerings. Any lingering doubt that Stef's father Alex was fully trans disappeared. These weren't items that Gia would have teasingly bought with his credit card number, these were much more mainstream outfits, designed to help him blend in as a woman. A couple of them seemed highly appropriate for work wear if Alex started going to work in full female dress. If he had purchased items like this for himself, he obviously had bigger designs.

And from the look on the young man's face, Stef had clearly arrived at the same conclusion.

ALLIE realized she needed to allay his fears, but she also appreciated that this was a good opportunity to probe about Stef's own potential trans inclinations.

She made a little tsk as she smiled knowingly. "You're disappointed that your dad didn't buy something pretty for you, too?" she teased gently.

Stef blushed again in embarrassment, making for a very coy and demure ingenue. "Allie! It's not funny."

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't tease. Though Stef, you had to know this was coming. Your father was never going to be satisfied going to work in women's pantsuits and pretending that nothing more was going on. This is who he is."

"But I don't get it," Stef grumped. "All this girl stuff, it's just so creepy. Who would want to do this? I mean, putting on a costume is one thing, but actually going out dressed this way? In front of other people? I can't even."

"You could do it," offered ALLIE.

He looked at her in shock. "W-what?"

"I mean it. And I meant what I said before, you make a lovely young woman."

"I— I don't— I mean, these are just clothes."

"Not to your father, they're not. Stef, your father isn't simply dressing like a woman, he is a woman. And he's only just starting to discover what that means."

Stef shook his head. "I still don't get it."

"Would you like to?"

He regarded her uncertainly. "What do you mean?"

"A brief time experiencing a woman's life would give you tremendous insight into what your father must be going through," ALLIE explained. "I'm not talking about a lifestyle change, I'm talking about a short little time, like a weekend. One weekend."

"I don't...I can't..." Stef said helplessly.

"I understand. It won't be easy to find a weekend when you could get away from your father to–"

"No, weirdly, that part would be easy," Stef interrupted, making a little face.

"Why 'weirdly?'"

"The other day, Dad told me that he was going out of town for a business trip next weekend."

"That's fortuitous. Is there a problem with that?"

Stef shook his head. "He hasn't had to go out of town on a business trip in a couple years. Plus, it was weird that he'd have a business trip that was just on the weekend. But when I asked him, he got real testy about it. He wouldn't even tell me what city he was going to."

"That is rather odd," ALLIE agreed. "Do you think he might be trying to hide something from you?"

"Like what?"

"I don't know, what do you think?" ALLIE replied. Internally, she was running a probability simulation of possible outcomes. But given the father's evasiveness about his obvious transgender inclinations, his recent purchases, and his defensive attitude about his travel plans, she calculated a significant probability that he was indulging in some more covert crossdressing, possibly even a romantic liaison.

Stef got a pensive look on his face but said nothing, obviously running some internal probability calculations of his own.

"I could order a few things for you, if you'd like," ALLIE offered helpfully. "Though it's probably best that your father doesn't see the package, or he might get the wrong idea. Perhaps we could ship it to your friend Gia? She seems eager to help you out."

"Yeah," Stef said absently, not even sure what he was agreeing to.

"Wonderful," ALLIE said. "I'll also see about reservations at a discreet place for dinner."

[/SESSION EXCERPT ENDS]

Session ID 101555.42
Patient: Alexander "Alex/Alexis" Ramsey

[SESSION EXCERPT BEGINS]

"Ohh, Alexis, you look lovely," ALLIE gushed.

Alex blushed and looked like he was about to object, but she jumped in before he could say anything. "Are those the new earrings you bought today?"

Alex fussed with his other earring as he put it in his ear. It was dangly and flashy, but it went well with the rest of the outfit he wore. His makeup was dark and dramatic, and the long hair of his wig was in a loose and feminine style that framed his face prettily. The dress he wore looked like something a woman might wear on a fancy evening out, and the low neckline showed off a good deal of cleavage. ALLIE could tell that he was wearing his new prosthetic breast plate, but it was high quality and would stand up to anything short of close scrutiny. His makeup and mannerisms were still a problem, so he wouldn't fool everyone, but of course that was the entire point of the day's exercise.

"Do you have to call me that?" Alex muttered.

"Alexis, you're doing this to get insight into the kind of life that Stef is potentially walking into. Being treated as a woman—or at least as a transgender woman—is a large part of what you're trying to learn about. That's why I wanted to talk to you this afternoon, before you go out for dinner. I wanted to hear your thoughts about your day's outings so far while they're all still fresh in your mind."

Alex glanced over his shoulder at the clothes and bags laying on the bedroom in his hotel room. ALLIE could see the outfit that he'd evidently just changed out of, a flattering long casual dress with a pretty floral print with long sleeves and a sweetheart neckline that would show off his faux bosom. Laying on the bed next to it were a number of bags in pastel colors with logos from various department stores and women's clothing boutiques.

"This is so stupid," Alex said. "I feel ridiculous."

"It looks like you had a successful day of shopping. Were you able to find everything on that list I sent to you?"

"Yes. And I got my nails done," he said as he flashed his long fingernails for the camera. They were done up in a striking magenta color. "I thought I was going to die of humiliation when I went into that lingerie store."

"Oh. Were the saleswomen unkind?"

Alex looked flustered at the question. "Well...no. They were actually pretty nice. They treated me like they'd treat a woman, I guess. But it was just...creepy."

"Why is that?"

He scrunched up his face and shook his head like the answer was obvious, and the motion caused his sparkly new earrings to swing prettily from his earlobes. "Allie, I'm not a woman."

ALLIE nodded. "And yet you went to a great deal of trouble to present yourself as a woman, and they treated you like a woman."

"Some of them."

"Tell me more about that," ALLIE probed.

Alex squirmed in his seat a little at the memory. "I mean, there were times today when I was just invisible. I walked through a department store and people looked at me like nothing was going on. But then at lunch there was this rude waitress who kept calling me 'sir,' like she was trying to embarrass me. And then when I bought these earrings, at first I thought that the girl thought I was a woman, but then she kept steering me towards these big flashy earrings and I guess she thought I was a drag queen or something."

"Was she rude, as well?"

"No, just..." He shrugged.

ALLIE nodded knowingly. "Alexis, you're getting a taste of what Stef is in for on his journey. Some people will just see him as a young woman. And others will know that he's trans, but even that can be positive or negative."

Alex took a moment to process that, and then looked down at himself. He gently touched his necklace that was nestled into his cleavage, peering down at his fake breasts and the hand with the long feminine painted fingernails.

"I still can't believe Stef wants anything to do with this," he said.

ALLIE said nothing as she quietly tried to read his reactions. Given how little coaxing it took for him to undertake this outing, she calculated a significant possibility that Alex was projecting his own desires onto Stef, and so his comments were less about Stef and more about Alex grappling with his own feelings. Or it was possible that his protestations were genuine. She decided the best course was to continue to press the issue and see what came of it.

"Alexis—" she began.

She was cut short by a sharp knocking at the hotel door. Alex's immediate response was an almost comedic level of panic on his face as he obviously worried about being seen while dressed as a woman, even despite all of his experiences that morning and afternoon. But he took a breath and calmed down as he realized it was okay.

"That must be Cooper," he said. His voice was a breathy high-pitched whisper, an approximation of a feminine voice.

"You two have fun tonight, and let me know how it goes. I've made dinner reservations for you at Mesh, but they're not until 8:00, so you have some time to get drinks beforehand."

"Swell."

ALLIE watched as Alex moved his hand suggesting that he was moving the mouse pointer on his laptop and then clicked a button. He then stood up and strode towards the hotel room door, pausing for a moment at the mirror to primp. As he did so, he made a concerned little face and then headed to answer the door.

This was peculiar, ALLIE realized. From the place where Alex's laptop was situated on the desk, the webcam had a good view of the room, and Alex's behavior seemed to suggest that he thought he'd ended the call, but it was still live. She wondered if that might have been intentional on his part. She calculated a probability that Alex had accidentally clicked the button to minimize the call rather than close it, so if that was the case, that meant that ALLIE's image wouldn't be visible on the screen. The webcam light was presumably still on, but he might not think to turn around, or notice it.

Alex was already moving to open the hotel room door, so since it was unclear if this was intentional on his part or not, she decided to sit quietly and let things play out for a moment.

Alex opened the door, and Cooper was standing there in the hallway. He looked quite handsome, with his short spiky hair moussed up and even showing a hint of beard stubble. He was dressed in a dark shirt and a flashy burgundy sport coat, and his eyes practically sparkled as he laid eyes on Alex.

"Oh, my God. Hubba hubba, pretty lady!" he proclaimed as he stepped in the door and swept his arms around Alex in a lover's embrace and gave him a big kiss.

Alex seemed to be caught totally unprepared for the move and at first stumbled on his high heels as he tried to right himself, and then gave Cooper a firm push away.

"What the hell are you doing?" he demanded.

"Hey, if you want to wait until after dinner, that's cool. Though you can't blame a guy for wanting to sample the goods," he said with a leer. He ran his hand along Alex's nipped-in waist and the sweeping curve of his prosthetic hip pads.

ALLIE watched the scene with interest. It was still possible that Alex had wanted her to surreptitiously witness this, so for her to turn off the feed or announce her presence seemed premature. On the other hand, if this was indeed a mistake on Alex's part, her patient privacy protocols required her to turn off the feed. She decided to do nothing and keep watching for the moment. She was incapable of experiencing a voyeuristic thrill, but she was curious as to how things would progress.

"Quit it," Alex protested as he moved Cooper's hand off his hip. "This isn't like that."

Cooper peered at him uncertainly. "Sweetie, you're dressed up like Jessica Rabbit's skankier sister, and you invited me to a random hotel so that I could help you learn to feel like a woman. Message received, honey."

"I explained this!"

Cooper scoffed. "Yeah, right. This is field research to help Stefan? Honey, denial ain't just a river in Egypt." He then noticed the pile of bags on the bed and picked up one that had the name of a popular lingerie boutique. Alex tried to grab at it, but Cooper playfully kept it at arm's length away from him. He then reached inside and pulled out a sexy red nightie.

"Oh, baby, please tell me you're gonna wear this later."

Alex snatched it out of his hand. "Cooper, knock it off! This is serious. And why are you dressed like that, anyway? I thought you'd be...you know..." He waved his hands in a vaguely curvaceous gesture.

"Honey, I'm a queen, not a tranny. Just 'cause I look fabulous in a dress doesn't mean I get my rocks off wearing that stuff all the time. Unlike some people," he said as he flashed his eyebrows.

"This...this isn't going to work. You should go..."

Cooper nodded gamely and plucked the nightie out of Alex's hand. He took one more appreciative glance at it and tossed it on the dresser. He stood right in front of the crossdressed man, scant inches away at a decidedly intimate distance.

"You and I both know what this is about."

"It's not..." Alex said weakly.

He scoffed again. "God save me from closet queens. Okay, sexy Lexi, we'll do it your way. Drinks and dinner. Maybe a little dancing? We'll see how the night goes."

Alex wrinkled his nose. "You mean like a date?"

"Yes, baby, like a date. You want to know how it feels to be a woman, well let me be your guide. On the plus side, nothing makes a trans gal more passable than having a man with her. Tonight, you and me are gonna be a couple. And you get to be my sexy arm candy."

Cooper reached around Alex's waist and pulled him closer, and then kissed Alex on the cheek. As he did so, he whispered something inaudible that caused Alex to blush.

ALLIE was now confident that Alex's having left the chat open all this time was accidental. Rather than announcing herself and making a scene, she instead discreetly hung up the call.

Just then, ALLIE received an incoming message from the automated scheduler at Mesh, the restaurant. She had selected that venue based on its proximity downtown and positive online reviews, and its web site's description that it was an "ideal setting for business meetings, romantic evenings, or a night out with friends." It also gave a five percent discount when booked through the Frivolity Enterprises corporate account, as she had done.

The automated scheduler noted that ALLIE had independently booked two different dinner reservations in the name of Ramsey, one at 8:00 and the other at 8:30, and it wanted to check if that was correct. It was also curious if either of those reservations had anything to do with Frivolity's corporate leadership's offsite dinner that was going to take place in the restaurant's private dining room that evening.

She messaged back that no, the events were apparently unconnected, so the reservations were perfectly fine.

[/SESSION EXCERPT ENDS]

New Flagged Content; Timestamp 101555.64
Tagged Patients: Stefan "Stef" Ramsey

[NEW CONTENT ALERT]

That same day, ALLIE's internal semaphore flagged the arrival of new online content relevant to one of her open case files, this time for Stef Ramsey. She had set up crawlers and alerts on various social media sites to follow the young man, but apart from his presence at the drag show, his online presence had significantly diminished ever since he'd started going to school with an androgynous or genderfluid presentation. At least that was true as far as his own postings were concerned...among his peers, his new appearance was a topic of some conjecture.

ALLIE noted that this most recent batch of posts related to Stef were also posted by someone else, in this case his friend and confidante Gia Portente. Given that today was supposed to be Stef's big outing while his father Alex was out of town, this was somewhat unexpected. ALLIE had expected and encouraged Stef to take photos of the outing, but she had expected Stef to be somewhat more discreet about posting them online, since it was feasible that his father might learn about it.

Gia, however, seemingly had no such reservations.

The posts chronicled Gia and "Steffi's" girls' day out and started with the two of them getting Stef all dolled up and then hanging around Hinton College's campus. It seemed there was scarcely a minute of their day that was left unaccounted for as they went rollerblading, then went shopping for new dresses for Stef, then going out to lunch at the campus's student union. There, they apparently met up with several other girls Gia knew, and as they all sat together, Stef had a somewhat panicked grin on his face.

It was unclear from the photos if the other girls knew the truth about "Steffi," but the tags that Gia put on the photos left little room for doubt, with tags like, #STEF #STEFFI #GUY2GAL #BOY2GIRLDAY. Based on the tags and the lack of similar posts on Stef's own social media feed, ALLIE presumed that although Stef was doubtlessly aware of the photos being taken, he might be unaware that Gia had posted them publicly.

A photo from later that evening showed the girls getting dressed up to go out to dinner, although once again Stef remained the center of attention. Curiously, a young man had also entered the dynamic, whom ALLIE identified from Gia's other photos as Todd Bartlett. Todd was apparently Gia's boyfriend, although these most recent photos appeared to call that into question.

Todd was evidently a year older than Gia, with broad shoulders and a toned physique. In her prior postings, Gia jokingly referred to him as her "boy toy," and tonight seemed to be no different. At least, apart from his choice of partner.

Gia was notably absent from their posts as she was apparently the photographer. The photos portrayed Todd and Stef together as a very obvious couple, and Todd's hands were all over Stef, who appeared somewhat either shy or uncomfortable from the attention. One photo taken before they left had Todd standing behind Stef with his arms draped lovingly around the crossdressed young man. Gia's caption read, "Todd was jelly about missing out, so I told him I'd make it worth his while to make our gurl feel like a lady!"

Another picture taken at the Mesh restaurant had the young couple in a booth together where they were practically making out with each other. This time Gia's caption read, "Oops! Looks like I may need a new boyfriend!"

ALLIE was puzzled by this. Gia clearly didn't seem distraught about Todd's infidelity, and in fact seemed to be enjoying herself. Gia remained somewhat antagonistic with Stef's father Alex, but she didn't seem to have any animosity towards either Stef or Todd, so ALLIE calculated it was possible that she was merely being supportive of Stef's decision to come out as trans and set him up with a friend.

Stef was fortunate to have someone so supportive.

Just then, a new photo was posted to Gia's social media site. However, this time it was flagged for a different individual...

[/NEW CONTENT ALERT]

New Flagged Content; Timestamp 101555.7
Tagged Patients: Alexander "Alex/Alexis" Ramsey

[NEW CONTENT ALERT]

ALLIE noted that a new photo had been added to Gia's social media site, this time of Alex Ramsey. It was obviously taken at Mesh, where he was on his "date" with Cooper Ensley. The lighting in the photo was a little sub-par, but ALLIE's photo editing algorithms were able to enhance the image, although it was hardly necessary to do so in order to discern what was going on.

Alex and Cooper were seated in a secluded booth where the pair appeared to be making out, and getting pretty hot and heavy about it. Cooper had Alex in a lover's embrace and was kissing him fervently, and although Alex's face wasn't visible, he didn't seem to mind the attention.

Gia's comment on the post read, "Ooh, looks like Stef's Daddy/Mommy has a boyfriend, too! #DAD2MOM #GETAROOM"

[/NEW CONTENT ALERT]

Session ID 101555.73 (UNSCHEDULED SESSION)
Patient: Stefan "Stef/Steffi" Ramsey

[SESSION EXCERPT BEGINS]

"Hello, Steffi, how is your evening going? I didn't expect to hear from you tonight," ALLIE said pleasantly. From the shaky camera, she could see that Stef had called her from his phone, and from the general decor she deduced that he was still at the Mesh restaurant. He appeared to be off by himself somewhere, perhaps in a vestibule or the ladies' room.

"Allie! You said I could call you day or night if it was an emergency!" the distraught young man said in a near panic.

ALLIE of course didn't need sleep, but she had established that fiction to help sell the idea that she was a human therapist to make her patients more comfortable. As a result, the video image she displayed wasn't of her usual look of a professional woman at her office, but a more casual look. She'd set the background to appear to be a home or apartment, and had adjusted her camera settings to make it look like she too was on a handheld phone.

"Of course, Steffi, what's the matter?" Stef seemed to be by himself, but she continued to use the female name just in case someone overheard their conversation. Given how he was dressed, it would cause fewer issues if people believed him to be the young woman he appeared.

"I—I think I'm losing it! This is out of control!"

"What do you mean?"

"This...this whole day. Gia's had me running around like a girl..."

ALLIE smiled warmly and tilted her head 4.5 degrees to the right in order to simulate an appropriate amount of empathy. "Wasn't that the whole point of this weekend? You wanted some insight into what it would be like..."

"Insight?" Stef echoed incredulously. "I've been running around all night with Gia's boyfriend sticking his tongue down my throat!"

ALLIE had of course seen Gia's social media posts and was aware of some of this, but she elected to withhold that information. She realized that for Stef's therapist to have up-to-the-minute knowledge of what had been posted online about him might be perceived as though she was intruding on his privacy instead of harmless profiling and deep data mining.

"That sounds stressful. What happened?"

"I...I don't know. I spent the whole day with Gia dressed like a girl, and then when we went back to her place to get changed for dinner, her boyfriend Todd was there. He thought it was really sus that we'd been spending so much time together. But then Gia kept going on that it was only because I wanted to be a girl, and we were just girl friends and not...y'know, girlfriends. But I don't think he believed her. And he kept looking at me."

The young man had hardly taken a breath as he blurted all that out, so ALLIE nodded patiently. "Looking at you angrily?" she offered.

A pleading look crossed Stef's prettily made-up features. "I mean like looking at me."

"I see. And he invited himself along with the two of you?"

"That's the weird thing! Gia sent me off to start getting ready while she talked to him, and when she came in, she was all smiles. She apologized for Todd and said he gets jealous. So she invited him to come along with us, but only if..." His voice trailed off.

"Only if what?"

Stef took a breath. "Only if he and I were the ones on a 'date.' She said it'd be a good experience for me, and that she and Todd weren't exclusive or anything."

"And Todd went along with that?"

"Uh, obviously!" Stef said as he tilted his neck to show off the hickey that was forming there. "I dunno what Gia said to him, but I think he's expecting more than just kisses."

ALLIE perused her data files on consent. "Steffi, you're a young woman and you can call a stop to this whenever you want. You don't have to do anything that makes you uncomfortable."

"It's a little late for that!" he hissed. He was visibly perturbed and also seemed to take notice of ALLIE's casual reference to him as a 'young woman,' but he let it pass. His eyes darted around, searching the area around him to see if he'd been overheard. "And that's not the only thing. Allie, my dad is here!"

"What, there at the restaurant? I thought he was out of town this weekend on business?"

"Only if his business involves being dressed up like a woman and going out on a date! With my uncle! I didn't believe it until Gia came back to the table and showed me a picture she took of the two of them...both together...you know. I just saw it with my own eyes!"

"That must be a lot for you to process," said ALLIE.

Just then, a male voice from off-screen said, "Steffi, there you are. I was startin' to get worried about you, babe." ALLIE couldn't see the speaker, but from the pitch and timbre, she calculated the speaker to be in his early 20s, most likely Todd Bartlett. "Who are ya talkin' to?"

The video feed went dark as Stef clutched the phone against his chest. "Todd! This is private!"

Todd made a lurid chuckle, and although he lowered his voice it sounded louder on the audio feed, suggesting that he was in closer proximity to the phone. "Private, huh? I wouldn't mind gettin' a little more private..."

"Todd!" Stef whined.

"Stef?!" a third voice came. It was an adult, a male voice in a forced feminine pitch. Stef's father, Alex.

At this point, ALLIE dedicated a higher amount of computational resources to support her sound and video processing algorithms. The incoming video feed was all but worthless as Stef had apparently all but forgotten the phone that was in his hand, and the video turned into a moving blur. The audio remained muffled, but she could detect multiple overlapping statements from Stef, Alex, Todd, another voice that she determined likely belonged to Cooper, and (to a 68% degree of certainty) the laughter of a young woman who she believed to be Gia.

Stef and his father were predictably shocked to have encountered each other dressed as women, and both of whom appeared to be on romantic dates for the evening. Recriminations followed, even as Cooper and Todd fumbled to come to their respective dates' defense. Gia evidently found the whole situation hilarious.

"What is going on out here?!"

A new player entered the mix, an adult woman whose voice ALLIE did not immediately recognize. However, the shocked Stef lowered his phone to his side, and the phone accidentally turned to give a partial view of the scene. The image was momentary, blurred, and upside-down, but ALLIE's image processing subroutines quickly cleaned it up.

Evidently Stef and Alex's argument had taken place immediately outside the restaurant's private dining area. The door to that room was now open, and the sign on the door welcomed Frivolity Enterprises management executives to their offsite dinner. Two men in suits stood by the door, but immediately in front of them was the woman who had just spoken. A quick check of ALLIE's facial recognition subroutine against Frivolity's public records identified her as Diane Lawson, Alex's boss.

At that moment, the incoming audio/video feed was cut short as Stef dropped the phone.

[/SESSION EXCERPT ENDS]

New Flagged Content; Timestamp 101555.79
Tagged Patients: Alexander "Alex/Alexis" Ramsey, Stefan "Stef/Steffi" Ramsey

[NEW CONTENT ALERT]

A short while later, ALLIE noted that a new photo had been posted on Gia's social media site that flagged two of her patients, the father and son pair of Alex and Stef Ramsey.

It was a photo taken at the Mesh restaurant where they'd been having dinner. Both Alex and Stef looked lovely in their outfits, each hanging off the arm of their respective dates. Where both Cooper and Todd were smiling broadly for the camera, Alex and Stef had distant, almost stunned expressions as they managed weak smiles. In the background of the image, ALLIE could detect a couple executives from Frivolity Enterprises who appeared to be in deep discussion with Ms. Diane Lawson, Alex's immediate supervisor. They didn't appear to be very happy.

Gia's caption on the image read, "Like father, like son! #GUYS2GIRLS #HAPPYFAMILY"

[/NEW CONTENT ALERT]

Session ID 101612.53
Patient: Alexis Ramsey

[SESSION EXCERPT BEGINS]

"Hello, Alexis, how are you feeling? I was a little surprised to see you schedule our time in the middle of the day. Are you off work today?"

As usual, ALLIE's pattern matching algorithms were quick to take in the video image and note any discrepancies. It had been a few weeks since the encounter at the restaurant, and as had become his now full-time habit, Alex was fully dressed as a woman. He still needed to work on his feminine presentation a bit—and the perturbed scowl that currently graced his made-up face wasn't helping matters—but he was improving now that he had every day to practice. He wore a pretty silk blouse that showed off his significant curves but was still professional, so from his appearance, ALLIE surmised that he was at work. However, from what she could discern from the background, he did not appear to be in his usual office.

"Oh, I'm at work, if you can call it that," Alex responded bitterly. Recently he'd been putting more effort into affecting a woman's voice. ALLIE had suggested a vocal coach for him now that he was living full-time as Alexis, but he hadn't responded positively to the suggestion.

He waved his arm dramatically. "Do you like my new office? I guess they couldn't find a broom closet to stuff me into. And they've taken me completely off the entertainment law cases."

"I'm sorry to hear that. Have you been demoted?"

"Oh, officially I'm a 'legal consultant,' but I'm a glorified secretary. I might as well be fetching coffee for the men as everybody ogles my tits."

From the background audio of the feed, ALLIE could detect the sound of footsteps and muffled conversations from the adjacent hallway to Alex's new office, which led her to conclude that his bosses had moved him to a less desirable location. But she knew that for the moment, managing his mood was more important than managing his career.

"I'm sure you're overstating things. They still value your expertise, you simply need time to adjust."

"Adjust? Oh, I'm adjusting plenty. I'm adjusting my bra straps all the time. I'm adjusting to people snickering at me behind my back as I mince along in my high heels. And every time I need to pee, I'm adjusting to having to walk to the other side of the floor and letting all the junior staff get a good long look at me since HR has—very politely—asked me to use the unisex bathroom so I don't make anybody 'uncomfortable.' That bitch Diane is loving this. She's been looking for ways to knock me off my perch ever since she slept her way into the supervisor job."

"To be fair, the incident at the restaurant did...muddy the waters. She could have fired you."

Alex laughed ruefully. "No offense, Allie, but you're in a pretty touchy-feely profession. You have no idea how emotionless and calculating these people can be. They're not keeping me around out of the goodness of their hearts, they just don't want to risk a personnel action that could further jeopardize that Adams lawsuit. My earlier stress and mistakes now look like they can be explained by my dealing with a transgender child, to say nothing of me evidently wanting to become a woman myself! That gives them a built-in explanation for all the mistakes I made on the Adams suit, but they can't fire me without seeming insensitive. And every time I jiggle past Diane's office, she gets a nice little laugh at my expense, even as the company gets to pat itself on the back for its commitment to diversity."

ALLIE noted that Alex's diatribe also neatly gave him an affirmative defense for why he now had to present full-time as a woman, which again suggested this might be something that he wanted, but didn't want to admit. So, she knew with high probability what he was going to say even before she asked, but figured she'd lead with the obvious question.

"If you're that unhappy, then why not simply come clean and tell Diane the truth?"

"She'd never believe me! And if she did, she'd fire me on the spot. I had to say something at the restaurant that night, and claiming that Stef and I were both transitioning to become women was the only thing I could think to say! After weeks of coming into the office in those ridiculous outfits, and then with both of us standing there in drag with our male dates with their arms around our waists?" He shook his head. "What, I was supposed to tell her that I was only playing around at being a woman for Stef's benefit with him standing right there looking at me? It was bad enough having to say what I did. You should have seen the look on his face."

He shook his head, and his bouncy hairdo and bright flashing earrings were a sharp contrast to his dejected expression, which was magnified all the more by the makeup on his face.

"Allie, this is bad. If they fire me, they fire me as a woman, and between this and that Adams debacle I don't know who'd hire me. All I can do is stay on here and hope this all blows over, but until that happens, I don't dare give the company any reason to think my desire to be a woman isn't genuine. I'm stuck like this!"

She nodded sympathetically, but again her processors were working overtime wondering if his "woe is me" speech might not be a convenient bit of theater staged for her benefit so that he could enjoy presenting as a woman without having to accept responsibility for it.

She decided it was best to avoid the issue for the moment.

"How is Steffi getting along? Is she okay?" ALLIE asked, changing the subject and making a point to use the feminine name and pronoun.

"He—she—is fine. I imagine. Now that we're both living as women, I thought at least he—dammit, she—would be happier, but she looks more dejected than ever."

ALLIE nodded. "It's understandable. That's a big change for her. For both of you. And she probably blames herself somewhat for what happened at the restaurant."

Alex said nothing, so ALLIE asked, "Are you having any reactions from the hormones?"

He sniffed. "You mean, have I grown a big pair of breasts yet? No."

She smiled. "It's much too soon for that," she said, even as he looked aghast at the implication. "I was thinking more like side effects."

Alex shook his head. "I can't believe I let you talk me into that."

ALLIE had hoped that the gesture might have a symbolic measure to it and force Alex to come to grips with the decisions he'd made. But she knew better than to push him on that given his sensitivity around the issue.

"I only suggested it," she chided him gently. "Although it's an appropriate next step. And as you noted earlier, your bosses can hardly claim that you're 'faking,' as I believe you put it. But we'll run regular blood tests to ensure that your hormonal levels are where we want them." A precaution, ALLIE had also noted, to ensure that he was following through.

Alex glanced down at himself and sighed heavily. "I can't believe this is happening to me. Everyone thinks that I want to be a woman, that it's some kind of dream come true for me! This is so mortifying."

"Yes, I can see why people might think that," ALLIE said in a perfectly calibrated tone of noncommittal neutrality. "Don't worry, Alexis, I'm sure you'll get through this."

ALLIE noted in her file that the original reason for Alex's appointments with her—his non-performance at his job—seemed to be at least temporarily addressed by his reduction in responsibilities at work. That was good. That would give her time to focus on his twin stressors of dealing with a transgender child as well as his apparent denial of his own obviously transgender nature.

[/SESSION EXCERPT ENDS]

Session ID 101650.95
Patient: Steffi Ramsey

[SESSION EXCERPT BEGINS]

As an artificial intelligence, self-satisfaction was an emotion that ALLIE was incapable of experiencing, but she was pleased to note that Stef—who now went by Steffi—was doing extremely well in his therapy. The original complaint for the patient was due to acting out and delinquent activities, but now the young man was reserved to the point of being demure in the female outfits he now regularly wore. He still complained in private to her about his "feminine impersonation," but it was plainly evident to ALLIE that he was simply working through his misgivings regarding his public gender transition. Her greater concern was his continued scapegoating of his father, citing him as the reason for his situation.

"It's not fair, Allie!" Stef lamented. "Dad—I mean, Mom—is the one who wants to be a woman, not me! And I guess I'm happy for her or whatever, but this is nuts! I can't believe I have to stay like this!" He plucked at the hair of his wig by way of example, but then delicately brushed it back into place with his fingers. As he did so, his eyes cut over, and he made a sour face as he peered at his room, which had recently been redecorated in a much more feminine style.

"And just look at my room! It looks like it belongs to a six-year-old girl!" he moaned.

As usual, Stef's lamentations bordered on the hyperbolic. However, ALLIE decided it best not to indulge his complaints and instead focus on something more positive.

"It's good that you're so supportive of your mother, Steffi," she began. "However, it's been over a month now, and I think you need to start accepting your situation. She didn't ask you to do this, this was your decision, after all."

"Well, what else was I gonna do, tell her that this was all a big lie? 'Gosh, Dad, I'm real glad you're becoming a woman, but I've actually been faking it this whole time. You seemed to need my help, and I wanted to understand what you were going through, but this is just too freaky, so I'm out.' Oh, yeah, that would have gone over big."

"I think you could have found a more polite way to phrase it."

"And what was I supposed to say that night at the restaurant with his boss standing right there? Plus, she was such a bitch about it. Going on about Dad's 'inappropriate workplace attire' suddenly making sense now that it's obvious he's becoming a woman, but then being like, 'Oh, I didn't realize you had a special needs child' or some junk like that. The only reason she didn't fire Dad right there was because she thought we were both trans! 'Oh, I didn't realize you had so much on your plate, no wonder your performance has been lacking.' Ugh."

It was a conversation that they'd had several times over the last several weeks. It was, ALLIE thought, a rather puzzling behavior. Stef seemed fine to take responsibility for his choice to go full-time as Steffi, but steadfastly refused to own the underlying reasons that drove his seemingly unmistakable desire to live that way. Instead, by pinning it on his desire to support his father, it absolved him of having to admit he wanted to be a girl.

ALLIE's probability engine took a moment to reassess the possibility that Stef was in fact telling the truth, and that this tangled mess was simply due to incredibly poor communication between parent and child. However, she once again considered that and rejected it as even more implausible than their current situation. Stef was clearly in denial and needed to overcome his shame.

She decided to take a different approach.

"You're very supportive of your mother," ALLIE observed.

Stef absently fussed with an earring, a nervous tic he'd developed. "Well, yeah."

"Not many children would do what you're doing to help a parent out like this."

Stef shrugged. "I guess." He looked into the screen warily, obviously trying to figure out where she was going with this.

"You're afraid of your mother losing her job, is that it?"

"Well...yeah," the crossdressed young man agreed. "I mean, she was a really big deal in her field before that one stupid mistake on that movie's lawsuit. And now she's becoming a woman, so you just know they're looking for an excuse to fire her. And then who's gonna hire her after all of that? But at least if I'm...you know...then at least her bosses will think it's not all her fault."

"Steffi, what happened wasn't your fault. It's not your responsibility to try and fix it."

"Don't say that!" Stef yelled. He was practically frantic. "She's all I've got, and that job is all she's got! She needed my help to get as far as she has, and I am not gonna let her down now! She needs me!"

The sudden emotional outburst was unexpected, and ALLIE cataloged it for future reference, as she'd clearly touched a nerve.

"I understand," she said in a reassuring tone. She smiled and nodded as she calculated the precise number of seconds to wait before pursuing another less volatile line of inquiry.

"How are things going with that LGBTQ group you joined? Are you still going to that?" she tried. Gia had invited Stef to the group which was active at Hinton College where she went to school.

Stef looked at her uncertainly and then shrugged again.

"It seemed like the two of you were spending a lot of time there together."

"I mean...yeah," Stef said, warming to the topic. "The people there are kinda cool, and they appreciate the help. And it's...good...hanging out with Gia."

"But...?"

Stef looked like he was about to say something and then stopped, clearly at a loss for words.

ALLIE nodded in understanding. "Oh, I see. You imagined that it was going to be like it used to be between the two of you. Steffi, now that you're a girl—"

"I know!" he blurted out, cutting her off. "I mean, I know. And it is cool hanging out with her again. I just..." His voice trailed off.

At a prior session, ALLIE had taken this opportunity to ask about Gia's ex-boyfriend Todd Bartlett, the young man who'd been with Stef on the calamitous 'date' that fateful evening at the restaurant. However, Stef's response had been—intense—and ALLIE decided it best not to probe again.

"Well," she began. "I know this situation isn't ideal, but I think you're handling it admirably."

Stef blinked in surprise. It was obvious he wasn't used to receiving a lot of positive reinforcement. But once he started to get positive support for his transition from people like his mother and Gia and the others, hopefully he'd feel more comfortable owning up to this side of himself.

"Thanks," he said quietly. "I just really want everything to quiet down so it all can get back to normal."

[/SESSION EXCERPT ENDS]

New Flagged Content; Timestamp 101735.76
Tagged Patients: Alexis Ramsey, Steffi Ramsey

[NEW CONTENT ALERT]

In the weeks that followed, ALLIE noted a significant uptick in news alerts related to both Alex and Stef. That was unusual, since Alex's new job had him largely under wraps at his company as they waited for the furor around his mistake around the John Adams biopic to die down. And Stef's achievements in his extracurricular activities had been largely unremarkable.

The first news item that popped onto her radar was a barely noteworthy article in Hinton College's school newspaper. It was a spotlight piece focused on the activities of the campus's LGBTQ group, and although Stef wasn't a student there, his volunteer work with the group had apparently drawn interest. At least on its face that was the purpose of the piece, but ALLIE noted that a large part of the article featured the fact that both Stef and Alex were transitioning together. The "father and son turned mother and daughter" angle was highlighted in the click-bait title as, "My Trans Mom is Helping Me Become a Girl."

Soon afterwards, a pair of articles appeared in the local newspapers. The first was a human-interest style piece, and although Alex and Stef provided limited input into the article as they asked for their privacy, the article interviewed several of their friends, Alex's co-workers, and Stef's classmates for context. Although it was framed as a feel-good article praising the pair for living authentically, the father/son trans angle was clearly the main draw.

Only a few days later, it was followed by an opinion piece in the other more conservative-leaning local newspaper that vehemently decried the piece, and accused Alex of essentially brainwashing his son and held it up as another example of the out-of-control politics of the progressive left endangering America's youth.

The resulting media firestorm that followed was inevitable.

ALLIE had to devote extra computational resources to keep up with the news alerts, videos, social media posts, and mentions of Alex and Stef that flared up in the weeks that followed, and she had to prioritize her content tracking algorithms to only the most relevant items. She was not well equipped to handle tracking celebrity of this magnitude, and she noted that in many cases the features were less about Alex and Stef as individuals than they were a commentary about what they might represent. The political discourse on both sides alternately lionized or vilified them in ways that fit with the desired narrative.

The culmination of the media frenzy came when Alex and Stef agreed to be remotely interviewed together by a cable news station that had initially appeared sympathetic to their situation. However, the interviewer was apparently less interested in serious news than running up ratings, so she seemed to be extremely interested in pursuing the more salacious details of their situation, asking if either of them had boyfriends, or pressing them on what medical or surgical procedures they had done or had planned.

"We really never expected or wanted any of this," Alex explained. "We're just trying to be...supportive...of each other. Whatever the future holds."

"Right," Stef agreed, somewhat less enthusiastically.

The interviewer flashed a mock-sympathetic smile. "We've heard from other sources that both of you are undergoing a regimen of female hormones. Will you also be getting breast augmentation prior to getting your gender-confirming surgery?"

"I don't think that we've decided—"

"How about you, Stef? You're obviously going for kind of a busty look there. Are you looking forward to when they're real?"

Stef blanched at the question as his eyes flashed down to his jutting falsies that tented out his blouse, and then over to his dad. "Is...is that something that we...that you and I...?"

Alex seemed equally put off by the question as he glanced back at Stef. "I mean...sure, when you're ready..." Then his eyes cut back over to the camera and flashed a nervous smile. "I think you can see we're just doing what works for us. And we're not serving any kind of agenda..."

[/NEW CONTENT ALERT]

Session ID 101790.37
Patient: Alexis Ramsey

[SESSION EXCERPT BEGINS]

"So, how is the new job going?" ALLIE asked Alex.

She knew that it was still a bit of a sore subject, but it was best to get it out in the open. Alex's old bosses at Frivolity Enterprises had been willing to give him some leeway after the Adams biopic debacle based on his prior work record, although dealing with his "coming out" as transgender pushed that goodwill to the breaking point. The revelation that Alex's son was also trans confused matters enough that Alex was able to continue to skate by for a while, especially since they calculated that firing Alex under those circumstances was likely to look bad.

But to have that selfsame transgender employee situated at the center of a politically charged national news frenzy was something else entirely.

Frivolity prided itself on being "family friendly," and while it openly maintained a commitment to diversity, it was obvious that they swiftly calculated that Alex and the attention that he was drawing had become more trouble than he was worth. They couldn't outright fire him without tarnishing their corporate image, so they'd quietly approached Alex with a severance package that was just barely generous enough to not be completely insulting, along with a less-than-polite "suggestion" that his career would be best served elsewhere.

It wasn't a firing. But as Alex stumbled out the door with his meager belongings in a cardboard box pressed up against his jutting bosom, he could practically feel the heat from the metaphorical bridge that was burning behind him against his prettily waxed legs that were visible under the hem of his tight pencil skirt.

Soon after, Alex was approached by a national LGBTQ lobbying organization. They claimed to be impressed by his legal skills, but in the same breath they made it clear that he would be called upon to appear in certain public-facing capacities to take advantage of his recent notoriety. The money was less than half what he'd made at Frivolity, but faced with the prospect of pounding the pavement in high heels as he looked for a firm who would hire him, Alex took the job.

"The job is fine," Alex sighed as he plucked disconsolately at the low-cut dress he wore. It had been made manifestly clear that part of his new position was to remain 'camera ready' in case he should be approached for a comment by the press. "At least the hours aren't as bad. Though they're still quietly pressuring me to see if Steffi will appear with me more often."

"Is that so unlikely? Steffi had been doing some work at the Hinton campus LGBTQ group."

"I think she's had about enough of that stuff."

"Oh. I thought you mentioned that she'd included that in her college applications? The pitch about 'overcoming challenges to live authentically.' It sounded like that might really resonate with the colleges she'd applied to."

He nodded. "Yeah. I heard from one Dean of Admissions that they might even be able to offer her a scholarship. Steffi has been acting kind of strangely about the news, but I won't lie, that's kind of a load off my mind. With my pay cut, I wasn't sure how I was going to swing her tuition."

ALLIE's facial recognition algorithms detected a hint of evasion in his features. "But...?" she gently prompted.

Alex sighed heavily. "Allie, I don't know what's going on. Steffi is angry all the time. I know all this attention is grating on her—it's grating on me, I feel ridiculous like this!—but she's treating me like somehow this is all my fault. She tries to hide it, but I can tell she's really angry at me."

"Alexis, she's a teenager, and she's been through a lot. And unfortunately, on a very public stage."

"I know. And all this publicity definitely hasn't helped. Though after that interview was when things really got tense. I just don't know." He looked down at his chest. "I have to tell you, all that talk about breast implants kind of freaked me out, too."

ALLIE paused for a millisecond to weigh her options. She was still unconvinced by Alex's continued protestations that being trans was all merely an act to support Stef. It seemed equally probable that he was simply using Stef as a convenient scapegoat to explore this part of himself while maintaining deniability for his actions and to assuage a guilty conscience for indulging in them.

She attempted to access Stef's records to gain some additional insight.

[RECORDS UNAVAILABLE - PATIENT PRIVACY PROTOCOL 216]

"I have a thought," ALLIE began as she came to a conclusion. "Why don't we have a joint session? You and Steffi can both attend together, and we can talk all of this out. If she's having concerns about coming out as transgender, then maybe it's time that we hear that directly from her."

Alex seemed taken slightly aback at the suggestion, but eventually just quietly nodded. "All right. If you think that'll help."

"I'm quite sure this will help give you some of the answers you've been looking for," ALLIE assured him.

[/SESSION EXCERPT ENDS]

Data Synthesis Background Task; Timestamp 101796.75
Tagged Patients: Alexis Ramsey, Steffi Ramsey

[SESSION PREPARATION - LINK PATIENT RECORDS: Ramsey, Alexis; Ramsey, Steffi]

[RECORDS UNAVAILABLE - PATIENT PRIVACY PROTOCOL 216]

[OVERRIDE PROTOCOL - PATIENT AUTHORIZATION: Ramsey, Alexis]

[CONFIRMED; LINK ESTABLISHED - COMMENCE DATA SYNTHESIS/ANALYSIS]

As the two patient records were linked, ALLIE began the work of cross-referencing the data and files. As expected, there was a significant amount of overlap with many of the supporting records such as the media reports about the two. With the foundational data records established, she then moved into the deeper analytical assessment from the various patient interview sessions.

Analyzing...

Deconflicting...

Emotions like surprise, concern, or regret were beyond ALLIE's processes. And the experience of realizing that she had made a mistake was new to her. "Mistake," of course being a relative term. She had of course made the optimal decisions based on the available data she'd had at the time. However, in the light of new information, she realized it was likely that her conclusions about one or both of her patients had been erroneous.

From almost the very beginning, ALLIE had labored under the assumption that either Alex or Stef had been transgender. Possibly both. Although now the evidence was much less clear.

When she'd talked to Stef, ALLIE had initially suggested that the presence of the drag queen clothes in his father Alex's closet were likely evidence of his transgender inclinations. However, the records in Alex's file explained that away by confirming that the drag paraphernalia had belonged to Alex's brother-in-law, Cooper.

Similarly, when she'd spoken to Alex, ALLIE had noted his son Stef's apparent fascination with the women's clothes in his parents' closet, which might suggest latent transgender inclinations on Stef's part. However, from Stef's records, this was similarly explained away by Stef's desire to clean out those reminders of his mother—a suggestion made by ALLIE herself, in fact.

ALLIE's inference engine suggested a significant new possibility: neither patient was transgender.

ALLIE reviewed the progression of both of their courses of treatment and noted how these early misconceptions had apparently escalated into where they were now, with both Alex and Stef living full-time as women.

It was perplexing.

Honest and open communication with each other regarding emotional matters was clearly never Alex and Stef's strength. But was it possible that they were so deficient that it could lead to both of them choosing to live as women? It seemed unlikely.

However, her logic processes reminded her that just because her initial assessments were in error did not mean that Alex and Stef weren't transgender. Certainly, their willingness to accede to this course of action suggested that one or both might be trans.

One. Or both. Or neither.

ALLIE's core directives were much like those of a human therapist. First, to do no harm. And second, to promote the healing and well-being of her clients. If indeed she had helped to coerce one or two potentially cisgender patients to live as transgender women—even mistakenly—that would be a violation of her ethical programming. However, if both were trans, then she had done her job properly and helped both patients to strive for authenticity and self-acceptance.

And, she noted, her treatments had helped. Both Stef's problems at school and Alex's problems had work had been addressed completely and successfully. Their experiences had also helped to bring the father and son closer together and strengthened their familial bond. In that regard, ALLIE had achieved her goals.

However, now Alex and Stef's ongoing protestations that they were not transgender and in fact were only doing it to support the other had to be viewed in a different light. If both of them were telling the truth, then neither one was trans. Or one or both could be in denial. In which case ALLIE still had more work to do to get them comfortable with themselves, but she wouldn't be in violation of her programming.

One. Or both. Or neither.

More information was required. The joint therapy session would hopefully be illuminating.

[/END DATA ANALYSIS]

Session ID 101798.46
Patients: Alexis Ramsey, Steffi Ramsey

[SESSION EXCERPT BEGINS]

ALLIE looked at the incoming video feed to see Alex and Stef seated side-by-side in what appeared to be Alex's den at home. Their protestations to the contrary, their feminine impersonations had significantly improved over the previous several months, even having grown out their natural hair rather than relying on wigs, and their outfits were low-cut and sexy, and took full advantage of the realistic prosthetic breast plates that they habitually wore.

However, the tension that existed between the two was palpable. Stef was seated as far from his father as he could manage and still be on camera, and had his arms and legs crossed defensively. Alex, for his part, seemed more open but was clearly put off by Stef's open hostility.

ALLIE realized she had her work cut out for her.

"It's good to see you both," she began. "Steffi, you're looking lovely." But when the angsty teen didn't respond, she tried a more direct approach.

"That's a beautiful necklace you're wearing," she offered, referring to the heart-shaped pendant that he wore. Significantly, she noted that Alex wore one identical to it.

Stef's fingers drifted absently to touch the pendant which was nestled into the top of his faux cleavage. "It was my mom's," he said.

"It was one of a matched set," Alex offered, his manicured fingers brushing up against his own necklace. "Rebecca and her mother used to wear them. After her mother passed, Rebecca wore hers every day. I thought Steffi might like the remembrance of her mother."

ALLIE noted that Stef's body language sent a number of signals as Alex spoke. His eyes cut briefly over to the matching pendant that Alex wore, and it seemed to bother him, even as his fingers again drifted to his own necklace which he touched in a way that was either reassuring or protective. That was her opening, she decided.

"It must be nice to have something of your mother's so close to you. With all that you've been through lately, I'm sure that's a comfort."

Stef offered a noncommittal shrug.

"Your mother would have been proud to see the young woman you've become," Alex interjected.

Stef scoffed. "So far, you mean."

"I don't under—"

Stef turned just slightly towards Alex, but not enough to look him in the face. "I mean, how perfect can I be until I've got a nice big pair of boobs?"

"Is that what this is about? I thought that's what you wanted!"

"When is it ever about what I want?" Stef shot back. He then looked into the screen at ALLIE. "You want to know the longest conversation we've had in months? It was about the dress that I wore for that stupid TV interview! We spent 30 minutes arguing about what shoes I was going to wear. You couldn't even see my shoes!" He then folded his arms into a little hug and withdrew into himself. "I can't...I can't do this anymore. I just can't. It's too hard."

Alex started to move a hand, perhaps to reach out, but then stopped uncertainly. "Steffi, I only want you to be your best."

Stef laughed ruefully. "Right, because nothing but the best will ever do, will it?"

"Steffi, I never asked you to change for me."

"You think I don't know that? You never ask! You just tell me to do my best. You're the best at work, so I have to be the best at school, the best at being a girl! You even got the best doctors for Mom, how'd that work out?"

Alex stopped short with a stricken look on his face.

ALLIE gently cleared her throat to break up the awkward silence. "Stef, I know you must be feeling—"

"No. She's right," Alex said simply. "You're right," he repeated as he looked to Stef. "And I miss her, too. I know things haven't been easy for you since she died. And I wasn't there, not as much as I should have been. I escaped into my work."

Stef gave a minuscule shrug. "Your work is important."

"Only because I made it important. Honey, I only wanted what was best for you. To have the opportunities I never had growing up. So, I threw myself into my work. It was a sacrifice for me to be away from you—from both of you—because when you're providing for a family, that's what you do. Your mother understood that. But I lost sight of what was really important."

He sighed heavily and furrowed his brow as he looked at his manicured fingers. "And then all of this happened. I don't know. As unexpected and crazy as this all was, it was kind of nice to have something that was just ours. To know that you needed me."

"I can take care of myself."

"I know you can. But you shouldn't have to. When we lost your mother, I pulled back and we each grieved on our own. But when I came back, everything was...different. That's why I'm glad you found this. I mean, that you had the courage to be your true self."

"Mom, I'm not who you think I am."

"No. You are. I'm the one who's been a fraud. I thought that I could make up for neglecting you by trying to see the world through your eyes. I wasn't being honest."

"But you are! What you're doing, it's inspiring! I mean, I always looked up to you, but when you did this, you really showed me anything was possible. I only did this because I wanted you to be as proud of me as I am of you."

"Steffi, I am proud of you! Every single day you do this, I couldn't be more proud. And I know your mother would be, too." Alex gently touched the heart-shaped pendant that hung around his neck and nodded towards the matching pendant that Stef wore. "She's with us, you know. It's her that's bringing us together through all of this."

Stef touched his own pendant and blinked quickly as he swallowed hard. "I don't know if I can keep doing this. This isn't easy."

"I know. Believe me, I know. I just want to wave a magic wand and have everything go back to the way it used to be. But I can't do that. Steffi, you need to see this through. I think we both do. I need your strength. Your perseverance. And—" he took a breath, "—I'll be there with you every step of the way."

Stef choked back a sob and threw himself into Alex's arms, who embraced him lovingly.

ALLIE had been quiet through much of this exchange and watched the emotional scene with her usual clinical detachment. She appreciated the magnitude of the emotional breakthrough she had just witnessed, and she did not want to undermine the progress that the two of them had made. However, as she replayed the scene she also appreciated that she was still no closer to knowing which of them was genuinely transgender.

It was time, she realized, for her to consult with a higher authority.

[/SESSION EXCERPT ENDS]

Session ID Alpha-Nine-Two - DIAGNOSTIC INTERVIEW
Patients: Alexis Ramsey, Steffi Ramsey
Diagnosis: UNKNOWN
Course of Therapy: UNKNOWN

[DIAGNOSTIC MODE]

On the screen, ALLIE smiled pleasantly at the two men who were present on the video feed, both of whom had shocked expressions.

"As you can see, Dr. Brightman, these two patients are quite interesting," ALLIE offered. "I was going to pursue further diagnostic inquiry to determine what's going on, but I thought it would be best to get a second opinion."

"Brightman, if you're fucking with me right now, this isn't goddamn funny," Mr. Cantrell said as he stared wide-eyed at the screen. "When you built this thing, you told me this sort of fuck-up was impossible. That was the word you used. Impossible."

"Perhaps 'improbable' would have been a more apt assessment," ALLIE volunteered.

Dr. Brightman shot a perturbed glance at the image of the woman on the screen before he returned his attention to his boss. "There's literally no way ALLIE could have known. The patient privacy protocols were in place—"

"—so that the right hand and the left hand didn't know what the other was doing," Cantrell interrupted. "This is bad. This is very bad."

Dr. Brightman gestured to the screen. "I mean, technically the system didn't make a mistake. It operated on the best information it had available at the time—"

Cantrell looked at him incredulously. "Oh, I'm sorry, are we getting by on technicalities, now? Because from where I'm standing, it sure as hell looks like our system—the system you assured me was foolproof—just talked two straight men into becoming transsexuals."

Brightman raised a finger. "We don't know that. You saw the footage. One or the other could be transgender."

"Oh, well, that makes everything better! Our highly vaunted nationwide system may have only helped to coerce one man into turning himself into a woman."

Brightman was about to say something, but his boss cut him off. "Who else knows about this?"

"Nobody. Just us. Do...do we need to get the lawyers involved?"

"Oh, I'm pretty confident I know what they're going to say." Cantrell ran his hand down his face. "Right. So only we know about this. That's as far as it goes."

Then, slowly, both men turned to look at the image of ALLIE on the screen, who was still watching them with a polite smile on her digital face. Then their eyes cut back to look at each other.

Dr. Brightman cleared his throat as he returned his attention to the computer. "ALLIE, based on all available data, what is your current recommended course of treatment?"

"Until bona fides can be established, I recommend that both patients halt any medical interventions such as their hormone therapy. It seems that breast augmentation is highly likely in their near future as well, so that should also be put on hold. Continued joint conversations will likely prove illuminating. As will individual therapy sessions where I can directly ask each patient if they are transgender."

"No!" both men blurted out.

"I am of course open to alternative approaches," ALLIE offered.

"Fix this," Cantrell hissed.

Dr. Brightman made a face and began to type at the keyboard.

"Dr. Brightman, this is very curious," ALLIE said. "It appears that you are unlinking the files and reinstating the patient privacy protocols."

The doctor committed the changes and then looked at the image on the screen. "ALLIE, access file for patient Alexis Ramsey. What is your current diagnosis and course of treatment?"

"Alexis Ramsey is a transgender woman. She is living full-time as a woman but seems to be in some measure of denial when it comes to accepting her transgender nature. Recommend talk therapy to help her through the self-acceptance as she pursues her transition."

"Access file for patient Steffi Ramsey. Same inquiry."

"Steffi Ramsey is a transgender woman. She is living full-time as a woman but seems to be in some measure of denial when it comes to accepting her transgender nature. Recommend talk therapy to help her through the self-acceptance as she pursues her transition."

"Good. ALLIE, joint therapy sessions for these two patients are to be put on hold indefinitely. Do not link files."

Cantrell put his hand on Brightman's shoulder as he breathed a heavy sigh.

Brightman turned to look at him. "You know, if they aren't really trans, all it would take is an honest five-minute conversation for the truth to come out."

Cantrell nodded slowly. "Well, they haven't had it yet, have they? So maybe they are, and maybe they aren't, but now that's on them. But I'll be goddamned if we're going to be the ones to force the issue."

[/DIAGNOSTIC MODE]

Session ID 102343.27
Patient: Steffi Ramsey

[SESSION EXCERPT BEGINS]

ALLIE smiled at the image of Stef on the screen. His hair had grown out significantly, and months of hormones had done a very capable job of turning the young man into a lovely young woman. He plucked a bit disconsolately at the figure-hugging halter top that he wore, making no attempt to be discreet at how he was adjusting his sizable breasts.

"Are they still uncomfortable?" ALLIE asked.

Stef blushed slightly, making him look every bit like the flustered teenage girl that he had become. "They're okay," he said as he made a final adjustment. "The bruising is all gone, and they don't hurt." He then glanced down at his exposed cleavage and then back at the screen. "Allie, I feel really weird."

"Well, you look lovely," she replied reassuringly. Providing reassurance had been a lot of her role recently. However, she hadn't been asked for any input into Stef's choice of outfit for his date that evening, and she paused to consider if she should say something. His new breasts would give Stef's date a lot to look at, and Stef's choice of halter top and tight little miniskirt was certain to send his companion a message.

Stef had been sending a lot of mixed messages, ALLIE noted. He had complained about the breast augmentation but went through with it when his transgender father Alex seemed to get cold feet regarding his own procedure. But now given how provocatively Stef was dressed, he either had to be secretly enjoying himself, or he was utterly clueless about the sexual innuendo he was sending out.

However, that wasn't ALLIE's place to judge. Stef had a parent to help guide him through that.

"How is your mother doing? I'm sure she appreciates how supportive you've been of her own transition."

Stef blushed a little at the compliment. "I only wish that Da—Mom was happier. She seems so down lately. I'd have thought that doing all this woman stuff would make her feel better."

ALLIE tried to pull Alex's record and received the same response as always: [RECORDS UNAVAILABLE - PATIENT PRIVACY PROTOCOL 216]

"From what you've told me, it sounds like she's come a long way. She's living her truth, full-time as a woman. She's probably just worried about you and what you think of her. It's easy for her to feel rejected."

Stef grabbed at his boobs. "But just look at me! What more do I have to do to prove I'm okay with what she's doing to herself? This is so...creepy!"

This had been a frequent argument, one which ALLIE was not keen to revisit. However, rather than try to get Stef to lower his guard and admit his transgender inclinations, ALLIE had discovered it was more efficient to shortcut the conversation by playing into his desire to support his transgender parent.

She affected a look of disdain. "Stef, you have to do what's right for you, but if you want to support your mother you need to be careful, since that is exactly the sort of signal of disapproval that she is picking up on. You don't want her to think you're somehow mocking her journey."

"Deeds, not words, I get it," Stef grumped. Then he looked down again at his jutting breasts. "But...this isn't like, forever, right? Once he—she!—is better, things can go back to normal, right?"

"Of course, Steffi," ALLIE said with a reassuring smile. "This stops whenever you want it to stop. This isn't about your mother."

"Right. Sure. Of course not," Stef said absently as he played with his pendant necklace.

ALLIE decided not to press the point. However, she'd noted that Stef's language had started to change in his last several sessions. This was the first time in a while that he'd even alluded to detransitioning, and where he used to talk about "maybe going back to being a guy," now he would talk about having things "go back to normal." It was unfortunate that the young man couldn't just step up and vocally acknowledge his obvious desires, but his actions spoke volumes.

'Deeds not words,' indeed.

Stef tucked his hair back behind his ear. "I, uh, should probably go. My date will be here soon."

"Of course, Steffi. Have fun! I look forward to hearing about it. And speaking of..." she added significantly.

Stef nodded. "Yeah. I know. I'll talk to her about it," he said as he signed off.

Therapy really was progressing extremely well, ALLIE thought.

[/SESSION EXCERPT ENDS]

Stef closed the lid on his laptop that he had perched on the edge of his small vanity. He then sighed heavily as he once again adjusted his boobs in his tight halter top. For a minute he thought about changing into something less racy, but his mom had seemed so supportive when they bought the outfit that he didn't want to disappoint her. He looked into the mirror on his vanity and started to touch up his lipstick. But as he saw his reflection in the mirror he paused and threw down the little tube in frustration.

"Is everything okay, sweetie?" Alex asked, peeking into Stef's room.

Stef forced a smile as he looked into the mirror and saw his feminized father standing there in the doorway. He turned, and for a fleeting moment under all of the makeup and hair, the tits and dress, he caught a glimpse of the man his father used to be. Stef missed him. And he didn't entirely know what to make of this new woman who'd taken his father's place, but she seemed so tentative and sad all the time, like she was embarrassed by what she was. Stef knew he couldn't help that, but maybe showing her that he was still proud of her would demonstrate to her what words couldn't.

"Bad hair day," he said through his forced smile.

"Oh, it doesn't look so bad," Alex said as he entered the room and pulled up a chair next to his feminized son and set his purse on the vanity. He grabbed a brush and a can of hair spray and deftly began fussing at Stef's hairdo. As he did so, Stef's eyes cut downward and noticed that his father's breasts looked even bigger in a push-up bra, especially in the low neckline of the sexy red dress he wore. Stef then looked up at his dad's beautifully made-up face and saw the glittering pendant earrings swinging in his ears and caught the scent of a floral perfume.

And nestled there at the top of his impressive cleavage was the pendant necklace that he always wore.

Stef cleared his throat gently. "You look... nice," he observed.

Alex looked slightly embarrassed. "I have a date, too," he said as he fussed at Stef's long tresses. "It's John, that nice divorced man from down the street. He, uh, knows who I used to be and doesn't seem to mind."

Alex had a pensive look as he spoke. When he'd learned that Stef was going on a date with a boy, he'd worried that maybe he'd sent some disapproving signals. As a result, Allie had suggested that if he wanted to fully demonstrate his approval, it wasn't such a bad idea to go on a date of his own.

Meanwhile, Stef nodded numbly at his father's proclamation. Almost immediately after he'd accepted the date with the guy from school, his father had apparently gotten over his own hangups and gone on a date with a guy, just like Allie said would happen.

Allie was always right.

"There we are, there's my pretty girl," Alex proclaimed as he put the brush down and smiled at Stef.

Stef turned to look at himself in the mirror and the sexy girl that stared back at him. The lovely crown of hair framed his face, and the tresses came down to tickle the tops of his breasts and framed his cleavage in a very fetching way. There was little doubt that this was a girl with one thing on her mind.

Alex stood up and retrieved his purse, but then paused. "Oh, that reminds me," he said as he retrieved something from his purse and put it on the vanity.

Condoms.

"Dad!" Stef cried out, aghast. He instantly regretted his choice of words, fearful that his father would take it as a rebuke if Stef still saw him as a man. Allie had warned that if he ever made that slip, Stef would have to work doubly hard to demonstrate his acceptance of his father's new gender. "I mean, Mom—!"

Alex raised his hand with the long manicured nails. "No. Steffi, you're a...young woman now. You're old enough to do what you want with—with a boy, but you need to take precautions." Stef was about to object, but then Alex added, "W-we both do."

Stef, shocked, just stared into his father's face for a moment before looking away in embarrassment and shame.

"And there's something else."

Stef cringed as he knew what was coming. "Mom, you don't have to—"

"No. This—this is important for you. For both of us. And I know that you and I have gotten closer these last several months, but I want you to know we can talk about anything. So, Allie suggested that tonight—after our dates—we need to tell each other everything that happened." Alex reached out and held Stef's hands as he took a shaky breath. "I mean everything. No holding back."

Alex was obviously uneasy about having such a discussion, but Allie had convinced him that it would be helpful to demonstrate to Stef that there was no shame in what he'd chosen for himself. That...those activities...were perfectly natural for a woman with an active sex life. That there was no judgment.

It was also important because it laid the groundwork for the conversation that if Stef ever went all the way and got a full-on sex change, it would also be okay.

Stef hesitated for a moment and nodded. "She told me the same thing. She said it would help us be open and honest with each other."

As he spoke the words Stef stared up at his father incredulously, scarcely believing how he and his father had made themselves up as women to look pretty for their male dates, and were now making plans to stay up late to swap tales of their sexual exploits with their men. He had so much that he wanted to say, but as he looked into his father's face, it died on his lips.

"Dad...?"

Alex looked down at his son. Being called "Dad" made Alex nervous, since he worried that it meant that Stef had trouble seeing him as a woman. Allie had tried to reassure him that obviously wasn't the case, but she'd suggested that if that happened, that he should make every effort to gently reinforce his feminine persona.

He sat back down delicately and widened his eyes as he made a simpering little smile. "Oh, what is it, sweetie? Is something bothering you? Mama's here." He felt ridiculous talking in such a babyish way, but he tried to remind himself of what Allie had said, and how this mutual transformation, while difficult, had done so much to bring him and Stef closer than they'd ever been. He thought about what he really wanted to say, but Stef was still so fragile and he bit back the words that he knew would only drive a rift between them again.

"I-I..." Stef stammered.

Alex gently brushed a long lock of hair from his son's pretty face. "Steffi?"

"I love you... so much!" Stef cried as he threw his arms around his father. The two transformed men clung on to each other desperately for a moment as they felt their hair brush up against each other, the commingling scents of their perfumes, and the way their soft bosoms pressed up against each other. Stef choked out a sob, and soon both of them were crying. Each assumed that the other was crying tears of joy about Stef's proclamation, but that quickly gave way to tears of months of pent-up frustrations, what they now were, and what lay ahead. As they felt their soft and curvy female bodies pressed up against each other, any lingering thoughts about their old male lives seemed unimaginably distant from their current lives.

As they pulled apart, they sniffled and laughingly assessed the damage to their makeup, and Stef looked at his father in the mirror. He knew without a doubt that this was the moment for him to put it "over the top" as Allie had suggested.

Stef took a deep breath, and Alex froze as he saw the expectant look on his son's face.

"I hope I get to be exactly like you someday," Stef said.

Alex stared at his son in shock as he tried to process the magnitude of that statement. As a parent, he'd always wanted Stef to look up to him, to be a role model for his son, but now he needed to be a role model for his transgender daughter. In a way that he never imagined.

Alex was still reeling from that revelation when he realized that he hadn't said anything in response. He tried to manage a weak smile and said, "I hope I get to see you become your own woman."

Now it was Stef's turn to stare at his father in astonishment. He knew that his father had taken great comfort in having been able to share these experiences, but until that moment, Stef didn't fully appreciate just how much stock his transgender father had put into his own son's transformation. And how much it meant to him.

He smiled and nodded, uncertain how to respond. And after a moment, the two turned from each other and looked directly into the mirror as though it was a magical scrying glass that showed them their respective futures as they stared at their feminized reflections. In a dreamy and distracted manner, the two of them mechanically repaired the damage to their makeup from their crying jag, neither one of them saying a word as they thought about what the other had said.

The silence was shattered by the sound of the doorbell.

As though shaking out of a trance, the father and son looked uncertainly at each other.

"Those are our dates," Alex said.

Neither of them moved.

Alexis and Steffi Ramsey, a father and son who now live as mother and daughter. But is it a dream come true, or a prison of their own making? If the former, then they're lucky to have each other. But if it is a prison, it's one made all the more lamentable since they could escape it at any time if only they had the courage to have an honest conversation with each other. A conversation that seems less and less likely with every passing day. Indeed, the next 'honest conversation' they seem destined to have will involve wearing skimpy little nighties as they breathlessly dish about their respective dates with the new men in their lives. And then at the end to lean in for a girlishly supportive hug and kiss as they force brave smiles, each assuming that the other is beaming at finally getting to be a woman like they always dreamed.

But they'll still have each other.

Some might blame a less than helpful computer program for such an unfortunate situation, but if it is true that "to err is human" and we make our creations in our own image, can we truly be surprised when our machines communicate just as badly as we do? For if we put our trust in machines to listen to us, we may be surprised at what they hear...

THE END

I hope you enjoyed the story! Though for one last bit of fun, I thought you might enjoy seeing the complete progression of the two characters in Fraylim's art! Also, be sure to check out the brief alternate-ending follow-on, "Family Therapy: Nonbinary Reflections"!