This category contains short stories that have the potential to be one day spun out to be a serial.
Each story can be compared to the pilot episode of a series.
The world and the main characters are introduced.
While each story hints of more they all are complete and can be enjoyed on their own.
Jerry cursed as he saw his landlord's daughter leaning against his door. Melody was trained up by her dear old dad to take over his business. That also meant she was the one reminding people late on their rent that they better show up with some money.
Before she could open her mouth, he cut her off. "My paycheck is due tomorrow. Your father knows that."
There was no love lost between them and both knew it. Still, she gave him a fake smile. Fitting as she looked so fake that she could star on Jersey Shore. "Of course, I know. I am not here for your rent- Yet. I am here to offer you a way to repay your debt. At least some of it."
Jerry stifled a sigh. There would go his free weekend down the drain. He was sure of it. "Want me to paint some fences again?"
"Oh no. Something more suitable for someone of your build. Miss Bates is too old to live on the third floor and we are moving her to a ground floor apartment. Fifty bucks. Not much, but someone in your position. Well beggars can't be choosers, right?"
He grounded his teeth. She got him there. He needed every dollar he could get his hands on. Even for a lousy job like that. "I'll do it."
"Great! Be there on Saturday at nine AM." Melody handed him a paper note and walked off.
Finally, he was alone. He fished for his keys and slipped into the broken-down room that his landlord called an apartment. Exhausted he let himself drop on his couch.
How had it come to this? Not the first time that he had wondered the very same thing. Just two years back he had been a star in his school's football team. Then he graduated. From there it all went to hell.
Talented, but not talented enough. That made him fail to get a scholarship. With marks below the average, his prospect in his hometown wasn't that great either.
To avoid having been told so every single day by his dad he decided to move out west. Maybe even all the way to California. Reality quickly caught up.
Three states. That's how far he has gotten. Now he flips burgers on weekdays and the odd jobs on weekends. Just enough to make rent and to barely live. He didn't even own a tv or pc.
Groaning he stood up and walked to his small gas stove. What's left of his evening was heating some can of food from the discounter and then some pages in a library book. He shook sadly his head. He used to be one of those that hazed bookworms. Now that was his only means of entertainment.
Distracted by an absent mind, he didn't notice that a leather satchel was open. Half the content spilled on the floor as he moved it.
Cursing, he crouches down to gather the content. A bunch of faded and yellowed pages.
All of them were in neat handwriting, but so old that he had to squint to read the faded ink. Something about behavior and nature. Maybe a journal of a researcher? On some pages, he saw drawings. Though faded, he could make out that each drawing pictured a woman. Curiously they all had wings. Not of a bird or bat. More along the lines of dragonflies or butterflies.
Finally, he found the title page. "Manuscript - Almanac Of Pixies - First Edition"
Suddenly a voice startled him. "Oh, that. It was my uncles. He vanished when I was just seven. He wanted me to have it. Wrote it down in his will. Do you read a lot young man?"
Behind him stood Miss Bates. Who knew the old lady could be so sneaky. He started to put away the pages. "I guess. More of a recent development."
She gave him a smile that somehow every old lady perfected.
"Oh, in that case, why don't you keep it? With me, it only would gather more dust. And I already feel terrible that I can only pay you a hundred dollars for all your hard work."
Jerry grounded his teeth again. One hundred dollars? Melody said fifty. So she was keeping part of his pay. He couldn't wait to confront her. "Thanks, Miss Bates. I will treasure it." Or sell on eBay. Something he thought better than to say aloud.
Sitting at his small kitchen table and eating, his gaze drifted towards the leather satchel. Sure. Why not. He could sift through it and look how much it was worth. Probably nothing.
Soon he found himself immersed in the manuscript. Miss Bates's uncle must have been some wacko. He thought Pixies are real. He wrote a whole book about them. Treated it as a serious field of study.
What intrigued Jerry the most was the consistency. In many works of fiction - especially complex ones - occurred errors and plot holes. Here, however, he could not find one inconsistency.
Slowly - because the writing was so faded - he learned about the pixies, their tribes, and races. According to lore and, if you believe the author, interviews with live Pixies each tribe represented an aspect of nature. Basic stuff like plants and trees. Or the elements. Even common behavior like wrath, mischief, or lust. For the last one, Jerry was especially disappointed to not find a drawing. Most of the other tribes had. He didn't take the whole book seriously, but he had to admit that having a lust pixie around would be kind of nice. Or hilarious.
Then he arrived at the last chapter and had to nearly laugh out loud.
The chapter words were very faded. Still, he could read: "How to summon a pixie…"
He snorted. Sure. Summon a pixie. Just like that. He was halfway to putting the book manuscript away when inspiration struck. Summoning things must be complicated. Fiction or not. So if he really wanted to find an inconsistency, he had to look there.
Once again he immersed himself in the book. Sure enough, it was complex. There were a bunch of ingredients listed for the main portion of the ritual and separate lists of ingredients for the different kinds of pixies you could summon.
Most of the ingredient list melted away as he figured out that each part had different alternative ingredients listed. If one wasn't growing in your part of the world there was another listed that would.
After maybe half an hour, he had made himself two lists. One for the main part and one for the aspect. Rent down to the local fauna and flora. To his surprise, none of the ingredients were expensive or rare. He even bet he could pick them all up in the nearby nature reserve. It would be a walk of one or two hours. All that for a ritual he didn't believe in?
He looked around his room. Nothing there he hadn't seen a thousand times before. He was starved for something new or exciting.
"I can't believe I am saying it, but let's summon a pixie!"
He was grinning like a madman and talking to himself didn't help to lessen the image. Thankfully he was alone. He grabbed his backpack and headed out. First, the library to pick up some books so he could identify the needed plants. Then the park.
A part of him thought he was going mad. On the other hand, he had more fun than in a month and it only cost him about five bucks for the fabric and thread. He was busy bending and connecting the branches he found. The book called for a wooden circle. Much like a flower wreath just bigger. Then he had to add the plants to be sewing and tacking them on. Bigger parts had to be knotted on with strips of the cloth.
Finally, he was all done and on his floor was a wooden circle of about three-foot diameter. Decorated in a way that may be said, mad man. He checked twice if everything was done right. It looked like everything was in order to summon a female lust pixie. Being a red-blooded man no other pixie tribe would fit him.
With his last check done, he moved the ring over his improvised pool. A bunch of garbage bags taped together. The ritual called for water to be poured and he didn't want a mess. Or worse, the neighbor downstairs to complain to his landlord.
He stepped into the circle with a pitcher of water in his hand. Everything he knew of summoning rituals said that the summoned creature would be in the circle and the summoner outside. But then again all he knew was from pop culture.
"There we go. Countdown to the totally obvious disappointment that it didn't work in three .. two .. one .."
Slowly he emptied the pitcher. Letting a small flow of water flow over the wood and plants. He turned clockwise and slowly got the whole oversized wreath wet.
"Ritual complete!" he said to no one in particular.
Nothing had to be said actually. No incantation or dancing. That was it. Ritual complete. Jerry shrugged.
"Well, this was fun. What do I do now?"
He then noticed something particular. Try as he might he could not raise his foot to step out of the circle. It didn't take him long to notice the second odd thing. A slight mist of gray smoke lifted itself up from the wood of the circle. Slowly it drifted upwards. Not towards his half-open window. The smoke clung to him like living tendrils. Slowly it crept upward.
It reached his face and he took his first lung full of smoke. When he exhaled his mouth spewed out pink smoke. It took a few drags before he noticed that he was fine. No coughing or suffocating. That calmed him down and averted the panic attack that had been brewing.
Now, with the immediate danger gone, Jerry could think again. He was stuck and needed help. Shouting for help was the obvious thing to do so why hadn't he? He drew a deep breath of air and smoke and yelled for help with all his might.
Nothing left him, but a cloud of pink smoke. No sound escaped his lips. Just more pink smoke to mingle as mist on his room's floor.
As shouting for help wasn't an option, he took stock of his surroundings.
Below him was the circle. Slowly the wood and plans vaporized to gray smoke. It drew itself towards and upwards him. To be breathed in and exhaled as pink smoke. It, in turn, filled the floor. Only the gray circle of wood and smoke broke its domain.
Suddenly dread filled him. As he watched the last remains of wood and plants vanished. He drew in the last traces of gray. With nothing in its way, the pink cloud crashed onto him. A heat and warms filled him. Made him dizzy. Soon he didn't see anything, but pink. Heard nothing, but his heartbeat and his excited breathing.
Suddenly he lost the ground beneath him. He was in a free fall. How long he couldn't tell. Losing his consciousness before he hit the floor.
Besides waking up in a collapsed tent, he was naked and he felt strange. As if his body felt off. When he crawled forward something pulled on his back. Has someone glued stuff on him and it got caught in the folds of the tent and gave resistance? Something hung below him on his chest that his mind tried its best to ignore. His arms and legs felt weak. Had they lost mass? Finally, he arrived at the opening and dragged himself out.
What greeted him was so out of there that his mind refused to work for a few seconds. He was in his room. Only that his room hadn't the size of a stadium. Everything around him was gigantic. His kitchen chair was a small skyscraper. His fold-out couch might have as well been a cruise ship. Even his shoes had the size of trucks. It didn't get any better when his gaze drifted downward. The tent he had crawled out was his shirt. The weird feeling of his body by finding a female one now seen from the first-person perspective.
Jerry's mind chose this moment to skip all the usual feelings. Anger, fear, confusion, and denial had all to wait as he fainted again.
Maybe it was the angry ringing that wouldn't let him faint again. This time he had to face reality. "I didn't summon a pixie. I frickin' became one!"
Looking down he saw what he dreaded. A lithe female body. Not overly curvy and with barely any breasts. For that small wonder, he was deeply grateful. He stood up and looked around his room. Only to spin around and show the phone the middle finger.
"Would you frickin' shut up?!"
Maybe it was his shout or the impatience of the caller. All he knew was that merciful silence greeted him.
Now oddly calm he started to take stock. He really had the body of a girl. Maybe a little underdeveloped physically. Not that he minded. As he examined his body further. His skin had a slight hue to it. Like someone had spray-painted bubblegum-pink over it. Flexing around he noticed that every part of him was evenly discolored. More so, he felt the slight tugging on his back again. He twisted and turned till he saw something swish behind him. A few tries later he caught a piece of it.
Wings! Of course, he had some. Apparently, every pixie had wings. Why was he even surprised to find them? He tucked on his caught wing to examine it closer. Best he could describe it was like a V with the pointy part connected to his back. From there the wing flared outward in a thin pink membrane that was a mix of bat wing and dragonfly. Unlike a V, his wings were slightly curved and dropped downwards.
It felt strange. To feel his hands on an appendage that he hadn't had before. Suddenly the wing jerked in his hands. An instinctive try to flutter them as he thought about using them. He let go of his wing and prepared himself for what was to come.
All around him towered his furniture. If he wanted to survive he knew he had to fly. Without it, food and shelter would be out of reach.
He readied himself. Wings pulled back. Then he took a mighty flap.
Suddenly the wind was rushing past him. His clothes quickly became smaller. It was as if he was falling backward.
Then he noticed the ground coming closer. His world suddenly exploded into a mess of pain, tangled limbs, and a view that spun around like crazy. Eventually, his world came to a rest. He had stopped, but the pain continued.
Slowly he unfolded himself of the contortionist hell of knotted pixie limbs he had become. Surely he must have broken every bone in his body. To his amazement, every limb or appendage looked to be alright and the pain vanished shockingly fast.
After he shook off the shock he looked around. He was halfway across the room. Still on the floor of course. His mind slowly provided answers. His wings gave too much force and his angle was so flat that he launched nearly parallel to the ground. With nothing to slow him down, it was as if he had jumped out of a speeding car. Only ten times worse.
"Okay. Full throttle equals disaster. Got it. Should try baby steps. Or more like baby flaps."
His chuckle was lost on everybody, but him. After a deep breath, he was ready. Instead of a full swing, he gently moved his wings up and down. Was he feeling lighter? He moved his wings a tad faster. Did his heel just leave the floor or had he imagined it.
Again he increased his pace slowly. A jump and then another. Without using his legs he shoots slightly in the air and softly floated back down. Again and again.
"The new me. With all-new features like a built-in trampoline."
He chuckled again. Then he stopped as he had a sudden insight.
All this was wrong. He should be frightened or confused. Maybe even angry. He should feel more shocked. At the start, he did faint after all.
But now he was on the opposite. He wasn't concerned or scared. Hardly batted an eye after a horrific crash. Eager to experiment more. Something had changed. Not just physically, but mentally. He felt curious and light-spirited. Something that reminded him of the manuscript. The chapter about pixie mentally.
He just hoped he could control those feelings. Curiosity and a lack of fear might help him for now. Other traits like playfulness or being drawn to mischief might be more of a problem.
With that sorted out - for now - he concentrated again on the task at hand. Again he willed his wings to move. And again he had measured wrong. Suddenly he found himself several lengths of himself in the air and slowly gravity took over again. Before he could crash into the ground again he pushed with his wings again. He gained some height. After a few more swings of his wings, he slowly learned to measure it just right. Gradually his hectic strong movement of wings and jerky shooting upwards gave way to gently flapping wings and a hover.
Jerry grinned. He had done it. Finally, he was flying. He felt as if nothing could stop him now. A sudden loud ringing broke his concentration. Before he could collect himself he rammed into the ground.
Cursing he stood up. The pain faded mercifully fast away. Above him droned the ring of the telephone on. After he collected himself he leaped into the air. His flying was shaky at best, but for a skill recently learned it was all right he guessed.
A moment later he landed on the small table that held his phone's station. The phone itself overshadowed him as if it was a statue of every phone in the world. Giant and immobile. There was no way that he could lift the phone or even operate it. Even if he could. What would he say? No one would believe him.
Meanwhile, the phone rang on and tormented Jerry's ears. Maybe he could at least silence it. He thought the situation over and came to the conclusion that pulling the phone line out of its socket.
Once again he leaped into the air. The plug was found quickly. He muttered a curse as that small thing was still half his current height.
He wrapped his arms around it and stemmed his legs against the wall. No matter how hard he pulled that thing didn't move. Probably rust or something. His phone wasn't the newest.
Maybe it was the still ringing phone that shortcutted his temper.
"If you don't come peacefully, then brute force it is."
He wrapped arms and legs around the plug. Holding with all his might he gave a strong swing of all his wings.
The wind shot past him yet again. Moments later he picked himself up. Quickly noticing that something was missing. Looking over he saw still that damn plug still in the socket.
He pointed theatrically at the plug and screamed from the top of his lungs. "Move you spawn of hell!"
It shocked him as a glittery light shot out of his hands. A second later it slammed into the plug and it flew out with force. In fact, it flew so forcefully away from the wall that it pulled on the phone station. Making it shift several inches. Jerry held his breath. That stupid thing tethered on the edge of the small table. Below it swung the phone-line like a pendulum.
"Oh damn it. Am I in a catastrophe movie directed by Michael Bay?"
Slowly the phone's station shifted and the whole thing tilted over the edge. It only took a second till it hit the floor and an earthquake made Jerry fall over.
A few inches to his right the phone bounced off the floor. With a deer in headlights look, he took it all in. Several seconds ticked by. Wearily he stared at the phone. He wouldn't have been surprised if it had exploded. Of course, he knew a normal phone wouldn't. Yet, in his crazy reality he found himself in, he certainly wasn't risking taking anything lightly.
When nothing happened for a few minutes he took flight. The first point on his list was to take stock of his new surroundings. His room looked familiar, but also strangely warped. With everything bigger, at least relative to him, the room became a vast unknown terrain. He certainly wasn't taking chances with anything mundane and ordinary. Not after the phone debacle.
Everything around him picked his interest and curiosity. He could easily waste all day either exploring or just having fun flying around. Still, the rational part of him took charge. Water, food, and shelter. That's got to be his priority. Maybe watching that bear guy on the tv hadn't been such a waste after all.
The best chance was his kitchenette. Water was first and easily found. He would never have thought that he would be someday happy that his faucet leaked. The food was found in the form of cereal. Damn was he pleased now that he hadn't thrown the seemingly empty package away. There he found three rings of cereal as big as his torso.
Now he looked for shelter. The bread box caught his eye. A housewarming gift from a neighbor. The kindness never repaid as his money had been too tight for gifts.
He dragged his bounty over and took a look. The bread box was wooden and the size now of a big garage. Which was fitting, as it had closing mechanisms similar to that of a garage door. Thankfully he had left it half-open. As he walked in he found what he expected. It was empty save for some breadcrumbs, evidence of its last and only occupant, and a checkered fabric covering the ground.
With that taken care of, he sat down and started to think. Next, he had to find a way back to his old body. Maybe something in the manuscript. He would, however, have to find a way to turn the pages.
There, a magic glowing ball of light might do more damage than help. Maybe he should explore a bit. Find tools that help him.
He was still planning when exhaustion took over. He never noticed that he drifted off to sleep in his new home. A small bread box covered in a white-blue checkered cloth.
"Open up Jerry. Your rent is due and if I don't get it my father will be pissed. Come on. Open up!"
Damn, it was Melody. He quickly reasoned that this was one problem he couldn't handle in his current form.
Instead, he spotted his half-open window. He didn't have to endure Melody's banging if he wasn't here. With enough reason to legitimate his curiosity, he had no reason to stay here. With a tiny squeal, he took off. Immediately he noticed that his flying had gotten better. As if he had trained while sleeping. Of course, that hadn't happened, but he couldn't shake the feeling he had changed more.
Outside he surveyed his surroundings. To be caught out in the open was a bad idea. It would be safer to explore other apartments. Maybe someone had left a window open too. At first, he thought he had no such luck. Then he spotted a window that simply had closed by the draft.
As it wasn't really locked he reasoned that he could push it open. He raised his arm and again a glittery ball of light shoot outwards. The window didn't slam open like expected. Like his flying, he had sudden new insight and control. No doubt about it. He had learned it in his sleep. Maybe he could cast even new spells. Absent-minded he slipped into the room. Not a good idea.
Suddenly he was tumbling through the air. Maybe it was his newfound skill that allowed him to catch himself before he crashed into the floor yet again. Turning around he saw a freight train of fur speeding towards him. Narrowly he avoided the collision. He levitated as fast as he could to a safe height. In maybe eight feet height he stopped and looked down to find out what exactly had attacked him.
Below Jerry, two yellow eyes followed him. Gray striped fur and a swishing tail. Just his luck that he had to run into a house cat. From up here, she looked small and innocent. He exhaled and relaxed.
He vowed never again to underestimate seemingly empty apartments.
A sudden blur and the cat was gone. A creaking behind him was all he got as a warning. Turning around he saw the fast climb of the cat. Chair. Table. Air. Endstation Jerry. Again he narrowly avoided the 'tamed' predator. Jerry had enough. As fast as he could he left the apartment. He returned to his own and his bread box.
Thankfully silence greeted him. With the excitement gone his heartbeat slowed down to normal. Moments later he dozed off again.
###
Hey Jerry,
it's Mike from work. The boss asked me to check in on you. You missed five days of work and no one can reach you.
Boss says if you don't show up on Monday that you are fired.
So see you soon right?
###
Jerry was astonished. Five days missed? That meant it was now Friday or already the weekend. Why was he tiring so easily and why did he sleep so long? He munched on a stale cereal ring and washed it down with water from the leaky faucet.
While he chewed he was thinking. Maybe he slept so long as a side effect from learning stuff in his sleep. If that was true then he just had to literally sleep it off. Of course, that was assuming he wanted to get used to his new body and its capabilities.
He threw that idea out and focused on the here and now. Despite his bad luck, he knew he needed to continue exploring. For one he needed more food soon. On the other hand, time was ticking away. If Melody was already banging on his door then he might soon get evicted. Not something he looked forward to. Logic, however, dictated that a fast solution to his transformational mishap was unlikely. He needed a new hideout.
The wooden bread box drew his gaze. He barely had been awake for the last few days. Despite that, he had strangely grown fond of his new home. It would be hard to give it up.
Being done with his breakfast he leaped into the air. Flying was already second nature to him. He experimented a little and noticed that his pushing or pulling had improved as well. With concentration, he could even constantly channel it and levitate small things.
Now came the hard part. He may have or have not new spells. Jerry concentrated and willed them out of his subconscious. Nothing.
He felt ridiculous. A tiny pixie flying around naked. Meditating and praying for new magic.
He snickered. With no clothes around for someone the size of a pixie, he hadn't a choice. Even if he would find a Barbie doll, her clothes would be too big. He guessed it was up to him to make some.
His eyes widened in sudden realization. He could do it. He didn't know how, but he knew every pixie had a spell to make herself clothes.
He landed on the kitchen counter. Standing on the counter's rubber mat, he was ready to experiment. He closed his eyes and concentrated. Jerry didn't know much about pixies or what clothes they wore. The pictures in the manuscript showed them in form-fitting dresses made out of leaves. A sudden light behind his eyelids made him open them. In the palm of his hand was another glowing sphere of magic. Before he knew what to do it floated off his hand and slowly drifted down.
Suddenly the world exploded as it hit the ground. The rubber mat he was standing on came to life and grabbed him. No amount of shaking or wringing threw it off. It stopped as suddenly as it had started. After he calmed himself down he saw what happened. He stood on the counter. Directly on the wood of it. Around him was a hole cut into the rubber mat.
That, however, wasn't the only change he noticed. He got his wish. A form-fitting dress, just like the ones on the pictures, and slippers graced his body. With a cringe, he noticed the material. The same rubbery material his countertop mat was made of. As he moved it squeaked annoyingly and it looked like a cheap plastic dress for an equally cheap toy. He hated it.
Escaping the dress proved more difficult than getting into it in the first place. No zipper or buttons. It took him ages to get the shoulder straps off and then slowly roll the whole mess down his body.
Free again, he decided to experiment. He reasoned that whatever material the sphere of magic hit would be sacrificed to make a new dress. That proved to be right.
The cardboard of the cereal box resulted in a Frankensteinian mix of cardboard robot and princess costumes. The still not thrown away wrapper of a candy bar made him a walking billboard and drove him nuts with the crinkling sound.
He cringed at the thought of what might happen if he used the spell on a stainless steel fork. For all, he knew it could result in a dress he would wear forever. The sponge in his sink looked like a puffy creation of a high-end fashion designer. Creations that are edgy, but never really worn.
In the end, he settled on the napkin dress. He felt a little silly, dressed in all white, but the dress was reasonably comfortable and didn't make strange sounds when walking or flying.
With that impromptu point of his to-do list done, he checked how he felt. Curiously he wasn't tired at all. Even a little hyper. Maybe using magic revitalized him?
Maybe different spells might help him stay awake longer? Because dressing up all day was really not his idea of fun or living. So far he knew only basic pixie spells that every pixie could perform. How he knew that he didn't know.
He gulped. Was he a pixie of the lust-tribe? He had tried to summon one. It made sense. Did he really want to uncover spells fitting for a lust-pixie?
Still, his curiosity won out. He closed his eyes and concentrated. Pretty soon he saw the telltale sign of light shimmering through his eyelids. Opening them, he saw a hot pink ball of glowing light. He cringed at the color even though it had been pretty likely that some of his spells had a pink color scheme. His body had, after all, the same color scheme too.
Unsure what to do he let the ball of pink light float free. It weaved around without focus. It reminded him of a dog sniffing to pick up a trail. Suddenly it froze midair and moments later speed towards Jerry. It slammed into his belly and he gasped.
A white-hot fury burned in him. Not where the magic had hit him. Worse. On all the places he had dreaded to even think about the past few days. His vagina ached furiously and his arousal dripped in a constant stream. Only barely he managed to keep his hands away.
Of course, banishing them above his belly line didn't help either. There, tiny, but stiff nipples begged to be played with. He needed something to shelter him from the onslaught. On instinct, he flew over to his bread box. As his feet touched the ground he crumbled.
Nothing could stop him now. One hand shot to his breasts while the other furiously rubbed his aching sex. A moment later his first female orgasm crashed through him. Still, it wasn't enough. Clear thinking eluded him as his world narrowed to the pleasure provided by his body. No matter how often he came it was not enough. The need burned a hole into his mind. He did whatever he had to do to achieve the next peak. The next sweet release. Hours later he drifted exhausted to sleep. Only to moan in his sleep as his hands still groped his body.
His hands lazily roamed the contours of his body. It might be worth finding out how much the spell had contributed to his amazing orgasms. Now that the spell had worn off he was in perfect condition to provide a magically unassisted comparison.
He was about to spread his nether lips when he heard something that broke through his haze and into his mind. The sound of keys unlocking a door. He quickly hid as best as he could in his bread box.
The door opened and in stepped Melody. Jerry cursed. Of course, it had to be her. He watched her explore his apartment. Heard her cursing as she nearly stumbled over the phone. Dreaded the moment as she was close to the manuscript.
"Damn it the bastard ran away. No emptied mailbox. Unplugged phone. And he left all his junk too."
Melody cursed around unknowing that Jerry could hear everything. She randomly rummaged through his belongings. Suddenly Jerry felt angry. He had to do something. Even if it was stupid and could lead to trouble. In a moment, when Melody's back was turned to him, he stepped out of his hiding place. With his arm raised, he willed his magic to show. It only took a second for the pink ball of light to manifest. With all his might he threw it as a pitcher might in baseball. Like a homing missile, the sphere rushed towards Melody. Slamming into her exposed skin right above her tramp stamp.
Melody fell down with a gasp. Her hands clawing at her revealing top and cheap short skirt to gain access to her own flesh. Once that was done she abandoned all modesty and masturbated as if it could save the world.
Jerry did sit down amused on the kitchen counter. No way she would notice him in a state like this. He wondered if he too had looked like a wanton slut in heat. Probably, but not that much. Still, Melody fitted the role better. Her platinum hair with black ugly roots laying around her. The makeup was so overdone that a drag queen might tell her to go easy with it. Her lips were so plump that they had felt the bite of a syringe more than once.
Of course, her breasts looked equally fake. It was a wonder that her butt hadn't been 'enhanced' too. All in all, she looked to Jerry like a suburban cougar in the making. Just a few more years and some Jaguar print clothes. Worse was that despite all that she always acted so high and mighty. As if she was the cream of the crop.
Well, now Jerry had taken her down. He smiled as he saw her winding and squirming below. While Melody wasn't what turned him on, the way he had gotten his tiny revenge certainly made him hot. Lazily he lowered himself on the counter and looked over the edge. His own hand found his naughty bits and soon he too was moaning in pleasure.
It was when Jerry came down from his second orgasm. Something was different. The squirming below him had stopped. He smirked. Of course, not everyone had his stamina. The dirty grin quickly vanished as he saw that Melody was still awake. Her eyes riveted to him.
Getting caught was bad enough. Being caught by Melody was ten times worse. However, what's done is done. Now how should he proceed? Making a hasty exit could lead to her hunting him. On top, it would mean he had to give up his home. The bread box had really stolen his heart somehow.
Gaining her as an ally might be useful. Maybe he could levitate the pages of the manuscript. Maybe not. To gather the ingredients for another summoning ritual would be a lot harder. A human-sized person on his side might be just what he needs. "Hi there. Had fun?" Jerry hadn't meant to say the second part, but it slipped out anyway.
Seconds ticked by till his words worked themselves past Melody's shock.
"Uh, hi?"
Jerry suppressed a snicker. So Melody was still in working order. Her brain was not fried. At least not yet.
"What are you?"
"A pixie. Never seen one before?" Maybe Jerry should deal his attitude back down a little, but on the other hand, he had too much fun.
"No, I haven't. Are you real?"
"As real as the orgasms you just had."
"Oh my gosh! Was that you?"
"Duh. Felt awesome right?"
An awkward silence settled over them both. Each eyed the other warily. In the end, it was Melody who spoke first. "That was a neat .. trick. My name is Melody by the way."
"I know. I am Jerry."
"Oh, you have the same name as the dude who lived here."
Jerry palmed his face. Oh boy. Not the greatest start to work with. "Not past tense. I still live here. And I didn't run away. It's just hard to pay rent when you are as small as I am."
"Jerry? Really? No way. I mean .. how?"
"Short version? Tried summoning a Pixie. Became one instead."
"Why did you try to summon a Pixie?"
Jerry shrugged. "Nothing better to do."
Again an awkward silence descended upon them. A moment later Melody got up and moved over to Jerry who instinctively took flight.
"You look cute. What are you wearing?"
Jerry rolled his eyes. That was definitely not something he wanted to hear. Of course, she had to notice his dress. Pure white it stood apart from his rosy skin.
"Oh, that cheap thing? Made it myself. Calling it 'contour de napkin'. And please don't call me cute."
"But you are and so adorable. I didn't take you for a fashion designer, though. How long did you work on it?"
Jerry rolled his eyes again. If he spends more time with Melody that might become a serious health risk habit.
"Two seconds. Because … Magic!"
"Oh? Show me!"
Jerry let his head hang. Of course, she would demand a demonstration. He grumbled as he knew he could have avoided that pitfall. Should he entertain her and hope that he still could use her as an ally or run and hope for better chances elsewhere?
In the end, the simple fact that he couldn't take the manuscript with him made the decision for him. "Fine. Do you've got a flexible material with you? Something you don't mind losing?"
"Like this?" She pulled something silken out of her purse.
At first, Jerry took it for a silken scarf, but it ended too soon. A handkerchief. Never in a million years would Jerry have guessed that Melody would have a handkerchief with her. And a silken one at that. It was a mix of blue, red, and purple blotches that blended into each other. He hoped those were by design.
"Place it beside me on the countertop and then look away."
"But I wanna see!"
"Oh damn. Fine!"
Annoyed, Jerry shrugged out of his napkin dress. He struggled to hide his breasts and new genitalia. Another thing he never thought he would do.
Of course, he had to reveal one area as he had to summon his magic. A moment later cool silk flowed over his curves and then tightened to a form-fitting dress. Tenderly he moved around. The silk was a lot softer than the napkin dress. No way he would go back to anything else if he had the choice.
"And done? Did you like that magic show?"
"Oh my gosh. That was so neat."
"Well, I hope I don't have to do it more often."
"Aww .. why?"
"Because I am a guy! And don't tell me I don't look like one right now. Inside I am still me. See the leather satchel on my coffee table? That's my way back. It's just hard to accomplish as small as I am."
Melody followed his suggestion and walked over to the coffee table. Jerry leaped into the air and followed her.
"Oh my gosh! You can fly!"
Jerry rolled his eyes. Of course, Melody would state the obvious. He landed beside the leather satchel. "According to the manuscript in here, every Pixie can."
Melody got the papers out and carefully did go through them. "No wonder you made a mistake. I can barely read them."
Jerry just shrugged and continued to watch. Melody had a few questions. All of them easily answered. Then she came to the chapter about summoning a Pixie.
"I think there is more to the title than you thought, Jerry." She picked up the paper and walked to the window. Curious about what she was up to he followed her. She held the paper against the window and the bright sun. Jerry cursed. The backlight revealed ink that was deeper in the paper and less faded.
"How to summon a pixie…from within. Sorry, Jerry. Looks like you didn't make a mistake with the summoning spell."
Jerry hovered with his mouth agape. If the spell worked correctly did that mean there was no counterspell? Was he stuck like that?
Filled with angst, he flew back to the only safe place he knew.
His bread box. Spying the half sacrificed handkerchief, he floated it over with magic. A moment later he was wrapped in it like a blanket and tried his best to forget the world existed.
Melody certainly made it hard for him. She was engrossed in the manuscript. Often switching positions between couch and window.
Now and then she would shout questions towards him and to his frustration, she repeated them till he answered.
Yes, he was a lust Pixie. Yes, it was in hindsight a stupid choice.
Maybe he should have paid more attention. It might not be the smartest idea to answer everything she was asking. However, right now Jerry was done with the world.
"Jerry! That bread box. Is that your home?"
Jerry grumbled. The question hit him deep inside. Was it? A few days ago he would have said his apartment is his home, but now it felt alien. Familiar yet estranged. Before it had been the house of his parents. He had never felt at home there. Too many expectations. To much guilt of being not enough. His tiny bread box. Yes. It felt like home. It was his and gave him a feeling of safety.
"Yes. Now stop with the stupid questions and leave me alone."
If his gruff voice bothered her he didn't know. High-spirited she replied. "Okay. I'll be back tomorrow and I think I can hold my Dad off until Friday. By then we need a solution."
He heard the door close. Finally, he had some peace and quiet. Turning around he drifted off to sleep.
He contemplated what to do. Go out and look for her? Stay inside where it was safe? She had told him that she would be back.
In the end, he practiced some magic and waited for Melody to show up.
It was early afternoon when he heard the key sliding into his door's lock. Quickly he rushed to a hiding spot. As it turned out it was just Melody. He chuckled about the absurdity to be happy about Melody showing up.
However, he reasoned she was still his best bet for help right now. Reluctantly he flew out and greeted her. After some forced pleasantries were done, she burst out with some news. "Well I haven't found a way to turn you back, but I found a way to make you feel better. Just trust me."
Jerry sighed. Trust Melody. But then again what choice did he have?
Melody walked over to his couch and coffee table to sit down. With her, she had a wicker basket. Not a normal sight for her. As she pulled a blanket back he saw to his relief the leather satchel with the manuscript.
"So how much did you get into the chapter about a Pixie's behavior?"
Jerry shrugged. "I skimmed it. Why?"
Melody gave him a grin that somehow made the fine hairs on his neck stand up. "Well according to this you need to use magic to stay healthy, be happy, and awake. What I propose is that you use one spell a lot and we monitor how you feel? Okay for the spell. As much as I liked the orgasms you gave me I don't think I would survive more than three or so. Your pulling, pushing, and levitating are weak sauce. With that remains …"
She grabbed into her basket and pulled out a bunch of textiles. It looked like she raided the samples of a tailor. Jerry saw dozens of different colors and fabrics. Changing in front of her yesterday had been embarrassing enough and now she wanted it to do a bunch more. No way in hell.
Or so he thought. Another thought sneaked inside his skull. What if he used a lot of magic and became stronger. Maybe he would learn a spell to turn himself back. As much as he hated to admit it. Melody's way would be the best and easiest to reach it.
"Fine. But we keep this strictly professional. No catwalk runs or other silly stuff."
Eagerly Melody nodded and placed the first fabric beside him. He shrugged off his dress and let his magic flow. Once he was dressed he pulled the new dress off too and did the next.
After a half dozen Melody stopped to provide new fabrics.
"What's wrong?" He had been just found his flow and didn't like the break. He wasn't going to admit it to her, but she was right. Somehow it was fun and improved his mood.
"Well. I was wondering. How much do you control it? Can you only do dresses?"
"Good question. I don't know. So far it always had resulted in dresses. The kind of dresses I saw in the manuscript."
"Maybe that's the standard. We could try if you can make other stuff. Wait. Try this one." She rummaged through the basket and pulled a fashion magazine. Opening it at an earmarked page. Totally spontaneous. Sure. Jerry knew Melody had planned this from the beginning.
"I told you. No modeling stuff."
"It's not. We need to start with small changes. Still a dress, but a different kind. If you manage that we go to the next. Baby steps!"
Jerry sighed but did what she wanted. He concentrated on the picture and then cast his spell.
"It worked! A little. Keep trying."
It took fourteen tries till Melody pronounced it a success. The front of his dress looked just like the picture.
"Turn around so I see the back."
Shrugging he complied. Then he waited. Becoming impatient he had to ask. "And?"
Suddenly an earthquake hit together with a loud gong-like sound. He fell to the floor. Ears ringing and the world spinning. Panic rose inside of him. What happened?
After most of his nausea settled down he noticed something curious. He was on the coffee table yet his right hand was leaning against a wall. As he looked around he saw a curved glass wall all around him. Up, above him, was the real terror. Two giant hands were holding down the glass that trapped him. They belonged to Melody who gave him a nasty grin.
"Look what I caught in a jar. Such a rare catch. Might be my lucky day."
Jerry banged on the walls of the jar and shouted to her to release him. She simply ignored his plight. Like a villain in a movie, she took her time.
"You know. There was a very interesting passage in the papers. It's about Pixie homes."
Jerry cursed and kept on banging, but slowly he lost steam. Something was wrong.
"You see every Pixie needs one. Yours is that cheap little bread box"
Jerry felt himself getting lightheaded. In panic looked around.
"Or rather it was. Now, this jar is your new home."
The lid! It formed an airtight seal. He was suffocating!
"It might take a few days, but soon you will only know this jar as home."
He didn't have days. Couldn't she see that he was dying?
"And then you will be mine."
He collapsed against the glass. His banging got weaker. That megalomaniac was killing him.
"Because whoever owns a Pixie home owns the Pixie too."
Merciful darkness cuts her off and Jerry slipped into a long dream.
He was resting on a bed made crudely out of paper tissue and another silken handkerchief. Below his silken blanket, he found the last dress he modeled. The same dress Melody had used to distract and trap him. With fury, he tore it from his body. He knew it was stupid, but his anger was overwhelming.
It was fueled by the blazing hate for Melody and the shame that he actually had trusted her. Angrily he punched the glass wall. Nothing happened. Not that he expected as much. The glass was too thick and too strong.
Behind it was an unfamiliar landscape. Gone was his apartment. His jar was on a shelf in a girl's room. He didn't even need to guess who's room it was. The hapless thrown around cheap dresses told him all he needed to know.
He paced his small prison. Not an easy thing to do when the floor was curved. He still felt anger, but he knew no way to vent it. The whole situation made him mad. His options turned out to be pacing or trying to sleep.
All his spells looked impractical. His telekinesis spell couldn't open the lid. There were just too many layers of duct tape. Moving the whole jar might be difficult and there was only one way to move it. Off the shelf and even with his amazingly resistant body he doubted he would survive it.
His arousal spell would probably bounce off the wall and would lead to a night-long masturbation session of himself. Not the way he wanted to be found by Melody.
The clothing spell was a risk he wouldn't want to take. For all, he knew he would trade a glass jar prison for a glass dress-shaped prison.
After he ran out of steam he plopped down on his bed and tried to sleep.
Now, trapped in a dark twilight, he couldn't even see if she was still in the room. Soon he gave up his screaming and banging. What was the use of it anyways? It was clear that Melody couldn't be reasoned with.
He laid down on his bed again and tried to sleep. There was, however, something preventing him. Slowly it got stronger. A smell. First, it had been faint, but soon became penetrated his whole jar. Through the punctured holes in the lid drifted in the smell of Melody's cheap perfume and the stale odor of sweat. Whatever air got to his jar first had to pass through the dirty dress.
He turned around and buried his face in the silk of the handkerchief. It didn't help. It took hours till his exhaustion won over his anger and the irritating smell.
He even was slowly growing to appreciate the jar. It was cozy with the tissue and handkerchief bed taking up most of the floor. It wasn't too big and with the solid walls, it felt safe. He knew that was an illusion, but that voice of reason got smaller by the day.
Laying beside his bed was a small table out of folded paper. It looked skewed and pathetic. On it was a half-eaten blueberry. Courtesy of Melody. Today was the first day Melody had opened the jar. However only after getting his promise that he won't try anything. To his regret, he had complied. It must have been the hunger. Five days without food can do that to you, right? In return, for what felt like selling his soul, he got two blueberries, the ugly paper table, and a few pieces of fabric. To train his magic she had said.
After gobbling down one and a half blueberry he could finally think clearly again. With it came the fury, shame, and regret. That was all he had left. That and a bundle of fabric snippets. He would be damned to even think to dress up again. It was what Melody wanted.
Still. Now and then his eyes darted to the bundle.
Melody clapped and complimented him. He beamed proudly. For the first time, he had managed to not make another dress. Currently, he wore a skirt and a halter top. Melody wanted a tube top, but that would interfere with his wings.
"Thank you, Melody."
"Oh, you look so cute. Listen. I want to know something. Do you still see yourself as a man? I mean you wear dresses and now even skirts and tops. You even like dressing up. Would a man do that?"
Jerry blushed. Melody had a point. It was quite silly of him to do so. Jerry vowed to think from now on as herself as female. "No Melody. I guess not."
"That's right. And should a woman wear a man's name?"
Jerry shook her head.
"I have the perfect name for you. From now on your name is Jeri."
"But my name is already Jerry."
"No silly. Jeri. One 'R' and an 'I' instead of a 'Y' at the end."
"Oh, that is so smart Melody."
"Oh speaking of names. I don't think you should call me Melody anymore."
Jeri was confused. Renaming her made so much sense. But why would Melody want a new name? "I don't understand! You are Melody."
"Okay listen little one. Your home is this jar, right? And I own that jar. That means I own you too. Something I own shouldn't be calling me by my name. From now on I am your Mistress. Got it?"
Jeri hesitated. Something wasn't right. She didn't want to be owned. But what if Jeri was upsetting her by saying no? Would Melody take away her jar? She loved her jar. Maybe not at the start, but now she liked it. No way would she give up her jar. Not even for her old bread box. What had she seen in that thing? It had been so rustic and way too big. Not as cozy as her jar. Jeri knew she would do anything to keep it. Even calling Melody mistress.
"Sure thing, mistress."
"Great. Now show me how you look in that hot pink cloth."
Something that happened quite often. The old Jerry might have called her mistress a slut. Jeri knew better. Her mistress just had a big sexual appetite and now with Jeri's help, she could finally fill her need. All it took was a little spell at the right time and they couldn't resist her.
The first time had been the worst. She had a guy over. That was what? Maybe two months ago? Jeri cursed how much she lost track of time. It felt longer than two months when she had the first time blasted a guy on her mistress's behalf. That guy was immediately horny beyond reason. He roughly shoved mistress on her bed and then fucked her like an animal in heat.
Jeri wanted so much to go in and help her mistress, but she had forbidden it. For Jeri, it looked too much like rape. Even with her mistress moaning in delight. The next few times she tried to reduce her strength. Of course, her mistress found out and forbid her to hold back if the target was with the mistress in private. Luckily mistress didn't order her to watch. Falling asleep in her bed, when two people were going at it like animals, was hard enough.
Her reduced spell garnered her the dubious honor to escort mistress outside. A reduced blast filled most guys with enough lust to drop everything to be with her mistress. Be it their work, errand, or girlfriend.
Sometimes Jeri felt bad. Her conscience told her it was wrong to force these guys. She so wished that her mistress would settle on one guy, but no, she had to have them all. Consequences be damned. Of course, since mistress explained it to her Jeri had less of a problem with it. To those men sleeping with her mistress was the highlight of their pathetic lives. Did Jeri really have the right to deny them that?
So Jeri did what was asked and in the meantime, she had her hobbies. All of them were approved by her mistress. There was dressing up or learning to dress up better. Jeri had to read about a dozen women's magazines for the latest trends. A waste of time in Jeri's opinion. No one came so close to perfection as her mistress and her unique style.
Then there was the masturbating. Jeri was supposed to do it two times a day. Actually, she had the problem to do it just two times a day. Mainly because she had a lot of time on her hands. She even got used to mistress order to fantasize about guys doing her. She still preferred girls, but a certain curious voice had sneaked into her mind wondering how it would feel. Of course, she wouldn't have sex anymore with anyone. Besides her, no one was around in her size class. Neither men nor women.
She sighed. Still, three hours till her mistress returned. What else was she to do to pass the time? Both hands snaked down to her nether region and started their dirty deed.
Jeri was freaking out until her mistress had come back home.
"Finally! Jeri, now you are a real mature Pixie."
Obviously, her mistress had known. Read it probably in that book. Jeri meanwhile was confused and needed to be told what was going on.
New Pixies were small and had only access to a small amount of magic. Over a few months, they grow. Jeri hadn't even noticed until her mistress held a ruler beside her. She had grown from about two inches to just over five. No wonder her jar felt a little smaller.
Then came the point when her body had grown out and the magic surpassed its capacity. If she was full of magic and attracted more, it would shed off in the fine dust she was now scrubbing. With her being a lust Pixie masturbating was one of her natural ways to refill her magic.
Mistress was collecting it as if it was worth its weight in gold. She liked it so much that she had ordered Jeri to only masturbate in her jar with the lid closed. Of course, with Jeri being so active in that department she had to clean her jar every other day. Not just clean it, but to collect the dust too.
Jeri was half done when suddenly the door burst open. Jeri froze till she noticed that it was her mistress storming in. She flung herself on the bed and groaned.
Hesitantly Jeri looked out of her glass. "Mistress? Something wrong?"
"Something wrong? SOMETHING WRONG?! I tell you what is wrong. They all are avoiding me. No one dares to come even close. I haven't been laid in like three days!"
Jeri sighed. In her opinion, it had to happen sooner or later. Most of her mistress frequent bed partners had wised up and avoided her now. Somehow they couldn't trust themselves around Melody. Jeri felt a little ashamed again for her role in it.
She crawled out of her jar and looked at her mistress. What to do? The longer she was without sex the more her temper got the best of her. Leading to increased risks for Jeri as she had to accompany her mistress farther and farther away from her jar.
"Maybe mistress could masturbate to take the edge off? I could give a certain push..."
Jeri half expected her suggestion to fail, but to her surprise, Melody actually thought about it.
"Damn it. Fine. Blast me with all you got and tomorrow we go out to hunt."
"Really everything?"
"Yes. Come on, little one. Show me what you've got."
Jeri gave a small whistle. It had been some time since she last blasted her mistress. She feared a little how strong it would be now that she was a 'mature Pixie'. She took a few seconds to really gather her magic and let it fly towards her mistress.
The effect was immediate. Melody tore her clothes if her and grabbed, pulled, and rubbed her body with reckless abandon. Jeri smiled. That's how she liked it. No men. Just her mistress giving her a show. Jeri laid down herself and peeked over the shelf's edge.
Seeing her mistress glistening in sweat and hearing her moan made her aroused too. Surely mistress wouldn't mind if she did it once outside of her jar. Jeri's hand sneaked down, while her eyes were still glued to her mistress.
Suddenly a small quake rattled Jeri. Mistress laid the wrong way on her bed. In her throws of passion she had kicked out and hit the wall. Jeri snickered. It happened a few times more. Jeri didn't care. She was so close too.
Suddenly her mind registered a strange sound. Something rolling. Oddly intrigued she stopped and looked around. What she saw made her eyes as big as saucers. All the kicking had made her jar jump its holding place. Now slowly it rolled towards the edge.
"Mistress!" Jeri cried out in panic. Just as she scrambled onto her feet the jar tipped over the edge. She took flight and started her chase. Gathering her magic to levitate her jar as it had already traveled halfway down.
A blink later and her jar shattered on the ground. Jeri landed on the closest place available and screamed in anguish. Her beloved jar was gone. Over her own tears, she could hear her mistress moaning. Melody hadn't even noticed the tragedy. Suddenly Jeri wasn't sad anymore. She was furious. Melody had always been selfish. This proves it just once again.
In fact, the past few months had only been about Melody and her wishes. Why had Jeri even listened to her? Jeri looked down at the scattered shards of what had once been her home. No that wasn't right. Hadn't it been her prison? How could she ever forget what Melody had done to her? Somehow she had been brainwashed. Ever since that jar came down on her Jeri had acted strangely. She just hadn't noticed. Worse. Melody had told her as much. Whoever owns a Pixie home owns the pixie. With seething hate, she looked towards the woman that had robbed her of freedom and mind for months. But what could she do? She was just five inches.
Melody's moaning got weaker and Jeri started to panic. Once Melody was clear-minded she would try to catch Jeri again.
At once, Jeri cast another arousal spell. Not as strong. She had spent most of her mojo earlier. Then she leaped into the air. For now, Jeri had to get away. In a frantic way, she looked through the house for a way out.
Spotting a half-open window she shot out. Freedom! But what now? Jeri decided to get as much distance between her and Melody as possible. While her tiny body flew down the street her mind raced with her. Her mind had been bent worse than a pretzel. Was she back to her usual self? Clearly not. She still thought of her as a woman. Wasn't even sure if she wanted to go back to being male or human. All she needed was a safe place and some time to think things through.
Looking down she noticed her clothing. The knotted string top had been once a lacy stocking. Her skirt was so short that it barely earned its name and was some elastic plastic Melody had found. She was looking like a slut. Disgusted Jeri tore the clothes off her body. She rather flew in the nude than dress like a winged whore version of a Barbie.
By now Jeri had slowed down. Her fight or flight instinct slowly settled down. She guessed she was ten to twelve blocks down the road. The neighborhood around her had changed from three-story apartment complexes to suburban one-family homes.
Now, what? Go as far as she could from Melody and leave it all behind. It certainly was tempting. Only her conscience reminded her of the little fact that Melody still had the manuscript. She wouldn't look long for Jeri. It was rather likely that she found some poor sap and got him to perform the ritual. Something Jeri couldn't let happen.
Looking around he spotted a few houses that appeared run down. Maybe abandoned? She zigzagged around in search. Getting more urgent minute by minute. All the spells and flying had tired her out.
There. One building looked less run down, but there was a hole in one of the windows. Cautiously, Jeri investigated. Once she slipped in she was greeted by dust and furniture hiding under big white blankets. So far so good. Carefully she examined her surroundings. The gray blanket was even and undisturbed. No one had entered the house for years.
Now she needed to find a spot to hide and sleep. Of course, everything had been stowed away. With her last strength, she opened cupboards and shelves in the kitchen. By now using magic tired her really out. Then she hit the jackpot. One of the lower shelves contained cans and mason jars. All filled with goodies.
The last owner must have been a prepper, her tired mind reasoned. Off to the side was one large jar laying open and on the side. Eagerly Jeri climbed in and only then noticed the oddity. Did she escape one jar to crawl into another? Maybe not everything from Melody's brainwashing had worn off.
Jeri gave a heartfelt yawn and leaned against the curved wall.
Nothing furnished this jar, but it was the best thing she found so far.
She could look for something else later.
She had to rest.
Today was done.
Tomorrow, however, was a different matter.
Tomorrow Jeri will start a war.
Tomorrow, Melody will learn to rue the day she garnered the fury of a Pixie!
Melise swore silently as she pulled her travel bag up the stairs. What idiot had thought of the idea a school needs a widespread staircase in the front of the school's courtyard? She cursed again as she climbed another step. Individually they weren't that high. Maybe the combined width of two of her fingers. Instead, they were wide and the whole staircase spread out like a giant courtyard of its own.
As much as Melise was annoyed with the staircase, it was just the sacrificial lamb that garnered the dubious honor to be the stand-in for the real targets of her anger.
She climbed the last steps and it came into view. The royal school. A place where everyone wanted to be. Princes and princesses. Sons and daughters of every rung of the aristocratic ladder. Children of high merchants or wealthy mages. Everyone save for one. Melise would like nothing more to turn around and storm off. The question was to what? Her mother had sacrificed everything to get her here. Her wealth, dubious fame, and legacy. More so she had sacrificed Melise's legacy as well. Snuffed its flame before it could blossom.
Her mother wanted her to have a good life. The right life. Not the shunned one she had. It left her here. The one place she didn't want to be. Grumbling and cursing she started to move again.
First was the lower reception area. The one for not high-borns. She was shown by a servant to her quarters. A small room in a dorm favored by mages or mages to be. How ironic. The one discipline she was interested in was the one she had already learned. On top, it wouldn't be taught here. Not in a million years. Even some aspects of necromancy were taught here. Not hers. It was shunned like the mages that wield it. But in secret. Oh, how they loved it. Everyone with money came soon or later. Not that they would admit it.
A gentle knock announced that she had a visitor. On her bidding, a servant came in. "The dean would like to see you. Now."
She might have felt threatened if it wasn't for the fact that she knew it would happen. Part of the deal her mother made to get her in. It looked like her unpacking had to wait. She grabbed her most dear possession, her private lexicon, and headed out.
She followed the servant to the main building. A monstrosity that could be as well a castle. Dozens of floors, stairs, and hallways. It appeared as if the servant led her through each and every one of them.
She arrived finally before the dean's office. Just in time to wait for three hours. 'Now!' must be a relative term around here.
When she was led in she nearly overlooked the dean. Behind a huge and opulent decorated desk perched a slim-looking man. His haggard figure had all the signs she expected. Arrogant and snobbish. Drunk on the power that his little fiefdom gave him.
"Miss Melise of the famous Arnier mage family I presume."
She gave him her best cutesy. "Melise Arnier. That is all I can call myself now."
"Ah yes right. A wise choice on your mother's part. Nevertheless, I have to ask for your lexicon."
Melise hesitated. Just for a moment. Reluctant to hand over her prized possession. Still, she did what she had to do.
The dean weighed the heavy book and took a look at the cover. Then he flipped open the book and paged to the first cataloged item.
"Now Miss Arnier, the key please."
She stifled a sigh and told him her elaborate system to mark what item was in her possession and which did not.
Systematically he examined each page. In the end, he grunted.
"Just eight items? I thought the Arnier's family portfolio was bigger. Many of these ... things ... still have the Arnier family listed as an owner."
"That was true. You see the families in this trade always try to get exclusivity. In order to get me into this school, my mother sold every exclusive we had. What is left are these common ones nearly every family owns," Melise admitted. Her voice sounded calm and collected. But within she was furious about that very fact.
"I see. Well, I guess it's a clean break from the past. However, should you ever go back to old family habits please let me know. That it is part of the deal that I know every item you possess."
Melise gave a curt nod.
"Dismissed Miss Arnier."
Hastily she stood up and left after grabbing her lexicon.
It was three months later that a servant disrupted Melise's class. She wasn't much into auric manipulation anyway, but with limited options, she had to choose something. The servant whispered something to the teacher who glanced at Melise. Definitely not a good sign she decided.
"Melise. Please put away your materials and follow this servant to the dean's office."
She swallowed. Three months. Her mother had given everything away for measly three months. However, she was determined to not let her disappointment be shown. She packed her things and followed the servant out. However, she quickly noticed that it wasn't the way to the dean's office.
"Where we going?" she asked.
"Your dorm room Miss. I was told that you need a lexicon of some kind."
Melise silently cursed. If she needed her lexicon a bad situation just hit catastrophic proportions. At what point had she messed up? What noble had she been run afoul of? With this school, it could be anyone. It was a cauldron of intrigue and deception. Wealthy low-borns mixed in an environment with high-borns. This was an opportunity to rise above the mob by marrying an aristocrat. Those, however, had their own little plays and intrigues to play. Melise had to find out in whose conspiracy she had stumbled and fast.
After retrieving her lexicon she was led directly into the dean's office. No pompous waiting game this time. Another bad sign. Again she was greeted by the sight of the haggard dean. New was the lad of maybe nineteen and his parents. Wealthy clothed. Highborn for sure. Their usual arrogant gaze missing. Open hostility showed there instead. Melise frowned for a moment. She had seen that boy maybe one or two times from afar. How could she have angered him?
"Ah, Melise. Please take a seat and hand me your lexicon," the dean greeted her.
"How can you be so calm? She ruined our son. Throwing her in jail might be the least she deserves," the father of the boy demanded in an angry and stern voice. Melise recognized it. Someone was used to getting what he wants.
"I assure you, Baron of Kelis Islands, that I take this matter quite seriously," the dean calmly countered.
Melise did as told. Picking apart the small exchange told her everything she needed to know. First off it was not an intrigue she had stumbled into. She was accused of using her learned profession. The very same her mother was giving up. The good news was that she was innocent. The bad news, however, was that she might not get a chance to prove it.
The Dean opened the lexicon and flipped through it. Clearly, he was searching for something. Melise wet her lips in anticipation and hesitantly made a suggestion. "If you tell me what happened I might be able to help."
"Oh, you know very well what you did!"
"Baron, please. Let's remain calm and civilized. Please entertain her by giving her the facts."
Maybe Melise had misjudged the dean. That guy had a spine after all. Was it her salvation or doom? Melise couldn't tell yet.
The Baroness answered instead of her husband.
"A servant found undergarments hidden in his room. Female ones. Confronted by us he admitted to wearing them! Hidden and while in public. He even admitted receiving pleasure from doing so. How can that be not her meddling? He was fine before we send our son here. It was a mistake dean. No fetish mage should be allowed here."
Melise kept her cool on the outside. On the inside, her heart and mind were racing. With opportunity comes hope. And this was the mother of all opportunities. With a false calmness, she addressed the dean.
"That sounds to me like a cross-dressing fetish. On the matter of me being accused, I can easily debunk any claim. If that shouldn't be enough I am willing to swear by a contract mage."
Melise knew she had them. They just didn't know it yet. The dean meanwhile found the page. His brows furrowed as he read the details.
"Yes here. Hmm. Her family never claimed to be in possession of this particular fetish. Melise why don't you tell us your proof so we can get past this as fast as possible."
Now she had to be careful. One wrong word and the doors of opportunity might close. She wet her lips and started to explain.
"There are two ways a fetish mage can give another person a fetish. The artificial way is hard, fast, illegal, and easily detectable. It is for all-purpose mind control and is treated as such. Every fetish mage apprentice has to sign a contract mage enchanted document before receiving training. Making it impossible to use the pure artificial way against anyone."
She gave them a short moment to stomach those details. Then she continued.
"That leaves only the natural way. It is slow, but a lot less detectable. In order to share a fetish, the mage would need to have the cooperation of the target. For an inexperienced fetish mage like myself, it would take hours to do this and your son would have noticed. With your son having servants and other entourage it is easy to ask around. They all will tell you that I haven't spent time with your son…"
The glaring showed her that they didn't believe her fully. It didn't matter to Melise. The opportunity was still there. Ripe for her taking. Now she had, so to speak, to go in for the kill.
"A usually unknown fact is that fetish mages as myself can remove them as well. In fact, I'd be delighted to remove it from your son. I wouldn't even request payment. Just a few other things. I assure you those would be in your interest too."
Melise knew she had them. She had to try her hardest to not show a wolfish smile. She still that the hatred in their eyes. The doubt.
"Nothing is for free," replied the baron. "What are those other things?"
"A contract mage. We all will sign a document forbidding us from telling anyone what fetish I removed, as well as that no one can tell of whom I removed it. You should recognize that with contract mages' magic this incident here will remain forever a secret. No one of us could tell. Willingly or unwillingly. I just require one more thing. Part of the contract has to be that you all give up any claim to the ownership of the fetish."
"Whatever that means. Gladly," the Baron added. "Just get it done."
After hashing out some detail a contract mage was called. He would inscribe the contract onto their very souls. No breaking of the contract was possible. Ever.
Then Melise had to do her part. Facing the son she had to go into a trance. Diving deep down into the mind of the target. The poor fella didn't even know how much she would violate him. With him never speaking a word Melise recognized the signs why he might have developed a fetish. The mind was complex. Capable of many things. If hindered or blocked it will find a way to free itself. He had grown up with rules and regulations to make him into a perfect heir. His mind had been robbed of opportunities to express themselves.
A fetish like the one she was chasing now down was for all purposes a way to break the mold. To have something for only himself. And now Melise would rob him of it. To alter him and take away his only escape from the harsh ruling of his parents. To let him sink back into the boringness of his normal mundane life.
She felt bad. However, not enough to stop her. Slowly she cut the fetish loose. Disconnected every little strand from the host's mind. It took a long time. Hours even. By the time she was done the last traces of sunlight vanished behind hills. Now it was hers and hers alone.
The baron's family couldn't get out fast enough. Away from her. It was good acting, Melise had to grant them that. While in trance she had probed them. Just a little. A peek if you so will. Both parents had work done by at least three of the more famous fetish mage-families. The signatures unmistakably. Of course, they weren't alone. Fetishes were spices to improve one's life. And if one group had the means to indulge themselves it was those rich with title or trade. Without them, fetish mages would have long vanished.
Triumphantly she marked the fetish in her lexicon. Then she showed it to the dean. His eyes went wide.
"You didn't just remove it. You stole it," he accused her.
"How else would fetish mages acquire new ones?" she asked him in a calm voice.
"I see now why you decided to bind us by contract. Dismissed Miss Arnier," he told her.
The dean looked grumpy. Maybe it was because she outsmarted him for once. She took her lexicon and headed out. Just before she reached the door the dean once again addressed her.
"I hope you don't plan to start trouble Miss Arnier. I'll be keeping an eye on you."
"I wouldn't dream about it." The lie flowed over her lips without conscious thought.
She left the main building and looked around. With nightfall, the courtyard was nearly deserted. She walked over to a bench and set down.
With a little bit of concentration, a spider web of light appeared over her open hand. This was it. Her newest item. Rendered visible to the naked eye. A fetish mage might see more. The fragile construct that linked concepts and actions. Desires and needs. Every little nuance of the fetish. It was a blueprint. Ready to be copied into the mind of others. It was small for a fetish. In its infancy. Complex yet still simple.
She could see the main parts that formed it: attraction to the panties of women and the excitement of having something hidden.
The second part was what made it exceptional. Cross-dressing was known well enough. Most of all the Bernard family called it their own. But theirs was different. Their fetish was open, over the top, and flamboyant. Hers was the opposite. Hidden and well guarded. It was common yet elusive. With people hiding it, it was hard to find someone possessing it. It had proved to be impossible to acquire. No one had been willing to part with it. Until now.
Melise grinned and looked down at her treasure.
The fetish could use some growth. In the right host, it could mature into something more. To include more garments or to be bolder in taking risks while wearing things hidden. But to do this she needed hosts. People volunteering that she could trust or control. The younger the better. Best if they just left puberty behind.
She looked around. All the dorms around her were filled with prime candidates. All she had to do was to pick some and find means to control them.
Suddenly she had to laugh. All this time she never had felt she belonged in this school. It was filled with intrigues and hidden plots. Now she was scheming herself. What irony. She had become one of them. Not that she minded. It was the break she had hoped for. Her mother had robbed her of her family's legacy. Now she had the chance not to win the old one back, but to start her own. Grinning she headed to her dorm and to bed. There was suddenly much to do and she hardly could wait. When she was done panties will be part of the school uniform and not just for the girls around here.
Taran twitched each time another bullet or magic bolt impacted on their car. Each twitch shoot lightning bolts of pain through his veins. With numb arms, he pressed the gauze on his bleeding stomach.
"Hold on Taran," his father shouted. "I'll try to shake them."
His father maneuvered wildly - trying to shake those who hunted them - but Taran hardly noticed. The blood-soaked gauze fell as his hands slipped and he drifted off into unconsciousness.
*****
A week earlier Taran walked through the traveling carnival. He didn't want to go, but his friends insisted. Maybe it was about time to rip of the band-aid. He hadn't visited a carnival since his mother died. A decade earlier. It was the last thing they did together. One last happy day before cancer took her away from him. Not wanting to spoil the memory he stayed away. But maybe it was time to move on.
His friends dragged him from booth to booth. Laughing. Smiling. However, Taran couldn't get his head into it. He was on edge. Something was wrong. He felt it in his blood and bones.
"Hey look. That old gypsy is waving us over," one of his friends exclaimed.
Caught curious his friends dragged him along. Taran tried to not roll his eyes. Magic was real, but looking into the future through cards and crystal balls? Surely not.
"So, Miss Adamache. How much for our future," one of the group hollered after reading the tacky sign above the tent.
"It's free, but not for you," the old woman countered with a smokey rough voice. Then she let her eyes drift till they rivet themselves onto Taran. "Yours I will read. Come in. Alone."
She vanished into her tent without another word. Naturally, Taran was reluctant to follow her, but his friends pushed him on. Practically shoving him into the tent.
The old woman didn't even look up to him. "Take a seat," she just said.
Thinking he would be faster out if he complied Taran sat down at the small round table. The top was covered with thick purple velvet cloth and on top of it was a single deck of large cards with ornamented back.
As the woman reached for the cards to reveal the topmost Taran had to ask. "Shouldn't I. You know. Shuffle the deck."
"It is already shuffled and cut," Miss Adamache replied. "It was just waiting for the right person."
That sounded phony to Taran. More so as the first card was revealed. Death. Of course. Start with something big to lure the audience in.
"Don't be alarmed," she muttered. "Rarely means death at all. Most often the end of something. The start of something new. Stuff like that."
She drew the second and the third card. "The rider and the virgin. Curious. A long journey perhaps. A new woman in your life?"
Taran had to stifle a laugh as she flipped open the fourth card. Death. Again. Phony for sure. "Shouldn't there only be one card of each in a deck?" he asked amused.
His smile vanished as he saw Madame Adamache with a face white as chalk. With a trembling hand, the flipped the next card. Death. Once again the grim reaper grinned from his motive. She was flipping more and more cards. All of them: death. Eventually, she looked up and straight into Taran's eyes. "When is your birthday?" she asked in a wispy voice. Barely recognizable from the authoritative one moments before.
"Tomorrow," he admitted.
"Be more precise," she hissed urgently. "I know everyone around here knows their birth date to the second."
"Five minutes after three in the morning. And a few seconds." Then the penny dropped for Taran. "You can't mean that. I can't be a sacrifice. They would have taken me at birth."
Madame Adamache stood up nodding. She rummaged through the back of her tend and a moment later she fished out an old portable television. She switched it on and Taran saw a grain grayscale version of the local news channel.
"... dozens of wounded. The firefighters are still trying to dig through the rubble in search of survivors. However, the list of known victims is growing minute by minute. The most prominent of the casualties is the adoptive son and sacrificial brother of local Krem-Mage ..."
The image and sound died as she turns the small television off. "Don't go back out to your friends. Forget returning home." She stepped over to the back of her tent and opened a flap. "Run," she just said to Taran.
And run he did.
*****
Taran jerked awake. Now of all times he had to remember the fortune teller. All her warnings in vain. The image of grim reaper tarot cards littering the small table flashed before his eyes. All for nothing. He was so weak he couldn't even lift his hands to the wound anymore. Still, he felt warm blood quell out of his body.
Loud banging on a door made him look up. His father standing in front of some cabin in the woods. Desperate. Now and then looking back to Taran in the car. He was the only one Taran had called. The day his life in greater Florida ended. He had believed Taran on the spot. Picked him up near a highway and just driving like demons are hunting them. Which was close to the truth. Just past state lines they noticed someone following them. No matter how often they shook them off, they always found them again.
"Coming!" An old voice shouted. Muffled by wooden walls. As the door opened Taran saw an old white-haired man.
"You are a doctor, right?" Taran's father asked with urgency in his voice. "My son. He needs help!"
"I don't think I can help," the man said but followed to the car. "By the great witches. Your boy needs a healer or ambulance."
"There is no time," his father urged. "He lost too much blood already."
"I am not that kind of doctor," the old man insisted. Seeing Taran's father's desperate eyes he relented. "Let's get him inside. Maybe I can slow the bleeding till help arrives."
Together they heaved Taran out of the car. Blood dripping. Leaving a trail from car to the couch.
"I'll get my first aid kit," the doctor said while walking deeper into the cabin. "Call the police," he shouted.
But when he returned Taran's father hunched over him and tried to stem the blood flow of the wound.
"Let me," the old man said. "Call. Now."
"I can't," came the weak reply.
"You have to. I am not a doctor for this. I studied enchantments and prosthetics. I can't help him. Not really."
"Can't. They might call who did this."
"Who? Was this a hunting accident?"
"Krem-Mages."
"What? Here? Great witches of the past give me strength. Call. They have no friends or authority here."
His father was about to turn when they heard cars racing over gravel. The hunters had arrived. They were out of time.
The old man hurried into the back of the cabin. Leaving Taran and his father alone. This was it. The end. Taran tried to talk, but his voice barely a whisper. His father crouched down. Bringing his ear to Taran's lips so he tried again. "Dad. I love you." Taran didn't know if he just imagined the words or not. He hoped his father knew. How grateful he was.
With tired eyes, he looked up to his father. As his eyelids slowly closed he saw him being shoved away. Pain flared as something cut his chest right over his heart.
The pain drew him away from the tiredness one last time. Seeing the doctor who held a strange crystal to his chest. A light started to glimmer behind delicate goldwork and crystalline walls. Taran thought that maybe it was some kind of healing device. His pain drained away. He became more alert. As the glow became stronger Taran closed his eyes for the last time.
When he could see again his view was from the ceiling. The doctor leaning over him and his father wringing his own hands. He just saw the doctor palm the glowing crystal before the door burst inwards. Chunks of wood flying everywhere.
Men in black tactical gear stormed the cabin. Dragging the doctor and father away from the body that Taran could only think of as his corpse. As the doctor was pushed out of the cabin Taran's view followed.
Outside a ghastly scene unfolded. His corpse was dragged out. His father and doctor pushed to their knees nearby. The men formed a cordon around his body. Only to be broken by two men entering who were dressed quite differently. Black suits with blood-red shirts and accents. Krem-Mages.
One was older and pushed the younger one to the corpse. "Go. Hurry."
Taran noticed that the younger Krem-Mage was close to his own age. He guessed so close that only a few minutes separated their birth. The boy withdrew a dagger - from where he couldn't tell - and sank to his knees before Taran's body.
Taran couldn't look away as the boy plunged the dagger into the body before him. Unblinking he had to witness as the boy mutilated Taran's body. Suddenly a little relieved that he couldn't feel the corpse anymore.
With a triumphant grin, the boy held up the very price he had chased after. Taran's heart. It was sickening as Taran saw the boy bite into it. Savage. Wild. More and more frantic.
"I don't feel it," the boy howled in anger. "Something is wrong."
"The soul is gone," the old doctor said. As every pair of eyes turned to him he continued. "He died minutes ago. You are too late."
"For nothing! All this for nothing!" the younger Krem-Mage raged while kicking at dirt and random stones.
The older one meanwhile walked leisurely to Taran's father. "Your son could have been part of something great. Now he died in vain. You robbed him of that. You should be ashamed."
"Ashamed? Me?" Taran's father raged. "You wanted him dead. At least this way he had a chance. You and your rituals sicken me. I ..."
One of the guards struck Taran's father down with the butt of a rifle. He raised it again but was stopped by the older Krem-Mage. "He is punished enough. Let us not waste time, as we might still find a replacement in time. A week is not over yet."
Taran saw his father crawl towards his body while the Mages and their guards just drove away. In the coming silence, only his father's sobbing could be heard. Meanwhile, the old man stood up and walked into the cabin. As much as Taran wanted to fight it he was helpless as his view followed the doctor inside.
After grabbing a blanket he walked back out, to Taran's father who had propped up Taran's head on his lap and was gently stroking his hair. "Maybe it was fate after all," the old man gently said while covering the corpse with the blanket. "I was the wrong one to save his body, but the right one to save his soul."
"What are you talking about?" Taran's father demanded while tears ran down his cheeks. "He's gone. My son is dead."
"Not as long as we have this," the old man said while pulling out the same crystal he had touched to Taran's chest.
"In there?" his father asked.
"Yes. Come inside and I will explain. Tell you how we can bring him back. But nothing can be done for this body. Come," the old man insisted.
With a heavy heart, his father pulled the blanket over Taran's face and followed the other man into the cabin.
"I know how painful it is to lose a child. A few decades ago I lived with my family in the Great Lakes area."
"Gorgon territory," Taran's father added half-heartedly.
"Yes. Medusa and her kind can control now their stare of petrification. Not so their pets. My daughter used to play with a young gorgon when she was little. The Gorgon got a baby basilisk as a gift. Had to show it, my daughter. The stare of the basilisk was not fully developed yet. It started out with a small spot. A coin-sized patch of skin turned to stone."
By now they arrive at some storage room in the back of the cabin. Hard cases and crates were stacked on top of each other. "Help me with this, will'ya?" the doctor asked while pointing to a hard case that was pretty long and big. Buried under everything else.
"The spot grew. More and more of my daughter's leg turned to stone. It took months, but it steadily advanced. We tried everything, but nothing helped. Eventually, healers had to amputate her leg. That was what made me change fields. Learn about prosthetics."
The doctor stopped for a moment. Panting from the physical exhaustion. But beneath it, Taran saw the pained look of a man who had lost someone.
"We thought it beaten, but a few months later the petrification returned. The flesh to stone curse wasn't on the body. It was on the soul. I had only one option left: a full-body prosthetic. I succeeded, but not in time. My daughter passed away long before I could complete my work. Still, I worked onward. Maybe someday someone else would need a full-body prosthetic. Then some advancements in magic took place and suddenly my research wasn't needed anymore. My investors jumped ship. My wife was long gone too."
They pulled the large case out of the room and placed it on the living room floor. "So I came here. With all my material. Most curious of all no-one complained about me taking the prototype." He patted the case. Then he fumbled with some locks. With a hiss, the top opened.
"It ... A girl's body," Taran's father remarked as he looked upon a still body of a young woman.
"Yes. It was for my daughter after all. You have to decide. The crystal can hold the soul only so long without help. The body or set your son's soul free."
Taran's father looked pained but gave a slow heavy nod. "Do it. Give my son this body. Please."
The old man took a knife and carefully cut some plastic wrapping. Revealing the youthful body beneath. His father turned away out of modesty. Taran couldn't do so even if he wanted. And what was the point? If the doctor held his promise this would soon be his body.
With curiosity, he studied the body. It looked a little unfinished. The skin had a slight sheen to it. Like a mannequin. He saw tattoos. One on the chest right between the breasts. The place where humans had their hearts. Another was located on the right forearm. Details eluded Taran but he made out the shape of a large key.
The doctor held the crystal with Taran's soul right above the tattoo on the chest. Reacting to it a small cavity opened. Just big enough to sink in the crystal. The moment the skin closed over the inserted crystal Taran's view vanished. Instead slowly senses returned to him. Hearing, smelling and the sense of touch. The last one curious as he could tell this body felt different from his original, but not quite. However, control of the body was eluding him.
"He isn't moving," Taran's father said close by. His voice tinged with worry.
"Of course," the doctor said. "There is something missing. And your son needs you for it. You see the soul is connected to the body by energy. Most call it Ki. For the prosthetics, we use the same energy so that the soul can move the artificial limb. However here the full-body prosthetic has a huge disadvantage. Ki can only be produced in a normal body of flesh and bone. As this body is entirely artificial no Ki can be produced. Leaving the soul unable to control the body."
"But you must have found a way to make it work, right? Some way to bypass this drawback," Taran's father insisted.
"Yes and that is where you come in. Place your hand on the tattoo on the arm and say 'reveal the key'."
Taran felt his father's touch and then heard the words followed by a gasp. Then something metallic landed on his new arm only to be picked up.
"This is one of two keys. Magical devices not just for transferring Ki, but also generating it inside another person's body. Help me to prop up the upper body."
Taran felt hands grab under his new chest. Lifting him upwards and forward.
"Here in the back, there is a small tattoo shaped like a keyhole. Use the key there."
Something cold touched his back. Taran reasoned it must be the key. The cold touch didn't last long as he felt the rather strange feeling of the key sinking into his skin.
"Now wind the body up."
Taran could feel the key turning. Slow, but steadily. Each turn filled him with something. Whatever it was it didn't felt unpleasant. On the third turn, movement returned to Taran. He drew in a lungful of air and managed to open his eyes. Blinking against the sudden brightness.
"Welcome back to the world of the living," the doctor said close by and gave him a lopsided grin. "Sort of..."
"Taran?" he heard his father asked from slightly behind him.
Turning around he saw his father. Worry had etched deep lines into his face in a short amount of time. His eyes were puffy red and his whole look spoke of exhaustion.
"Dad!" Taran exclaimed while drawing his father into a heartfelt hug.
They remained like this for a while till the doctor cleared loudly his throat. Feeling a little awkward both separated.
"Keep turning his key," the doctor instructed. "Until it won't turn anymore. I call the Sheriff."
Mentioning the authorities Taran couldn't help, but look out of the open front door to the corpse covered in a blanket. It was surreal. Here he was alive - kind of - and over there was his old body. Mutilated and broken open.
"Are you okay?" his father asked while resuming the winding of the key. Fresh energy flooded into Taran's new body.
"Yes. Sort of. I ..." He broke off. Not startled by his new feminine voice but because of a loss of words. He stared down his new body. The skin now looked softer and less artificial than before. Most of his lower body was still covered by plastic, but his new breasts were out in the open. Between them, the tattoo that marked where the crystal was hidden along with Taran's soul. It brought him back to the gruesome scene moments before.
"I saw everything," he whispered. "Floated above everything. Couldn't look away. Couldn't blink. I ..."
His father stopped the winding of the key. Instead, he gently put a hand on Taran's shoulder, who leaned his head against his father's chest. Tears started to dwell in Taran's eyes and a moment later he cried with all his soul. Not caring why an artificial body could cry. Just glad that he could.
When the last tear was shed Taran saw a bathrobe draped over the hard case lid. He murmured an ashamed "sorry" to his father and grabbed the robe. Pulling away and slipping into it.
"Don't be," his father softly said. "No one should go through what you have experienced. I thought I had lost you. And I am just glad that you aren't."
With the help of his father, Taran stood up on shaky legs. Soon he got the hang of his new body and with it, he got steadier on his new legs. Still, he sat down on the couch. As he leaned back something poked his back. Remembering the key he tried to twist and reach for it with his arms.
"Let me." His father's gentle voice calmed Taran down and sat still as his father pulled out the key.
A fake clearing of a throat made both look to the doctor who stood nearby.
"If the winding is done place the key on his arm's tattoo and say: 'hide the key'."
His father did as told and once again felt the cold metal on his skin. As the words were uttered the key started to levitate and to glow. In a few heartbeats, it turned to light and wisped into the tattoo. Nothing remained of it but air.
"What now?" Taran wondered aloud.
"I called the Sheriff. She is on her way. I guess you are wondering why you are in a different body."
"No. I heard you. While I was just the crystal. I could see too. Had no choice but to look. I am sorry about your daughter."
"Thank you. But she is long gone. I made my peace with it." Yet despite the doctor's words Taran still saw the pain in his eyes. "Anyway. You might have questions about your new body and its functions."
It was his father who asked first. "It was kind of hard to wind his key. Is it still functioning correctly."
"Yes. In fact, it would be nearly impossible for me to wind him. The key is a device with a practical and symbolic function. The person who winds the key volunteers their own body to Taran to produce Ki within their body. That requires trust. The more trust the easier the Ki production and the faster the key can be turned."
Taran meanwhile examined his new slender hands. "This will take some time getting used to," he murmured. Then he looked at the doctor. "Is there a way to rebuild this body to resemble my old one? I mean can you make this one male?"
Sighing the doctor took a set himself. He looked at Taran as if he was debating what words to use to bring bad news.
"So it is not," Taran concluded out loud.
"It is possible, but ..." the doctor broke off. "I could build a new body or alter your current one. The problem is funding. The body you now inhabit, the one I practically stole, took materials worth two million to build. On top of it countless work-hours and access to some high tech machinery."
"And we are utterly broke," Taran added.
Again he felt his father put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "We will find a way to deal with this."
Taran nodded but looked to the doctor as he started talking again. "There is, however, a glimmer of hope. Your body is mostly made up of enchanted magical clay. Animated by the donated Ki by your father. It was designed to mimic a natural body. However, designing goes only so far. In earlier smaller prosthetics we introduced a system with great success. It uses the person's subconscious to adjust itself. Become more realistic."
"The skin," Taran threw in. "It looked more unnatural a while ago."
"Correct. In theory, it could be possible that your subconscious can remodel the whole body to a male one. As both, the magical clay and the skeleton, are designed to be self-repairing and adjustable. However, there is sadly a hurdle. It siphons off Ki from your reserves to do this. On small prosthetics, we had the problem that they would often shut off on the first days of use because it used the hosts Ki to rebuild itself little by little. On your body, this might be more extreme. Watch out that you don't run out at the wrong time or you will be unable to move till someone winds you."
"How long will one full charge of Ki last," Taran wanted to know.
"Best guess. Maybe an hour," the doctor admitted. But he was quick to add to it. "But once your body did most of the adjusting it should expand to longer durations. Maybe four. But that is not all. One of the phenomena was that since we introduced the subconscious remodeling system that, for a lack of better words, the clay evolved. Gaining the ability to store more Ki and use it more efficiently. My team was investigating this when the project was shut down. My current best guess is maybe eight hours in the long run."
"We can manage that," Taran's father said and squeezed Taran's shoulder. While Taran didn't feel that confident that he could, his father gave him some hope that he just might.
All three looked at the front door as they now heard sirens slowly coming closer. A minute later they could differentiate two pairs of sirens. The doctor stood up and walked to the door. Taran was at a loss on how to explain this mess to the authorities. Still, he knew he couldn't avoid it. Sighing he stood up.
"I am okay," he said as he saw his father's worried look. Together they followed the doctor outside. Taran quickly averted his eyes from his old body. Blood had soaked the blanket above the hole that once had contained Taran's heart.
An SUV of the sheriff's department and a paramedic stopped right beside Taran's father's car. It was so riddled by bullets and charred by spells that Taran wondered how it had last so long, to begin with.
A late thirties woman exited the sheriff's car and put on a hat that looked like a mix of Bonney and witch hat. One look at the car and covered blanket made her face hard and grim. "Arthur. What happened here?" she demanded from the doctor.
"Krem-Mages. Not ten minutes ago. They hunted for a sacrifice," the old man said.
Cursing the sheriff ran back to her car. Snatching the radio to relay the news. Meanwhile, the paramedics got out but saw nothing could be done anymore. They waited at the sidelines till they were called.
Still cursing the sheriff got back. "Someone dropped the ball here. Krem-Mages so deep in witch-country. They should have been flagged the moment they took a step over the border." Shaking her head she stepped closer and offered her hand to Taran's father. "Sheriff Hester. And you are?"
"Morgan. James Morgan. I am the father."
The sheriff crouched down beside the body and lifted the blanket from the body to take a look. "Who is the victim?"
"My son, Taran."
Sheriff Hester looked up surprised how calm the father of the victim said it. Then she looked at the girl clad only a bathrobe. "And you are?"
"I am the victim," Taran blurted out while blushing.
Seeing the confusion on the sheriff's face the doctor stepped in. "Jeanne. You remember what I told you about my previous work? This is it. A full-body prosthetic."
"No way," she said with a shocked expression.
"It was the only way to save my soul," Taran quickly said flustered. "I didn't ask to be a girl. Had no choice."
The grim look on the sheriff's face returned. She gave a last look at the dead body and covered it. Then she waved the paramedics over.
"I need a statement from all of you. Probably best with the mayor and his aid in attendance given that Krem-mages are involved."
Taran's father - James - nodded. "May I grab some clothes for my son?"
"Go ahead," Sheriff Hester said with a nod.
Taran followed his father to their car and promptly starred in shock at it. It was a flat-out miracle that the ride has made it this far. The backend was riddled with bullet holes. Concentrated around the back wheels. Probably to take them out and force them to stop. Other less aimed bullets had impacted in the trunk. And with a wince, Taran reminded himself that one bullet had made it far enough into the car to bury itself in his stomach.
Opening the trunk they soon found out what might have saved their lives. Or rather the life of his father. A few states back they had practically raided a second-hand store for clothes as they had started their escape with just their car and their clothes on their back. The two trunks now proofed to be riddled with bullet holes.
Still, James popped them open to see if anything could be salvaged. A few shirts sported only one or two holes in them. Better than a bathrobe.
Meanwhile, Taran held jeans up. "And I thought ripped jeans are in. Not punched through by bullets. Krem-mages have no fashion sense."
The dry humor elicited a chuckle from his father. One that was contagious to Taran and soon both were laughing.
The Sheriff looked over at them but was stopped by the doctor putting his hand on her shoulder. "Everyone deals with stress in their own way," he whispered.
Taran excused himself while carrying some clothes inside. He returned in an ill-fitting outfit that showed way too much skin. "We should stop at my home," Sheriff Hester offered. "I may have some clothes that might fit you better."
Not particularly eager to wear woman's clothes Taran still accepted the offer with thanks.
Soon everyone was climbing into the Sheriff's car. As they drove away from the cabin Taran saw his old body being pushed into the paramedics truck. He wondered if it would be the last time he saw his own old body.
Maybe ten minutes in, Taran suddenly lost control of his new body and slumped against his father in the backseat.
"Doctor!" James at once shouted. Making the doctor riding shotgun turn around.
He only needed a moment to assess the situation. "You did wind him fully, right?"
With a blush, James recalled being interrupted midway. "Maybe not."
"Just wind him again," the doctor advised with a gentle smile on his face. "This will happen a few more times till Taran's soul gets used to his body and the clay evolves."
James nodded. He summoned the key as shown before and propped Taran up to have access to his backside. While he was wound up Taran was helpless and could only look straight ahead. He noticed the Sheriff doing her best not to stare at the scene taking place on the backseat through the rearview mirror. This might be very embarrassing if his father ever needed to wind him up in public.
Soon Taran could move again but had to remain still so his father could finish winding him up. The silence in the car was broken as Taran had to chuckle. "I finally manage to relax and you get me all wound up again."
Small laughs filled the car and Taran thought he even made the Sheriff smile for a moment.
"Why do I feel that this won't be the last doll-related pun I hear," his father said with an amused sigh.
"Because, new body, but the same old soul you know and love," Taran countered. Which earned him a squeeze of the shoulder and a hug by his father.
The quick stop at the Sheriff's house turned out longer than expected. Taran's new body hadn't quite top model measurements, but it was close. Finding some sweatpants and a loose blouse still was better than the shirt he wore before. The one that tried to imitate cheese with all its holes.
The town proved to be quite scenic as it was nestled against a forest of redwood trees. It wasn't like his own hometown where tourism and retirees swamped the streets. It appeared to be more the sleepy kind of town. Cozy, he soon added in his mind.
The Sheriff parked in front of a big red brick-house that appeared to be old but well maintained. There he was shuffled into the waiting room together with his father and the doctor. Then they waited. Long enough that the doctor suggested that Taran was wound up once more.
Slightly out of breath a tall woman rushed past them - and the waiting area - into the mayor's office. What struck Taran as most peculiar was her clothes. A long flowing dark robe and a pointy hat. He knew he was in witch territory, but this was a little on the nose.
"That was council witch Snyder," Sheriff Hester remarked who came into the waiting room at a more casual pace a second later. "Don't mind her attire. She likes to keep pushing people's buttons." The Sheriff knocked on the door and was let in a moment later.
Again they waited. His time only a few minutes. The door opened and the Sheriff waved them in. Taran had to suppress a whistle. The mayor's office was long. The sides lined by bookshelves that stretched to the ceiling and a few benches. One closest to the desk was chosen by the Sheriff to take a seat.
The end of the room was dominated by a large wooden table with intricate carvings. Impressive, but not as much as the wry old lady sitting behind it. The placate identified her as Mayor Lorena Woodwire. Behind her - leaning on the wall - was council witch Snyder. Her gaze was focused on Taran, which made him slightly uncomfortable.
"Welcome Mister Morgan. Miss Morgan," the mayor said after standing up. Her smile was warm and her voice was heavy yet melodious. After a moment Taran's mind caught up and only registered now that with 'Miss Morgan' she meant him. That brought a blush to his face.
"I wish we would've met under better circumstances," the Mayor continued. After offering her hand for a handshake she gestured towards the chairs in front of her desk. "Please take a seat."
The Morgan's did as told, while the doctor sat down beside the Sheriff.
"I am terribly sorry that we - the domain of Salem witches - couldn't protect you from the Krem-Mages," Mayor Woodwire said with a sad shake of her head. "Let me assure you are under our protection now."
"So we are safe?" James - Taran's father - asked.
"No," came the short and immediate response of council witch Snyder.
Mayor Woodwire shot the council witch a quick but nasty look. "I fear you won't be truly safe as long as your soul remains on the plain of the living. Ester, you seem eager to speak. Why don't you explain why."
The council witch frowned when she was called by her first name, but caught herself immediately. "Each soul has limited access to magic. With experience, one can optimize it, but the limit remains. Krem-mages found a way around this restriction. They can take in a second soul and bend it to their will. Cast magic through it and effectively double their access to magic. However, there seems to be a limitation of what souls are eligible. Their theory that souls that entered the plain of the living at the same time or close to it proofed to be right for now."
"The witches of the Salem domain tried for years to evict them out of the Confederacy," the Mayor Woodwire took over. "We have given refuge to people from other domains from time to time. There is a protection program in place we would like you to place in."
"What would that entail?" James asked.
"A new last name for both of you. There is no interest in them for you as a father. And Taran, they think you are dead. If we keep it that way you are reasonably safe."
"That is a generous offer," James replied and Taran nodded too. "I don't know how we can repay you."
"There is no need," Mayor Woodwire assured them. "We know that you have no valuables on you and we wouldn't ask for them even if you had. So far every refugee we took in contributed to this society. And we don't mean by money or material means. We strive to provide you a safe and hopefully happy place to live. It is the hope that one day you will repay this kindness to others in need."
"We will do our best," James promised.
"Thank you so much," Taran added.
"Sheriff Hester offered to let you stay at her place and she will help you set up new legal identities," the Mayor added. With that being said they were dismissed. They said the customary farewells and followed the sheriff out.
*****
Tara was awakened by rays of the sun that found their way past the blinds. Lazily she stretched and was happy to do so. This was the second morning that she had retained the ability to move after waking up. The last two months had been hard as she had to get used to her new body and it to her.
She still remembered the first morning in her new body. She had awoken paralyzed. Couldn't even open her eyes. At first, there was panic, until she remembered her new body. That it needed to be wound up. Charged by someone who helped donate Ki. The energy of the body.
Her father had been equally in panic when he had found her. Only the call to the doctor reminded him that it was his job to wind her up. One that slowly was expanded to a small group of trusted people.
There was a knock on her door and Tara was happy that this time she could answer it. "You can come in."
"Good morning Tara," her father said with a small smile on his lips. "So sleeping beauty is awake."
"I might go back to sleep if you don't hurry," she teased back.
It was good to hear her father laugh. Deep lines of worry had etched itself in the skin of his face when they had to flee Greater Florida. Now most of them had smoothened out again. Tara asked herself what was the cause. Was it her, coming to terms with her new body, or the town that welcomed them? Maybe it was the Sheriff? She had more than once noticed the small glances they both exchanged.
"Time for my morning workout," her father said with a grin. He was of course joking. Tara trusted him completely and in turn, the Ki transferring device that was her key worked with him best. Sheriff Hester or the Doc had more work to do. The tail end took the school nurse. She was still heaving with exhaustion when she was done.
James summoned the key and Tara parted the sewed in slid on the back of her pajama top. By now the strange feeling of being wound up nearly felt normal.
"Ready for the big day?" Her father asked.
"Back to school. So boring," Tara remarked. Despite those words, she looked forward to it. It had taken months for her body to learn to store enough Ki to last for hours. Still, it wasn't enough. The school nurse was brought in and was being told Tara's secret. Over the last weeks, she had been trained to wind up Tara. Which was mostly to build up trust between each other.
The plan was simple. To hide Tara's real condition she was allowed to lie. Citing a strange and rare illness. Instead of eating lunch with other kids she will visit the nurse in her office and get a top-up of Ki from her.
"Can't fool me kiddo," her father said with a grin. He hid the key in its dimensional space and gave her a pat on the shoulder. "Get ready. See you downstairs."
That left Tara with her least favorite chore of the morning: finding clothes to wear. She might now have a female body and female name, but that didn't mean she had a fitting fashion sense too. In the end, it was yet another ensemble she called "teen model tries to look like a tomboy" and headed to the small bathroom of the apartment.
Showered and dressed she made her way downstairs. They now officially rented the small upstairs apartment in the Sheriff's house that she used to rent out to tourists. There was a small kitchenette upstairs but she and her father got in the habit to eat breakfast together with the Sheriff.
"Good morning Jeanne," Tara greeted the Sheriff. Might as well get used to it. It might be still early but Tara had the hunch that one day the Sheriff might become her step-mom. But till both of them got past those small glances at each other Tara pretended she did notice anything.
Breakfast consisted of a grilled cheese sandwich. Not that Tara still needed to eat. In fact, to 'digest' it cost her some Ki. Still, eating was part of being normal. It made her feel more human. And she loved the taste of grilled cheese.
"Need a last wind up before school?" the Sheriff - Jeanne - asked.
Not that it was that crucial, but a half-hour gained might be worth it. It also helped build trust with her. "Yes, please."
This time it was a little more awkward. Not because of who wound her, but the clothes that came in the way. Tara had to hold up her top while the Sheriff wound her. Jeanne not only had to turn the key but also pull the strap of the bra down as it was right on top of the point where the key was to be inserted.
After thanking her and saying their goodbyes Tara and her father walked to his truck. An old beat up one that his new boss provided him. He would drop her off at school and then get to his new work: roadside construction.
As they pulled up to the curb in front of the school Tara hesitated to get out.
"Stagefright?" James asked.
"Maybe," Tara admitted. "Still can't believe this is my new life."
"I know. You miss our old home, your old friends and most of all your old body. But we can't live in the past. You'll do great. You did so the last two months. Always remember: death couldn't stop you. So what is a little school compared to it."
A shy smile formed on Tara's lips. With a last sigh, she opened the door. "See you later Dad."
"Go knock them out," he wished her.
Then she slipped out of the truck. She took a last deep breath and headed towards the school. To a new life. New friends. And probably new adventures. But if so whoever stood in Tara's way, they would learn an important lesson. She might look like a doll and be wound up like one, but she wasn't as fragile as one. She was a fighter. No more running, she swore to herself. Sure steps lead her onward.
Small Author notes: Hi. Believe it or not, this was the first story I had written. I had my own reasons why I delayed it, but I guess it is time to brush off the dust and finally hand it to you guys and gals. Just bear in mind this was my first work and hence the writing is a little rough and unpolished. I mean more than usual for me. This story was also the first in a planned trilogy. I haven't written the other two. Yet. But I assure you that the story ends at least somewhat satisfactory for a pilot story.
So please give it a try.
Cassy
Darrel blew out the candles on his birthday cake. Finally 16 years old. The time when dimension mages gain their power and make their first steps creating worlds. He actually felt his power come to him a few days earlier.
“So when will we be seeing your first work?” asked his father. He sat close by with his mother.
Darrel looked to his father. “Not yet. I still have to add some details. And by now I heard enough of uncle Rupert’s stories about what can go wrong that I absolutely want to make sure no mistakes sneaked themselves in.”
His mother chuckled and said: “Don’t worry Darrell honey. Mistakes happen and we learn from them. If your world wouldn’t have any .. well it would be a first for all dimension mages. Everyone messes up the first time.”
Darrel hoped his parents weren’t right but thought better than to insist on being different. After a while, he got up and headed to his room. Birthdays were for friends and gifts. But not the sixteenth for a dimension mage. This birthday the mage has to gift him or herself with the grandest gift of them all: an own world.
Just as he arrived he heard outside the clap of a closing car door. It was Sarah, his neighbor's daughter. She was also the girl every guy in school was after. Darrel included. Sighing he looked away.
Darrell took a thick book from his shelf. His work of the last year. In it, he described his soon to be first world of hopefully many. He did copy the practice to write a book about a world from his parents. Both were mages. With only a few thousand mages on earth, it was pretty rare that two mages found themselves to fall in love.
Darrel thought for a moment about his parents and how they used their gift. His father was an architect and his current world was one where he could summon buildings from blueprints. Then he could test the design by literally put them to the extremes. Weather, disasters and time. The buildings had to prove them self against them all.
His mother did go a different way. She was the most energetic in the family and loved to do sports. Only her love for driving was stronger. No wonder that she created a world, where she could drive any car on any track she wanted, with the snap of her fingers. The practical use came handy as she was the lead designer for a gaming company throwing out each year that racing game that was a must buy for every racing fan.
Sighing he looked down at his book and wondered if his work would be as practical. Thanks to his mother he was much into video games, but in contrast to her, he favored the slower paced RPGs (role-playing games). So he thought a world based on RPG rules might be nice and most of his book were filled with them.
For the world itself, he thought he was kinda smart. If a person would enter they would land in a duplicate of the place they left earth of. This would be a start area. The farther you traveled the harder the enemies would become.
Darrel opened his book and turned pages till he found the first blank page. Currently, he was working on figuring out how the currency earned would be exchanged for goods. Sure, he could create a world where everything was free but he enjoyed challenges to much to go the easy way.
In the next hour, he wrote down how each shop would have a salesperson representing said shop. That they would offer an inventory based on what the shop would offer back on earth and a lot of other details.
Suddenly he remembered the one time he and his parents visited a close by ice cream parlor. The sales clerk was looking like he passed the time, when no one was around, by sampling his own wares. In other words, he was obscenely fat.
Darrel shuddered. Not that he had anything against overweight people but he decided that he wanted only people in his world that were attractive to him. He thought for a moment about how he would write it down. As his page was full he turned it and wrote on the new one:”Everyone in this world is a pretty, beautiful, cute, sexy, athletic or attractive (or a mix of these attributes) girl.”
Darrell congratulated himself for the phrasing and thought he covered anything so only good-looking shopkeepers would be around.
Next, he worked some more detail into the combat system.
***** Chapter 2 *****
When it turned evening Darrell got up from working on his book. He and his parents were expected in his uncle Rupert’s world for celebration with his extended family. He joined his parents in the main room and after a bit of fussing around from his mother was declared ready.
He and his mother grabbed each lightly the shoulder of his father, waiting for his incantation of the entering-phrase. His father sighed and shook his head like every time before he began.
“I search for heavenly delight we leave this world behind!”
After that, he clapped his hands three times. As swirling lights surrounded them they all had to grin again.
“What a tacky incantation,” Darrel thought. But knowing his uncle Rupert it sort of made sense. The lights faded and they found themselves in a desert beneath a bright sun. Just ahead was a big building, white plaster mixed with a dark wood.
“Curious mix. Hmm. I think that's Ottomanian mixed with influences of Nara style Japanese architecture.” commented Darrell’s dad.
Darrell gave his mother some rolling eyes and she just shrugged. Both were used to the cryptic mumbling of his dad.
Together they entered what was probably the finest restaurant of all dimensions. His uncle created this world to fulfill his hunger for fine culinary art. In the kitchen were copies of the most famous and talented cooks found on earth. The service staff themselves were copies of the current A-grade of Hollywood actors. Dining here was always special.
Darrel forced a smile on his face. As good as the food and entertainment were he also had to endure his whole extended family. And today he was the focus of everyone's attention.
A few hours later everything wound down. Most already left and Darrel patted his stuffed tummy.
“So much for the exercises, I forced myself through all summer,” he thought.
The voice of his uncle pulled him back to reality.
“So Darrell, how is your world coming along?”
Before Darrel could answer his uncle droned on.
“Hope you aren’t too naughty. You know naughty and mistakes go hand in hand. Especially for young boys. Did I ever tell you the story about the boy and his harem world?”
Again he barely made a break before he continued on.
”You see there was that boy a few decades back. Thought himself a stud. You know how it is. Well, he filled his world with the most beautiful girls. And then on top, he made them all nymphomaniac to the power of ten.”
His uncle gave Darrell a meaningful look and continued:”The first time the boy entered his world he brought some friends along. Never a good idea. As soon as the woman's spotted the boys they rushed over. I think you are old enough to imagine what followed next. The problem was when one girl was done the next one was already there. Soon the boys became exhausted but the girls didn’t care. They couldn’t think past their needs. So they went on and on. Sure enough, the boys tried to leave but try saying an exit incantation when three women try to bury their tongue in your mouth. The end is .. well they all died.”
Darrel looked bemused at his parents and waited for them to laugh or so. Instead, his mother laid a hand on his and said:”Just be careful honey okay?”
Soon afterward they got home. Before Darrel slipped into bed he had to correct something. His shopkeepers weren’t nymphomaniac but just to be sure he opened the page and crossed out every sentence on that page. He vowed to replace them in the morning with something harmless. Maybe self-service kiosks. But that had time.
***** Chapter 3 *****
A few days later was the last weekend before the summer break was up. Not that Darrel minded much. His parents just had gone out the door, leaving him parent-free for the weekend. They were off to visit some gaming convention in Canada. No supervision meant also he could explore his world the first time without being bothered.
He lovingly patted his book. Last night he finished the last part. Without human NPCs, he thought it could get a bit lonely. So he implemented a summoning system to pull people from earth temporarily into his world.
Making sure his parents were really gone he started. Most would think creating and shaping the world would be flashy, but if anyone would have stumbled into Darrel’s room, it would be a floating book midair slightly glowing. Unseen Darrel reached out through space and time and grabbed onto an unused dimension. Slowly he connected it to the book, forced it to bend itself to the rules written in it. Page by page, sentence by sentence. The whole process was pretty much automatic and by instinct. Without the book, it would have taken hours if not days. With it, Darrel was done just within 5 minutes.
He grinned. His first world was done. Suddenly abuzz he couldn’t wait anymore. Grabbing his book he said the incantation to travel to his world:”Enter super battle world!”
As light spiraled around him he shrugged. Sure his phrase was tacky too, but he hadn’t come up with anything better. Maybe a family trait.
As the light faded around him he found himself in his room again. For a moment he thought it hadn’t worked.
Then he spotted the user interface floating nearby. Just the way it was supposed to be. What wasn’t specified was that floating exclamation mark icon that flashed bright red. Worried he hit it. “ERROR:,” it said. “Violation of Page 314 Sentence 1 found. Searching for a solution.”
Darrel furrowed his eyebrows. He opened his book and tried to find page 314. He stumbled upon 313. The page about shopkeepers. Every sentence neatly crossed out. He turned the page. There on top was the first sentence:”Everyone in this world is a pretty, beautiful, cute, sexy, athletic or attractive (or a mix of these attributes) girl.”
He face-palmed himself and then tried to find a pen to cross out the offending rule. A ding sound made him look up from his search. “Acceptable solution found. Setting the solution as default for resolving this error.”
Before Darrel could make sense of it all he noticed a weird tingling sensation quickly spreading over his body. Panic tried to grip him. The tingling became stronger and he felt nauseated. Shortly after darkness filled his vision as he blacked out.
An uncomfortable pain woke him up. Something was pressed under him against his chest. Slowly he opened his eyes. The first thing he noticed was a dainty hand and slender arm laying beside him. He tried to push himself up and noticed that the arm moved with him as if … it was his own.
Slowly he lifted his upper body from the floor. The dull pain that bothered him faded away, but some weight still clung to him. As he sat up he looked down. Somehow his shirt had become bigger. Or did he get smaller? He thought his arms looked smaller for sure. There was only one place his shirt was still tight. Warily he lifted the neckline and peeked below it. Oddly disconnected he noted to himself “Yep. Those are breasts.”
Standing up he noticed that his whole body changed. Curious he stepped over to the mirror in his room. A raven-haired beauty stared back at him, mimicked every movement he made. Every detail he saw was perfection. High cheekbones, a slightly pouty mouth with full lips. Piercing blue eyes. Below his, or was it her, neck where full breasts. Maybe a C- or even D-Cup. It was hard to tell for Darrell as they only contoured underneath his shirt. Below them, the shirt was very loose. As he explored his midriff by hands he noticed his very small waist and then his very curvy hips.
Darrel muttered in disbelief to himself: “I am a wet dream come true.” He was immediately shocked how his voice sounded. Higher but also a bit rough. Smokey some would say. He shook his head in disbelief and the long curls of his raven hair shock with him. Now slowly it dawned on him just how bad he messed up.
His eyes darted around his room and fell on his phone. Picking it up he tried to call his parents, only to get no signal. He tried a few times till he noticed the interface of his world still floating nearby. He face-palmed and said to himself “Duh. I am still in my world. No cell towers here that connect back to earth.”
A small ding did draw his attention to the interface. He did read the last entry in the log:”Darrell suffered 1 damage of friendly fire inflicted by Darrell with the weapon palm.” The absurdity caused Darrel to face-palm yet again. A moment later another ding sounded and another line in the log appeared.
His panic was momentarily halted by the humor of his situation and he calmed down. He did draw an unsteady breath and said: “Exit battle world.”
The lights came and went. Darrel rushed to his cell phone and dialed his father. As soon as he picked up Darrell blurred out:”Dad! I messed up big time. I don’t know what to do Dad.”
After a short moment, his father replied:”Calm down miss. I think you miss-dialed.”
“Oh no Dad it’s me, Darrell. Just listen okay? I messed up! You and mom need to come back.” A slight panic has crept into his voice.
“Darrel, is it really you? Playing pranks with a voice changer again?”
“Oh my gosh, dad just listen! There was a faulty line in my book. When I entered my world it made me a girl. A real girl. What am I supposed ..”
He couldn’t continue as a loud laugh boomed through the speaker and fragments of what he might guess was “Oh I always wanted a daughter!” Apparently, his mother had listened in.
It took a few moments to calm his mother down before his dad could speak again. When his father could be heard again he said:”Listen we just landed in Canada. We can’t just turn around. You have to manage yourself until tomorrow evening. Maybe you find something in your world to help you.”
Darrel put the phone down and thought that the call didn’t help much. He thought about if he could alter his world to help him but quickly noticed that he doesn’t have enough juice in him to alter anything but minor details.
By now he was feeling slightly peckish and turned to head to the kitchen. Only to stumble over his long pants. Cursing he admitted to himself that if he had to spend a day like this at least he should get some more fitting clothes. After grabbing a snack, this time without falling over, he entered his world. After all, it was made in a way for shopping.
As he did leave his home he tried to decide where to head first. This mind drew blanks. He did know nothing about dressing up as a woman. As his gaze did go by his neighbors Sarah's house he had an idea. “Maybe a guide will help. Good that I implemented a summoning system”. With that, he summoned Sarah, his secret crush.
***** Chapter 4 *****
Sarah yawned and slowly did go out of her bed. She shouldn’t have partied late the day before, as she glanced at the clock that was just shy of noon. A quick shower and she were ready for the day. Just as she had finished donning her bra and panties a swirl of light surrounded her.
As fast as the light came it vanished. To Sarah's surprise, she was now standing on the street in front of her house. The whole street was abandoned but a lone raven beauty in oddly oversized cloth.
Suddenly remembering that she wore only underwear she tried to cover herself with her hands and as that wasn’t helping much she started running for her house.
The start of a yell came from behind her: “Wait! Watch out for the …”
It was cut short as Sarah slammed face first into a wall. Landing on her bum she looked around but saw no obstacle or anything similar.
“Sorry about that.” came from behind her.
The raven-haired girl caught up, looking funny as she was clearly struggling with her oversized clothes. More to herself than to Sarah she muttered: “.. thought I gave all summoned copies knowledge of the basic rules..”
Then she looked at Sarah and points in the direction Sarah was running. “See the faint lines on the ground? Sorta creating a grid? Those are the movement squares. Everyone can only walk a set number of them per minute in this world.”
Giving a hand, the raven-haired girl helped Sarah up. Of course, she had to let go of her pants to do that. They in turned slipped down, along with boxer shorts. Sarah didn’t know what was going on but the strange situation made her laugh. The accusing look on the girl's face only stoked the fires of her amusement. Finally settling down she looked around. Both of them were half naked on the street. But no one else was around. It crept her out a bit.
“Okay. So what is going on?”
The girl looked relieved. “Well uhm.. we are in another world. Here are different rules. Don’t worry we are alone in this world. Well, how do I explain it the best? I am a mage. And I created this world. Though I have to admit I messed it up a bit. You know Darrell right? Your neighbor?”
Sarah nodded.
“Sure. A bit nerdy and shy but okay.”
Somehow that made the girl blush even more.
“Well yeah. Uhm that’s me. I am Darrel.”
That made Sarah laugh again. “Oh, no way. Darrell is tall and lanky. And you are definitely neither of those.”
Another blush followed. Whatever this weirdness is, seeing her blush partially makes up for it. “Well, this is where I messed up. There was one old clause I forgot to erase. It says that only pretty girls can exist here. When I traveled here the first time this happened.”
Sarah thought that was indeed interesting. It would also explain her oversized clothes and her disarray. “So that explains why you are here. Why am I here?”
The girl fidget.
“Uhm till my parents are back I am stuck this way and till then I need clothes.”
“Yeah, no shit.”
“And I don’t know anything about girl clothes. I needed a guide so to speak.”
“Still doesn’t explain why me. There are other girls more stylish than me. Better choices.”
The girl hesitated again.
“Well, I uh .. I kinda had always a crush on you. And I thought a copy of you might be nice.”
Now it was Sarah's turn to blush, but only slightly. She had suspected that Darrell was into her.
“Wait. What was that about a copy of me?”
“Oh, my. I guess I messed up there too. You see because it’s a secret that my family and I are mages, I can’t just tell my friends. But I thought it would be nice to explore this world with them. So I created a system where I can summon copies of them. I thought I added that copies would know the basics of this world. But I clearly messed up there too. Sorry.”
That was a lot to stomach for Sarah. “So I am not real? I feel real.” Darrell shook his head but stopped annoyed by the long strands of hair flying around.
“Okay okay. Uhm. But why exactly did you summon me while I was in underwear?”
Again Darrel blushed.
“I didn’t know that you weren’t dressed. It copies the person when they are summoned with their current clothes.”
“So you wouldn’t mind that I finish dressing?”
Darrell shook again his head but as Sarah turned to her house he quickly added:”That won’t work. The houses are empty. I mean I didn’t want to snoop and to remove the temptation to do so I made the rule that no private items are copied.”
“So you are saying I am stuck half naked?”
Darrel saw an opening and talked fast. “Well no. Shops here in this world sell stuff too. You see we can earn money here too. Then we get stuff here in the mall or shops. Uh, I can’t believe I am saying this but we could shop together.”
Sarah threw her arms up in mock annoyance. “Fine. But Darrel ... No, wait. Can’t call you Darrel while you look like that. Hmm D. D. D. Diana? Hmm no. D. Hmm, Doreen. Urg no. Hmm. Oh, I have it. Dea. Short and close to your normal name. Kinda. So ready Dea?”
The newly christened Dea let her head hang again.
“I am I guess.”
“So Dea tell me one thing. How do we get to the mall? I don’t see any cars around?”
Now that Sarah mentioned it Dea saw it too. “We walk I guess. After all, we have to earn money first too.” Together they started walking.
***** Chapter 5 *****
Together they made poor progress. Sarah was walking with bare feet and Dea had to constantly adjust her clothes. They usually could only move about three fourth of their allotted squares. It was about two blocks down when they noticed two shapes approaching. Maybe as big as basketballs but not nearly as round. They were semi-transparent. Two cartoon-like eyes and a mouth decorated them.
“Slimes!” Dea shouted delighted. “I wondered what starter mob I would run into.”
Sarah was confused by these creatures. “Slimes?”
“Oh um. They are often starter monsters in role-playing games. Kinda weak. Think of them as big drops of living jelly.”
Dea did move over to the side of the street and picked up two branches. Coming back she handed one to Sarah.
“We are gonna fight them? Why would you add some enemies anyway?”
Dea grinned a bit silly.
“Sure we fight them. Just swing at the border of the square they are in. And the reason why. Having your private world with easy access to everything would be too easy. I like a challenge.”
Dea moved off to hit on the first slime. Shrugging Sarah moved to her own. After a few hits, the slime retaliated. Some floating pop-up window appeared, which she ignored. A few strikes later her slime disappeared in a cloud of smoke. Leaving a few casino chips behind. Peeking over she looked at Dea. She did swing and swing again but most of the time a ding was heard and a word “Missed!” floated by.
“Arg. Why can’t I hit it?”
Seeing Dea try to hit a slime by swinging at the air in front of it while trying not to lose her oversized clothes, made Sarah laugh. “Maybe lose a few clothes? They don’t help do they?”
Now the slime did manage to get a few hits in as Dea tried to decide what to shrug out of. T-shirt? No way her breasts would be out in the open. Settling on the pants she pulled them off. She tried again. This time, it went better. Sarah didn’t mind much. Seeing a pretty girl in an oversized t-shirt and boxers moving around was certainly a sight. Somehow it reminded her of slumber parties and pillow fights.
Sarah was pulled back out of her dream world by a puffing sound. Dea’s slime vanished in a cloud of smoke too. Leaving behind a few casino chips and … shoes! Sarah quickly snatched them. “I need those more. If we get something you need more it’s yours. Hmm, panties for example.”
Dea looked down were Sarah looked. Followed by a blushing that would put tomatoes to shame. Her boxer shorts had managed to slide over her hips and down her legs. Leaving Dea’s lower body completely nude. Turning around Sarah gave her some moments to find her shorts again and her dignity. Noticing the pop up again she asked:”118 of 130 health?”
“Oh yeah. Part of the challenge.”
“What happens when it goes to zero?”
Dea was still fumbling around with her boxers, trying to put a knot in so they would be tighter. “You re-spawn where you entered the world. Minus all your stuff.”
Sarah meanwhile had another more urgent question:”So these monsters. What are they based on?”
Dea finally managed to adjust her boxers and looked proud at Sarah. “In a general purpose? They are based on the subconscious of the players. Since I am currently the only player the slimes are based on me.”
Sarah gave her a big wide grin and pointed behind Dea.“Subconscious you say? In that case, you have some explaining to do.”
Just as Dea turned around to look a big soft pillow hit her square in the face. Giggling came from two girls, not ten squares away. Though not normal girls. They were scantily clad in only nightgowns. Those did not hide the other features well. The cat ears, tails, and paws. Dea agreed. Her subconscious had some serious explaining to do.
What followed was the most embarrassing fight for Dea. Their enemies were constantly giggling save for the moment when they were hit. Then they moaned like they experienced pleasure instead of pain. When the last cat-girl was vanquished Dea’s face was bright red.
Sarah meanwhile had the most fun in a long time. With her pinky, she held up panties.”Look what I found for you, Dea. Panties!”
Dea eyed the offered garment like it was poisonous. “No way. That thing barely covers anything and when it does it can be seen through.” Dea marched on and Sarah quickly followed. But not before she put the panties to her own loot.
***** Chapter 6 *****
When they finally arrived at the mall Dea was just about to give up on her world. Sure they had battled some more slimes. But there also were more cat-girls and an encounter with a ‘voluminous beach babe’. Of course, she had to endure jibe after jibe from Sarah. Especially when one catgirl's curse managed to hit Dea and she could only say “nyah” for ten minutes or purr.
Dea knew that shops were safe zones. No mob attacks there. So she didn’t complain when Sarah dragged her into the next ‘forever sweet’ boutique. A shop that catered to the need of teenage girls. Sarah quickly vanished between the cloth racks. Dea placed her meager loot on the counter and looked around. She hated shopping for clothes. And she had a hunch that this time might be worse. True to her feeling Sarah came back with a bunch of skirts.
“Oh no no no. No skirts. I just wanna get some pants and a shirt and be done for today.”
Sarah, however, gave her a sour look and didn’t back down. “Why am I here Dea? Wasn’t it to ‘advise you’? So that’s what I am gonna do. And you will try everything I throw your way.”
Dea looked down, feeling guilty. She nodded. When she looked up again she barely managed to catch a package thrown her way. It was a three pack of plain white cotton panties.
“Boxers and skirts don’t mix.” came the more or less helpful remark from Sarah.
Over the next 2 hours, Dea had to model not just a dozen outfits. Dea was convinced that Sarah made her try on each piece of clothing at least twice. Her only reprieve was the breaks were Sarah was trying something on herself. Sarah was quite happy and her good mood constantly threatened to infect Dea. When they were ready to leave Dea was carrying bags with four skirts, five blouses, and three shirts. New shoes and some plain underwear.
They were at the counter and going over their balance. The shops worked in a specific way. Everything brought into the store and remained was plus balance. Everything taken out was minus balance. You could only leave with a neutral or positive balance.
Sarah noticed something behind the counter:”Hey what’s this?”
Dea looked up from their loot and haul and inspected what Sarah was holding. “It’s a knowledge card. It gives you knowledge or skill. It was a spontaneous thing that I added. Shops should sometimes have cards depending on what they sell or are about.”
“Well, in that case, do you want to learn about “This fall's trend: how to accessorize with scarves?” Dea only gave her a raspberry and continued to calculate their balance.
Soon after they left the store. Dea was amazed that they only had spent near one-third of their so far earned credits. As she wanted to turn around to go home when she noticed Sarah was walking in the opposite direction.
She quickly shouted after her:”Hey where are you going. I have everything I need. Let’s head home.” Slowly Sarah came back, but something was wrong. She looked sad and angry.
“Dea let me ask you a question. What happens when you leave? What happens to this world when you go to the normal world?”
Dea suddenly had a hard time swallowing. She couldn’t look Sarah in the eyes but answered her in a quiet tone:”The world resets. To be reformed when a player returns.”
“And along the copies vanish right? Copies like me.”
Dea nodded.
Sarah hesitated and then walked to a nearby bench. “Today is Saturday. Do you know what I usually do on Saturdays? No, I didn’t think so. I hide it to carefully. Every Saturday I go to the bus stop and take one to the next city. Then I spend the rest of the day as a telemarketer. Do you know why?”
Dea came over to the bench. She sat down and shook her head.
“My mother left when I was little. My father, well you know he is a drunkard, is unemployed. If it wasn’t for a few shares in the internet start-up he worked as a janitor and it’s dividends we would have nothing. That what we have left is barely enough each month and is usually drunken away by my father. Whenever I want to have anything nice I have to earn it. I can’t go on shopping sprees like my friends. Can’t even spare the time. And now here we are. For the first time in my life, I can shop and try on and do whatever. And that time I am only a copy. To be erased soon. Dea, I know you didn’t mean ill. I know that you are a good person. But, now. Right now. I wanna be selfish. I wanna spend more time here. I wanna do stuff with a girlfriend like normal girls do. Please. Can’t we spend the day here? Have a bit fun? Don’t you owe me at least this much?”
Dea’s eyes were wet, matching those of Sarah. She gave a much-needed hug to Sarah and waited while she cried on her shoulder. When every tear was shed she gave a gentle:”Sure we can. Where to next?” Dea decided that Sarah was right. She owed her that much.
Sarah had settled on a shoe shop close by. “I always wanted to shop here. But this one is fancy and the prices are sky high,” remarked Sarah casually. The mood lifted quickly as Dea was modeling some high heels. A newborn giraffe was more elegant. In her defense, it was the first time in her life she wore heels. And five inch was not the ideal starter height. They soon moved on.
Next Sarah ducked into a ballet studio. “Sorry. Just for a moment. When I was little mom enrolled me here. I had six or so lessons. So not many. But sometimes I wish could go back and stay you know?”
Dea nodded. “Take your time.”
Sarah walked around and took it all in. Lost in whatever memories she had. Then she spotted a knowledge card behind the counter.
“Hey, Dea look. ‘Dancers grace (woman)’. Even gives plus one DEX. Whatever that means.”
“It’s an abbreviation of dexterity. In role-playing games, it helps to decide how good a character is at handling certain things.”
“Well, in that case, this is for you.”
“What? Why?”
“Because while you modeled those high heels you showed neither. Dexterity or grace.”
Dea gave her the evil eye but soon had to join Sarah’s chuckling. “Okay okay. Give it to me.” Dea activated the card and a few credits vanished as well as the card.
“Let’s go to the next shop. You walk ahead. I wanna see your new graciousness.”
Dea rolled her eyes but complied. Walking along she asked:”So where to next? And I don’t think that card worked.”
Sarah behind her meanwhile couldn’t hide her amazement. Dea’s walking before had been terrible. Like a man in a woman’s body. Now, however, she sauntered along. Each step was effortlessly nimble. She didn’t just walk like a woman. She moved through the street like she performed a slow sensual dance. Each step, a choreographed statement.
“You really feel no difference to your usual walking?” Sarah had to know.
“No. Why? Do you see one?”
“Well, I think you walk slightly better. Instead of a drunk man's gait, you are only tipsy.” lied Sarah.
Dea was laughing. Had she looked back the laugh would have frozen seeing Sarah's very mischievous grin.
“Okay, there we go next. I have an idea.”
Dea looked flabbergasted.
“The makeup store?”
“Exactly!”
As they entered Dea was looking around as if poisonous snakes might jump her from everywhere. Sarah, however, walked directly to the counter.
“Aha! Found it.”
Triumphantly she held up a knowledge card. Dea walked slowly over. She knew something was up. Sarah gave her a smile. “You told me you have a crush on me right? Well, now that I spend some time with you I can say I like you. But I am only the copy. You need a way to the original. And I have a solution. Quick tell me how many guys do you know that know how to use makeup?”
Dea looked confused.”None really.”
“Because guys don’t wear makeup, right? Unless they’re into a subculture that warrants it. So it would be a rarity to have a normal guy like you to be a master at applying cosmetics. You know I work on some after-school clubs, right? On Wednesdays, I help the drama club. There the girl that used to do our makeup quit. If you would come and volunteer you could spend time with me, the original me, and impress her. But you need this card here. Interested?”
That was a lot to stomach. It made Dea feel conflicted. Should she use information gained here in the normal world?
“Wouldn’t that be cheating?”
Sarah gave her a genuine smile.
“Well no. It’s not like I or rather my original would jump into bed with you. It’s just a little help. Come on. Can’t hurt right?”
Grumbling Dea took the card and activated it. A lot of their credits vanished.
“Ok, now we need to test it.”
“Test what?”
“If it worked. Okay, let’s try this. Use anything in this shop to make a makeup for an evening out. If it’s bad I won’t laugh. And no one will ever know.”
Dea rolled her eyes.
“Fine”.
She sauntered along the shelves and took some things out. To Sarah, it looked completely random. Then Dea flopped down in front of a vanity and started applying. Before Sarah knew what was happening Dea had concealer and foundation on her. She certainly was faster than Sarah ever was. After the basics were done Dea continued with her eyes. Sarah saw that she was going for a smoky yet sophisticated looked. The end result was sheer magic. She somehow had incorporated some warm tones that made her blue eyes stand out more. Yet those colors didn’t dominate. Sarah could see some glitter in the eyeshadow. Just enough as an accent and not as a feature. While Sarah still was lost marveling at the eyes Dea had started on her mouth. She had them expertly contoured and was applying a lipstick. Not a bright but rather a muted red. The whole makeup harmonized with her dark hair.
“Do I pass?”
Sarah needed a moment to find her words.
”Pass? With flying colors, I would say. So it works. Off to the next shop.”
“What? No, I can’t yet.”
Dea waved around her face.
“Okay. Take your time.”
Before Dea did remove her make-up she eyed the loot or rather the credits. Buying the knowledge card had nearly consumed every credit they had left.
“Hey, Sarah how about this. I am in the mood for clobbering some more mobs. And then we shop some more with the credits we get.”
Sarah gave a grin.
“Sounds good.”
Dea walked back to the vanity. “This might take a while. Why don’t you go ahead and I catch up?”
Sarah grabbed her stuff and wanted to head out. Then she had an idea. She looked if Dea was distracted and quickly slipped something in one of Dea’s shopping bags.
Heading out she didn’t have to look long for a mob. While the shops were safe the floors weren’t and here and there a mall-rat shuffled around. Every time Sarah saw one she had to giggle.
The mall-rats were young women. Punks with a rat theme. Most wore leather jackets with fake fur sewed onto them and a fake rubber tail. Overall funny looking they still had some sexiness to them. If she could send her original one message then it would probably be to go costumed as a sexy mall-rat on this year's Halloween. She was hitting the third rat with a pink baseball bat, earlier loot when Dea joined the fray. After their victory, Sarah saw something that greatly amused her. Indeed Dea had removed the make-up. But instead of going bare, she was sporting a light casual one.
“What? Why are you staring at me with that goofy smile?”
“Oh, nothing.” Sarah lied. Mentally she thought:”Yes. Strike two.”
After a few dozen mobs they continued on their shopping spree. In a department store, Sarah could argue in favor of knowledge cards for cooking and basic “dressing for woman”. Afterward, she noticed it was a lot easier to get Dea to try on some more feminine clothes. She even picked some herself.
Paved by her previous win Sarah had to only slightly drag and threaten Dea to visit the local Victoria's Secret. Pouting Dea proclaimed:”Okay fine. Five sets. Not one more.”
But Sarah had other ideas:”How about three sets but in exchange you have to use one knowledge card. Without seeing what the card does. Deal?”
Dea was chewing on her lower lip. She carefully weighed her options. “Fine. But I can veto five outfits that I think are too risky.”
“And with that, we have a deal.” grinned Sarah and skipped over to the counter to look for cards. Dea meanwhile looked for sets that might be more on the tame side yet might satisfy Sarah. She had found a powder blue bra and panty set and one in dark red when she noticed Sarah sitting on the counter with two cards in her hands. “The deal was for one card remember?”
“I know. It’s just that I can’t decide. Both are intriguing and fairly cheap.”
Dea rolled her eyes. She walked over to Sarah and grabbed both cards.
“Hey, no peeking!” Sarah was quick to shout out.
Dea didn’t. Instead, she used both cards.
“You happy now? Can we get the show on the road now so I can get out of here?”
Sarah gave her a sweet smile. “Sure. And yes. You have no idea how happy you just made me.”
Sarah gave Dea a quick kiss on the cheek and dragged her to the changing booth. Even with only them in the world, she insisted on using the booths. Sarah meanwhile wondered if Dea would have agreed to the cards if she had known what they were about. She didn’t know what she wanted to see more. The effects of ‘innocent but flirty subconscious gestures and movements’ or ‘poses to make the most out of your sexy underwear’.
Meanwhile, Dea was donning her first set: the powder blue bra and panties. She couldn’t help to model it a little to herself. After she tried a few poses, a shout from Sarah broke her concentration:”Hey how long does it take in there? I know you were a guy but putting on a bra and panties shouldn’t take more than 2 minutes. Definitely less than five.”
Dea blushed. Had she really been lost so much in her modeling? She quickly exited. On Sarah’s pushing, she did strike a few poses there too. Then Sarah actually had to remind her to try another one. After trying on the red set she was tempted to model a bit to herself again. But a part of herself was reminded how good it felt to pose in front of Sarah. She quickly stepped out. Sarah clapped and whistled as Dea posed some more. Then Sarah handed her another set and Dea hurried to change into it. Not noticing that she only closed the curtain half ways till she turned around.
Shrugging she stepped out and modeled more. Soon Sarah handed her another set. As Dea stepped into the changing booth she felt a naughty thought. This time, she closed the curtain just enough to tease. Seeing Sarah in the mirror peeking she did her best to flash but not to show. A sudden revelation, that she had so much fun posing, made her stop for a moment. Then she shrugged again and continued. After all, there were so many sexy Dessous to try and so little time.
***** Chapter 7 *****
In the end, it was Sarah who had to drag Dea out of the shop. As the sun was setting they slowly left the mall and headed home. Dea was walking behind. With so many shopping bags in her hands, she made slow progress. Sarah meanwhile played bodyguard. She was running around slaying mobs left and right, no matter if they posed a threat or not.
To Dea, she looked happy, but she thought it was just to distract herself. Dea knew she couldn’t stay here in this world. Sarah knew it too. And when Dea will leave this world the copy of Sarah will vanish. She wondered if Sarah would beg her to stay a bit longer. A day? A week? Month? Years?
Already Dea played conversation after conversation through her mind. It made her only more depressed. When she saw her house ahead, tears were streaming down her cheeks. With a heavy voice, she said towards Sarah’s back:”I am sorry Sarah.”
Before she could turn around Dea quickly said the exit phrase:”Exit super battle world.” The lights came and went. She looked around but no one saw her. Quickly she hurried to her house, then to her bed and cried herself to sleep.
***** Chapter 8 *****
She heard an “I am sorry Sarah.” and an “Exit super battle world.” Sarah turned around and saw Dea surrounded by a swirl of light. The tears on her face were the last detail she made out before the light vanished.
Now she was alone. She knew what was supposed to happen. The world would reset and then she would vanish. Yet she was still here. She waited with dread but still nothing. A traitorous hope filled her. Maybe the world wouldn’t reset. Maybe. But if the world remained she would be alone. Looking at the sky she saw no answer. Only the slowly setting sun. It was summer so she guessed she still had one or two hours of light.
What to do? Wait? That wasn’t her style. She moved onward. Her house was close so that was a logical destination. As she opened the front door she saw the house empty. No furniture. No carpet. She flicked the light switch but nothing happened. Then she remembered what Dea had told her. No private items were copied. It looks like that rule was more than strict.
She wondered what to do. Then she had it. Maybe it was idiotic but she headed back to the mall. By the time she arrived again it was getting dark. Of course, the mall itself had no light either. Still, Sarah moved on. As luck would have it she found a flashlight for sale at a newspaper stand. Then she ventured in deeper. The skylights over the main walkway were barely spending any light and her flashlight only illuminated a small area.
Sarah decided that it was definitely creepy. “My own little zombie apocalypse. Just with catgirls and mall rats instead of zombies.” she thought.
In any case, her watching of zombie movies helped her now. She knew what she needed: food, water, and shelter. The first two were easy to find. The food court was close by. Then came shelter. She knew that shops were safe. So plenty to choose from. Then she remembered a department store. Wasn’t there a display she could use?
She headed quickly there, avoiding the shuffling mobs as best as she could. A few times her movement limit blocked her and a mob came close enough to trigger a battle. Fighting in near darkness was harder and a lot more frightening. Then she was through the door of the store. Safe. At least for now. She headed deeper into the store.
There was the display she was looking for. A big bed advertised a new line of bed sheets, pillows, and blankets. Stripping to undies felt strange. Even knowing she was alone. Then she slipped beneath the sheets. Slowly she drifted off to sleep. Her last thought was: “Will I even wake up tomorrow?”
Indeed she woke up. Throwing the blanket off she noticed she was still at the department store. The whole day yesterday hadn’t been some weird dream. She didn’t know what she was supposed to feel. Happy because she was still alive? Sad because she was still trapped in a world that was doomed?
She slipped out of the bed and dressed. Then she decided to explore. Outside she saw the sun was up. Maybe ten am or a little later. She was unsure where to go next but settled on the park. It was, after all, a sunny day. Of course, the mobs were there too. She met also a few new ones. Dog girls hunted in packs. Some girls with wings instead of arms reminded her of pigeons. It was when she met slime-girls that she paused.
Something was banging in her mind to be let out. Were slime-girls a stronger form? Come to think of it, she noticed something else. She hadn’t seen a normal slime since Dea had left. Had they may be replaced? She knew she had to check. Thinking of an area where most likely slimes were to find she headed back to her home. Yet even when she was close only slime-girls were around. Other monsters got fewer and even catgirls were rare.
She was nodding to herself. Slime-girls indeed replaced normal slimes. But why? She remembered back to what Dea had said. Monsters were created by players. But with Dea gone, there were no more players. Who’s subconscious was the world pilfering? All the sexy mobs hinted at the truth the whole time. Sarah had one thing kept secret from Dea. Not just her. From all her friends. She was a lesbian. And all those oversexed mobs were not Dea’s creation. It was hers.
But she wasn’t a player, right? Unless Dea had messed up. She did so once before. If she was right had she all the rights and privileges a player had? She had to find out. With a trembling voice, she said:”Exit super battle world.”
Light swirled around her, blinding her for a moment. When she could see again she was still on the street. No one was around. But then she noticed the cars parked on the sidewalk. Noticed the absence of the lines of the movement grid. She had escaped. She was free. Tears of joy filled her eyes. When she finally calmed down she had to know. She had to find out just how much Dea had screwed up. Was she really a copy or was she maybe the original? Only one way to find out. She walked home.
She opened the front door as slowly and quietly as she could. It didn’t help. Suddenly it was yanked open by her father. He looked pissed and drunk. Not a good combination in Sarah’s opinion. “Where have you been? Your work called. You didn’t show up. Then you stayed the whole night away. Probably partying with some friends. And then you try to sneak in?”
He lamented on and on. Sarah barely listened. No one at her workplace meant there was no other Sarah. She was the original. Dea had screwed up another time. She had to work very hard to not smile or grin.
***** Chapter 8 *****
Dea woke up. Still a girl. Still a murderer. At least that was what she thought. It took a while before she found the will to even get out of bed. It was hunger that did the deed.
Slipping out of bed she noticed her crumpled clothes from yesterday. Lethargic she headed over to the many shopping bags. Hunting for something to wear, she found something else. New tears broke away from her eyes as she pulled out a big makeup kit. It must have been Sarah who had slipped it into her bags. Devastated she needed another few minutes till she could move on.
She ignored the sexy lingerie. Without Sarah what was the point? Instead, some plain bra and panties had to do. Slacks, a skirt, and a top followed. She had to fight tears back again as she noticed that not one pair of pants could be found in her bags. Yet another reminder of Sarah.
Going to the bathroom confronted her with the ghastly reflection of her face. Her make-up was in ruins and her eyes puffy. She wiped it all away. Then came food. No matter her mood her body told her loud and clear she was starving. At least it felt that way. While she munched on the last remains of her defrosted pizza she looked on the clock. Still, a few hours till her parents returned. She flopped down in front of the tv and hoped that it would numb her brain for a while.
She must have fallen asleep as the sound of keys in the door lock woke her up. Then the rumble of when her parent's luggage was heaved inside.
“Darrel?” came the shout from her mom.
Time to face the music. With lowered head, she walked over. The next thing she heard, was a squeal and a tight hug from her mother. “Oh my gosh, you look better than I imagined.”
“Urg mom. I still need air.”
She let Dea go and inspected her all over while Dea awkwardly shuffled on the spot.
“Hey dad.” she finally managed to say.
“Hey, yourself. How are you doing?”
Dea motioned with her hand, indicating her whole body.
“Ha! Okay, fair enough.”
Meanwhile, her mother scrutinized her outfit.
“Already wearing skirts? So the big strides it is. Like mother like daughter, right? So did you already have boys over?”
Dea groaned and threw her hands up. She knew stuff like that would be coming from her mother. Still, it caught her unprepared every time. She stomped over to the kitchen. After a few moments, her parents joined her.
“Okay spill young lady.” came from her mother.
Dea told them everything. Well, nearly everything. While she told them about the summoning system she didn’t tell how much she messed up there. She didn’t tell them how much it did hurt to leave Sarah behind. She also omitted how all mobs were cut out of porn video or at least looked like it.
Finally, she was done and her mother had to make sure she heard right.
“So it is Dea for now?”
“Well yes. Actually, I hope for not much longer. Did you find a way to give me my old body back?”
Her parents looked at each other. Definitely not a good sign she decided. Her mother looked her in the eyes.
”Several actually. But your father and I decided that it would be best if we don’t help.”
Dea gave her mother an accusing look.
“What?!”
Her father quickly intervened.
“It was my idea. Yes, your mother always wanted a daughter and so on and so forth. But that is not the reason. I raised you to always act responsibly. To admit your mistakes and fix them yourself if possible. Look, every dimension mage screws up the first time. You can’t run to us every time you do. Your mother and I think it is best you try for a while yourself before we help.”
Dea was flabbergasted. Her mind raced to find arguments.
“”What about school? Summer break is over. They expect me there.”
But her mother was expecting it.
”Your father will bring you to school tomorrow. He will explain to the principal that your aunt Irma is sick and you went to help her.”
“But I don’t have an aunt Irma.”
Her mother chuckled.
“True. But the principal doesn’t know it. Now listen. Since your aunt lives in a very small apartment there is not enough space for two children around. So we, your father and I, are taking her daughter Dea in.”
Dea gave them an accusing dirty look.
“You thought of everything right?”
Her mother grinned and her father nodded. Just when Dea wanted to start again the doorbell rang. “Dea, my dear. Why don’t you look who it is? Your father and I are really tired from our traveling.”
Grumbling to herself she complied.
***** Chapter 9 *****
Sarah was so done arguing with her father. After they shouted at each other for a while she had stomped up to her room. It became quickly evident enough why he really was angry with her. It was not because she was away overnight or that she missed her work. It was the missing money. She was only allowed to work there anyways as long as fifty percent of it went to her father. To help out with rent and food he said. Sarah knew it was bullshit. It was for more beer. The last thing she heard was him yelling that she was grounded. Nothing new to her.
For a few hours, she spent surfing on her crappy old laptop. Living for a day in an RPG world caught her curiosity. She researched everything about it. After a few hours, the slamming of car doors broke her concentration. Looking out of her window she saw Dea’s parents coming home.
“So much for Dea staying. I guess Darrel will be back soon.” she thought.
But somehow she didn’t want to give up on Dea. She had to do something. But for that, she had to go over. Sneaking past her father might not be a good idea. Especially when he was close to being sober. An alternative presented itself quickly. She could go into the battle world, move outside, and then exit it again. But was she ready for it? Last time she thought she would die there. But then again she thought she was a copy. She decided that her fear won’t control her and uttered the words to change worlds.
When the lights vanished she was still in her room. And all her belongings too. But as she peeked outside she saw the rest of her house empty. On the border to her room, there was floating slightly transparent writing:”Protected spawn area - Sarah”.
Mentally sorting this tidbit away she hurried downstairs and out. She moved behind the tool-shed of her father. A rusty mess of wood and nails. She hoped she was out of sight and exited the world. The walk past the windows and to the street took some stealth but she managed. Then she rang the doorbell of Dea’s house.
It took a moment, but Dea opened the door. She really was as beautiful as Sarah remembered. Now it was the time to make her move:”Hi. I am your neighbor Sarah. I saw you around today and I thought I come by.”
Dea looked a bit awkward and uncomfortable but found her voice a moment later:”Yeah. Uhm hi. I am Dea. Darrell's cousin. I think I’ll be staying here for a while.”
Hearing that Sarah wanted to jump in the air. Hug her. Sing a song in praise. But she did none of that. Her poker face held. Barely. “Well then welcome to the neighborhood I guess. Will you be attending school too?”
“Yeah, I guess.” came the answer.
Sarah could barely hear it. She was distracted. Dea was scratching the back of her head in a way that lifted her blouse just in the right way to flash Sarah with part of her breast and bra. She didn’t even notice what she was doing. Realization struck Sarah. One of the knowledge cards was still working.
Suddenly she heard Dea’s mother shout:”Hey is that you Sarah?” A moment later Dea’s mom arrived at the door.
“Yeah. I just came to say hi. And maybe offer my help. Dea told me she is new around here. I wouldn’t mind showing her around.”
Still ignoring her daughter Dea’s mother continued.
”Oh, that’s lovely. Could you start right now? Dea hasn’t unpacked and she could use a helping hand.”
Dea gave a weak “It’s okay. I’ll manage,” but Sarah, of course, grabbed at the chance.
“Sure. Don't have something better to do anyway.”
A moment later both of them were in Darrell's room. “Oh, my gosh, your cousin could have tidied his room a bit before leaving it for you.”
Sarah didn’t get more than an awkward nod out of Dea. Something was wrong. She acted more muted than yesterday. Then it came to her. Of course, Dea still thought she had killed her. Or rather a copy of her. Sarah was tempted to tell her that she was still alive. But something held her up. She didn’t know why yet but she wasn’t ready to disclose what fate had befallen her.
Then she had an idea. She could mix it a bit. The real facts with fiction.
“Listen, Dea. There is another reason why I came over. I saw you from my room and I had the strangest feeling of deja vu. Like I have met you before. And I know it sounds crazy but I had this strange dream …”
Sarah acted as if she was unsure if she should continue and as if ordered to Dea took the bait.
”What dream?”
Sarah paced a bit through the room but told her.
”Don’t laugh at me ok? Yesterday when I came back from work I did fall asleep early. I had this strangest dream of myself being, with a girl, at the mall shopping. But we were alone I think. It’s a bit hazy and I can’t remember details but I think I had fun. And the weird thing is you look like the girl from my dream.”
Looking over to Dea Sarah saw a range of emotions flickering across her face. Shock and then relief was the most obvious. “Yeah sounds strange.” Dea agreed.
Looking around Sarah saw besides a typical boy's room a few shopping bags. The same bags she helped fill yesterday. She couldn’t help but ask.
“What’s up with the shopping bags?”
Caught off guard Dea needed a moment. “Oh, my bags were mixed up at the airport and got sent elsewhere. They should arrive here tomorrow. But meanwhile, I needed some essentials.”
“Essentials you say?” asked Sarah as she lifted the Victoria's Secret bag up. That got her a blush and a small laugh from Dea. Looking further around she spotted the makeup kit she had slipped yesterday into Dea’s bags.
“Wow, this looks professional. You got some skills there?”
Sarah noticed at once she made a mistake. Dea was looking sad again. Worse. She could see tears in her eyes.
“What’s wrong?”
Dea needed a moment to collect herself. “It’s .. I recently lost a friend. A dear friend. She told me that I had talent and I sorta promised her to give it a more thorough try.”
Sarah nodded.
“So you got it to honor her right?”
Dea was nodding.
“Well, in that case, I have an idea. I help out at the school's drama club and our last makeup artist quit. If your friend was right and you are gifted we could use your help. What do you say?”
“Well, actually my friend suggested something similar.”
“Good. But first, I have to test your skill? How about we break in your kit?”
Dea hesitated but then agreed. However, instead of seeing Dea work her magic on herself she instead was seated down. Not that she minded. It actually felt nice being close to Dea as she worked on her. Feeling her soft touch on her skin. Watching all the small minuscule movements of her face as she worked in concentration. Sarah was in heaven for a moment. Gone too soon as Dea was working too fast. Then she was dragged into the bathroom so she could see herself. She had to admit to herself Dea was a miracle worker.
“I have to run it past by the others but you have my vote for sure.”
Before it got too late she helped Dea to pack up most of Darrell's stuff and move in hers. Then she had to say goodbye. At least for tonight. Sneaking into her house via battle world was even easier this time. Then she was watched Dea a bit through her window. As their rooms were nearly parallel to each other it was rather easy. She was happy that Dea was to stay for a while. She wished for her to stay forever. But she knew that Darrell wanted to be back. In all honesty, she had to admit Darrel was nice but with a male body, he had never a chance with her. As Dea however, it would work. More than that. Sarah had already shaped Dea more to her liking. More to be her perfect girlfriend. She knew it was wrong but spending the little time with her just now gave Sarah the push. She wanted Dea. More than anything. And she would do whatever it takes. Use every advantage she could think of. She would seduce Dea. Not just so she would fall for her, but also fall in love with being a girl.
Still watching Dea she spoke to herself.
“Sorry, Darrel. Looks like our stories aren’t mixing. You are the villain in my love story with Dea. So I hope you don’t mind that I’ll be your villain in your quest to become a boy again.”
Of course, Dea didn’t hear her. Sarah watched as Dea killed her rooms light. Time for her to head to bed too. It looked like she will be very busy the next few weeks.
*****
To be continued?
The ringing of the bell made Alexis jerk awake. For a moment, he chided himself. Falling asleep at the register again. Thankfully, his Aunt hadn't caught him dozing off. At least, this time.
"Welcome to Bibliophilia, how can I-"
Alexis broke off. It was just Bernard. Their local postman. Sometimes, Alexis wondered if anyone aside from Bernard, Alexis, or his Aunt would step through that door.
"Hey, Alexis. You look like you had a nice nap."
"Shut up." Alexis gave him a meaningful look that underlined his words. "I am already in the bad graces of my Aunt. If she hears you- "Alexis shook his head. "What do you got?"
"A whole bunch of letters for you and one parcel for the shop."
Alexis grunted as he was handed the stack. The letters were heavier than the parcel. All with a sender from a university. He dreaded what was written in them.
"Thanks, Bernard," Alexis said after signing for the parcel. "See you tomorrow. Probably."
"Probably," Bernard agreed. "Don't worry. One of them will pan out. Keep your head up."
A wave for goodbye and the ringing of a doorbell later, Alexis turned towards the stack of letters. Time to get it over with. Grabbing a letter opener from beside the registry, Alexis sliced open the first envelope.
"Dear Alexis Skarlatos, we regretfully inform you-"
Alexis broke off reading aloud and fed the letter to the paper shredder. The little device worked overtime since Alexis started to work for his aunt. One by one, Alexis fed the little guy more letters. Every letter that turned his application down.
Halfway through, Alexis stopped. It was hopeless. His mood was utterly crushed. He couldn't figure out why. His marks hadn't been bad. He barely had missed becoming valedictorian at his high school. Looking up, he took in the dingy bookshop his Aunt called her own. It looked depressing too. As if a normal bookshop had been drained of its color. Of course, most of the books were old. Ancient. Bound in leather, their spines were all shades of brown. To top it off, Alexis could see a thick layer of dust laying on shelves and books alike. Even though he had dusted just last week. This was his reality until one letter finally said yes.
His eyes fell on the parcel. It was probably a book. Sometimes his Aunt received a new one. They came from all over the world. This one, if he perceived it right, came from Lichtenstein. Which, if he remembered right, was a small country in Europe. Suddenly, he got curious. What book would it be this time? Grabbing the letter opener again, Alexis posed to slice open the parcel.
His Aunt had forbidden him to open any parcels. Why? He had no idea. Well, maybe he could open it just a bit. Catch a glimpse of the contents. He could later say the parcel had been damaged being shipped around the world. Carefully, he sliced into the parcel. That was curious. There was a book in there. But contrary to all others of this book store, this one had a spine of pastel pink leather. Strange. Alexis could swear the book glowed slightly.
"Was that Bernard?"
Alexis dropped the parcel and looked up. There, on the stairs to the second and elevated part of the bookstore, his Aunt stood. Kalypso Loverdou looked impeccable and stylish as always. Not at all like an owner of a frumpy bookstore like this one.
"Yes."
"Anything for me? I am awaiting a parcel."
His eyes shot down to the parcel. It was hidden from view in the small booth that served as space for the salesperson and the cash register. The cut was clearly visible as artificial and not like transport damage at all. He needed time to fix that. To mask the evidence of his curiosity.
"No, Aunt Kalypso. Just letters for me again. Going through them right now."
"Ah. Don't worry. I am sure one of them will make you happy. Only a matter of time. Until then, enjoy your time here. Your mother did. I remember her working here for a year too when she was your age."
Alexis bit his tongue. How could one enjoy working in this dump of a bookshop? And had his mother worked here? He doubted it. Alexis knew that his mother was forty-two and his best guess was that Aunt Kalypso was around thirty-five. The math didn't work out. Because he remembered his mother saying that his Aunt opened the shop quite recently.
"Yeah. One of them has to work out," he said out loud. But looking up, Alexis saw that he had spoken to thin air. His aunt had already left the salesroom again and vanished into the back office.
Once again, Alexis focused on the parcel and the strange book within. It wasn't glowing anymore. Quickly chiding himself. Books don't glow. He must have imagined it or it had been a trick of the light from outside. Maybe a reflection of the window front on the other side of the street.
The ringing of the bell over the door made Alexis look up in confusion. Had Bernard forgotten to deliver something and came back? To his surprise, in the doorway didn't stand the middle-aged postman Alexis saw every day. Instead, there was a teenage girl. Dressed in a cheerleading uniform no less. Even stranger was the fact that Alexis couldn't place it. It wasn't a cheerleading uniform from any school in the surrounding area.
With a bright smile, the teenager walked over to Alexis. She had a certain preppiness in her step. And maybe a yearbook under her arm? Alexis was confused as heck. She was the third customer since he had started working here and both of the first two had been middle-aged academics. The blue-eyed blonde magically drew in Alexis' gaze.
"This is Kalypso Loverdou's shop, right? Is she in?"
Shaking off his confusion, Alexis pointed to the back office. "Yes, she is. I can get her if you tell me your-"
A bright light flashed and made Alexis turn away. Followed by a crashing sound of splintering wood and breaking glass. When Alexis collected himself, he saw the teenager had fallen against the entrance door. Or rather she had impacted there. Alexis could see the wooden door frame had burst and splintered and the window glass had spiderwebs of fractures all around. Still, it all held in place. As if someone had done a shoddy job of fixing it all with super glue.
"You are not welcome here, Margrit."
The voice belonged to Alexis' Aunt but sounded like he had heard never before. Hard and full of malice. Once again, she was standing on the stairs leading to the upper portion of the shop. This time holding an open book in her right hand.
"I go by Mary now," the teenager replied while pushing herself up. She dusted herself off debris as if nothing special had happened. "And really, Kalypso, is this how you act around your elders?"
Both women twitched into action and two flashes of light blinded Alexis again. He was thrown back and onto the floor as something exploded right in the middle of the room. Around him, shelves started to topple and shredded books were thrown all around. Thankfully, he was mostly protected behind the sales booth. At least he thought so until the old cash register impacted beside him. That ancient piece was still made of cast iron. University rejection letters rained down on him. Not needing the paper shredder anymore as they were already torn apart. Right beside his head and close to his hand the parcel fell. Was it glowing again?
With his heart beating a mile a minute, Alexis scooted to the booth. Seeking safety behind the heavy old wood it was made of. More explosions were sending shockwaves through the store. Making him twitch with each and every one of them. What the hell was going on? Alexis had no clue. The world didn't make a lick of sense anymore.
At last, the shop fell silent, so Alexis risked a glance over the booth. His Aunt, Kalypso, had retreated to the upper portion of the shop. Being elevated half a floor to the lower portion. There, she stood panting. Her hair tousled and her clothes were partly torn. In front of her, there was a half-sphere of something. Like a shield, but translucent.
Her opponent, Mary or Margrit, stood in a corner. Between the entrance and a row of massive bookshelves that now had toppled over. Behind a similar translucent glimmering, she smiled. For she barely looked scratched. Despite having crashed into the storefront and standing in the middle of a devastating book store, she only had a few splinters of wood and glass shards peppering her cheerleading uniform to show for it. It was clear that Mary had the upper hand.
Then Alexis noticed the books both women were holding. They glowed. Just like the one in the parcel. Were they magic? Alexis wanted to dismiss the notion. Magic wasn't real. But the destruction around him spoke of another truth.
"Come on, Kalypso. You know you can't beat me," Mary said with a sneer and gruel smirk. "We both know you were born a few centuries too late for that. Hand over Heartbreaker and we call it a day."
"I don't have it," Kalypso shouted back. Scattering a few droplets of blood around her. The few that escaped her mouth, she swiped away. "It didn't arrive yet."
Alexis' eyes turned back towards the parcel. To the pink book that poked out of the cut, he had made earlier. Was Mary after it? With trembling hands, Alexis reached for it. Now, it felt heavier than before. Or did he just imagine it?
"Bullshit! I know it is here!"
With trembling hands, Alexis tore away the rest of the parcel. Until he held the book in his grasp. The spine and cover were in the dyed pink leather he had seen before. New was the title in gold lettering. It was written in a language that he didn't know. At least, for now. Before his very eyes, the words blurred. Until they settled again and proudly proclaimed: Heartbreaker.
"I swear it is the truth." His aunt sounded desperate. "It was supposed to arrive, but it didn't yet."
Unbidden and all by itself, the book Heartbreaker opened in Alexis' grasp. Page by page turned itself until it reached the middle of the book. There, strange letters were written in blood-red ink. None of them Alexis could read. In fact, he couldn't even recognize what language they originated from. But despite that, he knew they were spells. One of them spoke to him. Urged him to use it.
A sudden calmness overcame Alexis. Gone was the fear he felt a moment before. Grasping the book tight, Alexis stood up. Two sets of eyes turned towards him. Then gazed at the book in his hand. Too late. Alexis had raised his free hand and pointed towards Mary. Strange words escaped his lips. The meaning eluded him. In fact, he didn't even know his vocal cord could produce such strange sounds.
A bright deep red ball of light materialized over his free hand. Just for a split second, it hovered there. Then raced as a bolt of fury towards Mary. Narrowly missing her translucent shield and slamming into her. Flinging her into the wall behind. A web of cracks split the stucco where the woman impacted. So deep that Alexis could see the broken bricks underneath.
Despite everything, Mary wasn't beaten. Shaken and hurt? Sure. But not willing to give up. A wry laugh escaped her. "For a moment, Kalypso, I believed you. But there it is." She took a step towards Alexis. Then another. "Heartbreaker. And you brought backup. That, I didn't expect."
"Oh, shut up," Kalypso hissed. Conjuring a green ball of energy in her free hand.
Mary reacted, but too late. The magic impacted just a step before her. Vines and roots quelled forth. With nasty looking thorns of deep red. They all lunged for Mary who retreated back. But not far as there was a wall at her back. There, the magical plant found her. Enveloped and buried her beneath. Alexis could see blood well forth as thorns broke the skin. Mary screamed in agony. But only for a second. Then she fell silent.
Alexis tore her gaze off from Mary. Now hardly to be seen under the magical plant. "D-did you kill her."
"Hardly. She's sleeping. For a century or two. Depends how many thorns bit into her." Kalypso took two deep breaths to look at her beaten foe. Then turned towards Alexis. Before he could react, she had a second green ball of magic in her hand. "Not that I don't value the help, but who the fuck are you?"
Frowning, Alexis took a step back. Only to run into a bookshelf. This shop definitely was too small for retreats. Or battles in general. "It's me, Aunt Kalypso. Alexis."
For a moment, Kalypso regarded him with curiosity. As if she was seeing him for the first time. At last, she made up her mind. "Interesting. Prove it. Stretch your t-shirt so I can see the print on it."
It was a strange request. Its print should be visible without help. Maybe there was dirt or debris on it. Alexis moved his free hand to obey. Only to be confused. His shirt indeed sat strangely on his frame. Alexis broke eye contact with his aunt to glance below. Only for his gaze to be riveted by the view. That wasn't right. His t-shirt sat as if-
Slowly, he grabbed for the collar of his shirt and peeked beneath. "Those are breasts." Was that a question or a statement? Alexis couldn't tell himself. Now, other details registered with his brain. The strands of hair falling into his face. The strangely high pitch in his voice. Not to mention that the feel of his pants was all wrong. Loose around most of his legs, but tight around butt and hips. There was no mistaking it. Shocked he looked to his Aunt. "I am a girl. When did that happen?"
A second passed. Then a few more. Eventually, Kalypso dismissed the sphere of magic in her grasp. A sigh escaped her before closing her book and placing it under her arm.
"My guess, the moment you opened Heartbreaker. It's alright. Give it to me."
Alexis needed a moment to parse her request. Give her Heartbreaker? Only now did he remember that he still held the pink book. In fact, his fingers' skin turned white under the pressure with which he held it. It took him an immeasurable amount of will to let off, close the book, and hand it over.
"I can't be a girl," Alexis said into the room. Looking a bit forlorn. "That isn't possible."
"It is." Kalypso gave him a pat on the shoulder. "Magic makes it possible. Don't worry. You will turn back tomorrow."
"I am not stuck?" Alexis turned towards his Aunt. "This isn't forever?"
"No. You are what we call a Trail-Witch. I think we need to have a talk. A long one." She gave him a squeeze of the shoulder. "But not here. It isn't safe anymore. Follow me."
Without waiting for a reply, Kalypso turned around. Walking towards the upper portion of the shop. Alexis automatically followed but stopped after three steps up the stairs. About halfway. Looking back at the chaos around him. The shop had been turned into a warzone. Of the many bookshelves, only two stood still upright. Hundreds of books lay thrown around. Torn to shreds and pieces. And in a corner, a thicket of vines and roots had taken real estate. Hiding beneath a woman in a deep slumber.
"Right. Guess I could tidy up a bit."
Alexis turned around to see his Aunt intoned strange words. Similar to the ones he had spoken himself not long ago. No light flared up this time, but the very bookshop came alive around them. As Alexis looked around, bookshelves righted themselves. Their splintered wood flying back in place and fusing to them. A whirlwind of paper filled the salesroom and condensed to repaired books that flew back onto the shelves. By the time the room settled, all shelves had been repaired and each book had found its home. Even the wall, glass front, and door had fixed themselves. It was back to the shop Alexis knew. Save for one addition. A large plant in the corner. Now in a fitting ceramic planter.
"Something is missing," Kalypso mused behind Alexis. "Oh, right."
More strange words filled the room and Alexis' eyes grew wide as he saw the effect. Each surface grew a blanket of dust. Speaking of months of negligence.
"It was you!" Alexis twirled around. "I dusted the whole shop last week. It took me hours. But you magicked it all back."
His Aunt shrugged. "I didn't ask you to do that. If you had asked me before, I would have discouraged you. Now, come. We can't stay here."
She walked towards the back office but stopped short at the only wall that had been left free of shelves. At least, that had been the case. Where once had been a blank wall a door had found its place.
"Since when has that been here?"
"Since forever," Kalypso said while grabbing the handle. "It is just invisible to mundanes."
"And I am not mundane anymore?" Alexis asked as his Aunt opened the door.
"At least, for now," Kalypso said as she walked into a hallway that shouldn't be there. Its geometry intersected with the backroom office.
Following his Aunt, Alexis gaped like a tourist. The hallway was wide. At least five meters across. The floor grew marble with a black texture to it. The walls painted in a strange color between muted purple and dark grew. Exhibits lined the side. Display cases showed artifacts of the past. Some looked quite old and valuable. There were many portraits on the wall. All displaying his Aunt. But she was dressed differently in each of them. As if she had stood pose for them in decades or even centuries past.
At last, something made Alexis stop and fall behind. It was not a painting that drew his eyes. The reflection of a large mirror drew him close. And as he walked closer a girl mirrored his movements. Logically, he knew it was him. The new female form he had. But it was still strange to have a young woman mirror every move he made. And what a woman she was. Young, in the early twenties. Just like Alexis' normal age. And he could see the resemblance. His old features, but shifted towards the feminine. But where male-Alexis had been mediocre in looks, she was the epitome of beauty. The face of a model, but the body of a seductress.
"Alexis. Come. You can stare at your reflection later. It won't vanish for another twenty-three hours."
Turning away hurt. He wanted to see more of her. Even though logic told him again that she was him. Alexis had never pointed in the looks department, but now everything was different. If this hadn't been temporary, he wondered if he would have minded staying her. Even though he had never thought about becoming a woman.
They arrived at a library at last. It was the total opposite of the bookshop they just had left. Only two bookshelves dominated the room. On each shelf a single book. Framed by their own bookends. Kalypso walked to one of them and placed Heartbreaker down. As if the bookshelves knew its duty, two bookends appeared beside it.
"I guess you have many questions," she said while walking to an armchair. Offering Alexis one as well with a single gesture.
"A ton," Alexis said as he took his seat.
"Let's start at the beginning. Well, the beginning of modern times. Around one thousand and five hundred years ago."
"That doesn't sound very modern to me."
"Stop thinking technology as a measure of all things. Before science, magic reigned supreme. In ancient times, there were people born with a special talent. To shape the universe around them with thought alone. But as mankind grew older their gift weakened. Fewer were born with the talent. And those that did struggled to reach the height their forefathers achieved."
"But it didn't die out," Kalypso added after a dramatic pause. "There was a witch. One in a line of witches. She was heartbroken when she only bore a single son. And one quite mundane. She looked for a way to remedy that and she succeeded. That witch created the first Grimoire. A book that could bestow magic to its user."
"One like Heartbreaker? It's a Grimoire too, right?"
"Correct. Her invention was groundbreaking. The first Grimoire was copied. Or rather its enchantment was. In fact, the Grimoire itself was created in a way that itself could create copies."
"That doesn't explain why I am a woman now," Alexis pointed out.
"It doesn't? Think about it. That witch wanted an heir. And not any heir. All those with the gift in her family had been female. She wanted to continue that tradition."
"So, if I get that right, the first Grimoire doesn't just give magic, but also makes the user a woman," Alexis said after a moment of thinking. "And since copies of the Grimoire take over all aspects of the enchantment they retain the female gender correction."
"Quite so."
"You said I turn back after a day. If the witch wanted an heir then why make it temporary."
"It isn't," Kalypso corrected him. "At least in the way you think it is. New Grimoires are empty. The moment you write in your first spell your fate is sealed. The Grimoire and you will be connected until the day you die. But here is the thing. Grimoires become inert if their owner dies. That means all their spells become inaccessible. The words blur. They can't be read. But if someone touches a Grimoire for the first time, it revives. Just for a day. Bestowing access to all the spells for a day. Along with all the benefits."
"That's why I will turn back. Because turning into a woman is part of the benefits." For a moment, a twinge of regret shot through Alexis' heart. Seeing his altered reflection had left its mark on him. That, he couldn't deny. Somehow, even separated from Heartbreaker, he felt powerful. "And when I turn back, I will never gain access to Heartbreaker again."
"Quite so." Kalypso turned in her armchair to look at the book in question. "Which is for the best. Heartbreaker is one of the oldest books. And the name is the program. Quite powerful. Full of spells to seduce and entice mundanes. But it carries the name for a reason. Heartbreak will follow. For the victim, as for its owner."
"I must admit, its power is intoxicating. I only held it for one spell, but I long to try more. It," Alexis pointed at the book, "has me in its grasp."
Both twitched in surprise as the Grimoire in question started to rattle. Shaking and fighting against the bookends that held it in place. But not for long. It broke free and flew through the room. Like a heat-seeking missile, it aimed for Alexis. But instead of crashing into him, the Grimoire slowed down. Setting down in Alexis grasp with the delicate touch of a feather.
"Fascinating," Kalypso said while leaning forward. "Looks like Heartbreaker isn't done with you. It followed your subconscious call."
Was it alive? Sentient? Alexis studied the book in his hand. Just the thought of the spells inside made Heartseeker open itself up. Showing off the spells written within.
After a deep breath, Alexis turned back towards his Aunt. "What does that mean? That I don't turn back?"
"No." Her words had a finality to it. "It means that you are gifted. That the magic within you is strong. If you chose to become a witch, you could become quite powerful, and in a short amount of time. I have no doubt that you would surpass even me. To be honest, I wouldn't even have offered you the chance, but now- It would be a crime not to do so."
Power was at his fingertips. Not just literally, the Grimoire in his hands, but something profound waiting for him. Of course, it would mean there was a sacrifice due. "But I have to become a woman to do so. And not just for a day."
"Well, there are altered Grimoires for male witches. What? Do you think people wouldn't modify the original enchantment to their liking? Don't be naive. It is possible but very difficult." Then she leaned back and gave a deep sigh. "But to be honest, I don't have access to one of them. Without that, I couldn't supply you with a male-focused Grimoire. Yes, your choices are to become a woman and a witch or stay mundane."
Silence settled over the room while Alexis pondered his options. At least, he arrived at a decision. "Yes, I want-"
"Not so fast," Kalypso interrupted him. "You should know what you are getting into. All witches collect spells. Your Grimoire is empty at the start after all. Depending on the spells you inscribe you will gain allies. Or enemies. Even those that you trust might betray you. Because once you are dead your Grimoire is open to be accessed by others. Just like Heartbreaker. Not to mention that the whole community of witches and mages is riddled with politics. And the grudges. Believe me, no one holds a grudge like a witch."
His mind flashed back to the teenage looking girl in the bookshop. Mary or Margrit. She certainly spoke like someone who held a grudge. "Like Mary? What happened between you two?"
"That's a long story," Kalypso waved him off. "Not worth telling. You know the saying. What happened last century is no-one's business but your own."
Something Kalypso said put Alexis on edge. And as if it had read his mind, Heartbreaker paged through itself until it stopped on an attack spell. Startled, Alexis put it away. For now, he would try the diplomatic way.
"Last century. That does sound like you are older than you look."
"Didn't your mother teach you to never ask a woman's age?"
"Oh, she did," Alexis assured her. "And that isn't my question. You aren't my Aunt, right?"
Kalypso rewarded him with a nod and a smirk. "No, I am not. We are related, believe it or not. You are my grand-son. Well, grand-son removed by twenty-five to thirty generations. I look out for my offspring. Usually, it works out better than today."
With those words, she pushed out of her chair.
"Where are you going?"
"Back to the shop," Kalypso said over her shoulder. "See if I can pry Margrit's Grimoire from her fingers. It would declaw her quite nicely. You should be safe here. And it gives you time. To really think about accepting the offer or not."
As Kalypso walked back to the hallway, Alexis looked at the book in his now feminine hand. It was intoxicating in its promise for power. But not as much as the reflection he had glimpsed at not long ago.
Alexis didn't need to think about it.
He already had an answer.
-
To be continued?
Leo’s mother saw him sitting on the earth. Surrounded by pieces of pottery and uprooted flowers. She put her fists on her hips and looked with a bemused grin down. “What did my little Troublemaker do now?”
Before little Leo written words of light appeared. His chubby little hands reached out. Those lights looked pretty after all.
“No. Don’t! Not again!”
Leo woke with a start. Another nightmare. Nothing new. He shook off the last remains of his dream. He didn’t know how much of it was the dream by now and what had been real once. The only thing he knew was that this had been the day he got his title. It haunted him to this day.
“Little Troublemaker”
It wasn’t just another title. It was a linked one. Connecting the person to the surrounding magic. In Leo’s case, it leads to a fate of trouble. Either for him or those around him. As he got older the title evolved. If he wanted to or not.
He gathered his meager possessions and his bedroll. Checked if all his bandages were in place. Assured that his disguise was intact Leo, the "Legendary Troublemaker" set out to survive another day.
Leo had carefully selected his spot. Close to the sick beggars, but far enough to not get sick himself. He surveyed his surrounding. Trouble could wait for him everywhere. He was a magnet for it. No matter where he’d go or how much he tried to avoid it. It always found him.
Was that guard strolling in his direction? Did that merchant eye him warily? Leo tried to calm himself down. Falling prey to his own paranoia was just another way to land in a pile of trouble.
Again he checked the wooden bowl before him. A few copper pieces. Barely enough to buy a meal. His stomach grumbled even thinking about food. Today he had to eat. Yesterday he skipped it to save money.
Like every fool, he had a dream. With enough money, he could buy another linked title. That title would offset his Troublemaker title. Not by much, but even that was better than nothing.
Shuffling feet caught his suspicion. They belonged to a beggar walking past Leo. Something was wrong. Leo couldn’t put his finger on it, but he knew the signs when he saw one. With haste, he put away the few copper coins and stowed his wooden bowl.
“Watch where you are walking you filthy scum,” came a loud shout.
The beggar had collided with a wealthy-looking man. Quickly apologizing the beggar rushed back to the group of the sick.
Leo’s neck hairs stood up. Time to get away.
“My purse! That beggar stole my purse!”
Leo took up speed and tried to distance himself as fast as he could without looking suspicious.
“There he is!”
Leo risked a glance behind him. The merchant pointed directly at him. Of course, he would be mistaken for the thief. Worse was the guard that heard and followed the accusation.
Leo took off and ran with all his might. He knew too well that pleading his innocence wouldn’t help. Besides, he was known in these parts for past misdeeds. Most of them misunderstandings or consequences of bad luck. Not that anyone cared. Courtesy of his title.
“Stop! In the name of the king. Stop!”
Leo rounded a corner and nearly ran into a horse. The startled beast backed away and the connected cart behind it rammed the corner of a market stall. As Leo ran past the tent broke down and buried merchant and spectators alike.
Despite the chaos, the yelling of the guard didn’t stop or fall behind. Worse. More joined in. Leo needed a way out. Off to the side, he saw a wooden ladder dangling from a fire escape balcony. Maybe he could reach it.
With a full sprint, he used some chicken cages as a ramp to launch himself into the air. His hand burned in pain as he barely managed to catch the lowest rung of the latter. He grunted as he lifted himself up.
The roof was Leo’s best bet to escape. As he climbed up one of his legs suddenly caught only air. The rung of the ladder had broken off and now flew through the air. Hitting a caravan guard on the head.
Turning around the guard mistook a bystander for the culprit. A first punch was thrown and the man stumbled into a group of young nobles. Moments later a brawl of forty men broke out.
Not that Leo cared. He was on the roof and sprinted to the next one.
“There he is! Leo the Troublemaker! Today I will catch you!”
Leo flinched while running. He knew that voice. It belonged to Ernesto. The captain of the city guard. Also known as Leo’s worst nightmare. Well, at least in this city.
He needed to get away. As long as he had the high ground he could use much of his speed. Still, the guards would keep up in the streets. Unless he found a congestion.
Luck would have it that there was a crowd around St. Claire's school for girls. Though Leo and the rest of the folks around here called it “the cult of the ladies”. It was eerie. Girls or young women enter the school and three years they emerged as beautiful ladies.
Right now another crop of young would-be students gathered there to be led in. Surrounded by family and friends, they made the street flow thicker than honey. If Leo could traverse the school's roof he would lose the guards for sure.
He adjusted his course and came closer fast. Nearly there he lost his footing. A shingle got loose and flew down. Landing in a sack of corn that burst open. A flock of pigeons was on it a second later. Leo’s curse of a title had struck again.
Not fazed by it anymore Leo stood up and continued his run over the roofs. As the street flow got thicker the yells of the guards got farther and farther away. When he reached the school’s roof he was certain to be free of pursuers.
Leo decided to catch his breath for now. Who knew when his title of Legendary Troublemaker would cause the next mischief. From high up the roof, he could see the new students. Most didn’t look special or even pretty. Yet he knew in three years they would emerge as gorgeous women. Ready to be wives, ladies, and princesses. Witchcraft he reasoned. What else might explain such change?
Distracted he nearly missed a worrisome sound. Was that cracking? Suddenly he saw splinters of wood all around him as he broke through the roof.
A few impacts later he found himself in a big room surrounded by luggage. Cursing he stood up. Of course, the roof would break. Why not? It fit perfectly into Leo’s messed-up day. Today his title clearly worked overtime.
The creaking of an opening door broke his string of curses. If he was caught it might end up badly for him. The school was for women only. Looking around he saw no other exit. He was truly stuck.
Thinking quickly he grabbed a nearby cape to hide his appearance. Sometimes deception got him out of such a sticky situation. He hoped today was one of those times.
A woman entered the chamber. Time had left its marks on her. Still, she was a beauty few women could match at their height of youth.
At once she spotted Leo cowering in a corner.
“What do we have here?” she inquired in a weathered yet melody voice.
Leo took a deep breath. His cursed title got him into this mess. It might as well get him out of it. One of the talents bestowed by it was the ability to change one's voice. Leo imagined a higher pitch than his own. Quickly and in more panic than he felt he explain.
“I am so sorry. I fell through the roof. I am nothing but a girl from the streets. I mean no harm. I heard rumors about this school for years and today my curiosity got the best of me. I beg for your forgiveness.”
“So. So. An admirer you are? Did you dream of joining this school?” the gray-haired lady inquired.
“My lady. I am nothing but a street dog. Not worthy of your presence. Below my robes I am unsightly. Bearing the hardship of my youth on my skin. Please, I beg you to let me leave in peace,” Leo pleaded.
“And who asks for it, my girl?”
“Leo...na,” came Leo’s stammering reply. It wasn’t working and slowly he lost ground to back away.
Steadily the old woman came closer.
“Leona. Well. Let me satisfy one curiosity of yours. Who is worthy of this school decides only one person. That is me. Don’t be afraid. Let me see. I am sure under your hood you are quite the beauty. Leona the Young Maiden. Don’t be afraid.”
Leo was stunned. Not because she had nearly reached him or that he could feel the wall in his back. Lines of light formed in his vision. They illuminated nothing but slowly forming letters. He had dreamed about them hundreds of times. Yet they had never been so slow to appear.
A title. He was about to be asked if we would accept another linked title. The last decade he had hunted for one and now - here of all places - he was about to get one. No matter what title and what consequence. He needed it. Without much thought, he accepted before the letters could form completely.
A sudden rush filled him. A feeling, unlike anything, ever felt. It was as if he was a hole in the ground and waterfalls all around him tried to fill him. It felt oh so strange and it made him stagger.
A strong hand grabbed and steadied him.
“Careful dear. Now let me see.”
She pushed the cloak out of Leo’s face.
“Ah. I knew it. What a pretty Young Maiden you are.”
Leo’s thoughts were in tumult. He was exposed, yet what was she saying. Dazed he looked down and saw things he never dreamed of seeing. There, beneath cloak and bandages, the mounds of young pubescent flesh peeked through. Breasts. He had breasts and who knew what else.
Unable to comprehend it all his mind chose a drastic measure. Leo fainted on the spot.
Leo couldn’t exactly explain how he had ended up here. In a big hall with a hundred other young women. There was no denying it. He was one of them. Or rather she was.
After coming to himself he had been dressed and ushered here. Waiting now for something to happen. The murmurs of whispers slowly ebbed away as a woman made her way to a podium on a stage. Leo knew her. It was the same old woman who had found him.
“Welcome Young Maidens,” she opened her speech. “My name is headmistress Alia and this institution has cared, taught, and trained Young Maidens like yourself for centuries. It is no random happenstance that I call you like that. If you are here, then you have received the linked title Young Maiden.”
Leo quickly checked and sure enough, he found two titles linked to him. Etched into the magic around him. Legendary Troublemaker and Young Maiden. A female title. What had he been thinking? Of course, he knew the answer too well. He hadn’t. Thinking that is. Now he was stuck as a girl. Was he now cursed twofold? Could the title even be counteracted?
“This school is built upon the foundation of the title Young Maiden and the titles that evolve from it. For decades we have explored every path to take. Every title it could evolve into. If you work hard you can reach heights in this title that others need decades for.”
Leo listened with an intensity that surprised him. It was as if she was talking to him directly. Her words beckoned him. A strong second title would weaken the first. But in order to gain its strength, he had to…
“Dedicate yourself and you will leave this school as paragons of the female gender. But, we offer more. With time we cultivated other linked titles. Work hard and you might earn the right to have one bestowed to you.”
The headmistress took a short break and let her gaze wander through the ranks of new students. “Be warned,” she finally continued. “Who you were before entering this school does not matter. Be it a beggar or noble, merchant or thief, peasant or farmer. You are all equal here. The only way to stand out is to earn it by dedication. That being said. Welcome again.”
The gray-haired lady stepped down and at once the whispers returned.
“I am Thelma,” a girl to the left said. “Who are you?”
“Leona,” came the surprisingly confident reply.
“Nice to meet you. That was a great speech, right?”
“Very. You could say it opened my eyes to a few things,” Leona said with a grin.
“She mentioned other titles. Do you want any of these?” Thelma asked.
For a moment a feral grin broke through Leona’s calm demeanor. All titles drew their strength from the same pool. The more titles and the stronger they are the less influential was her Troublemaker curse.
She didn’t know how long she could hide her first title, but she was sure that she wouldn’t stop fighting tooth and nails to remain here.
“All of them,” replied Leona. “I need all of them! I will earn them all.”
Silvio ran for his life through the narrow corridors between the stacked containers of depot forty-three of East Dallas. Heard the hounds making a ruckus behind him. Knew that they already had his scent. He glanced behind himself, but he couldn't see them yet. A good sign, because if he could see them, then he was a dead boy running.
The wall was close. His makeshift rope still hanging over the ledge. With a running jump, he caught it and climbed as fast as he dared. By the time he landed on the other side, his breathing was ragged and needles of pain poked through his lungs. Still, he couldn't stop now. It wasn't safe yet.
He forced himself into a jog - painful as it was - and darted into the sprawling slums of East Dallas. Past shelters cobbled together with trash and dirt. Cut through narrow passages and ran over faulty rotten wooden planks of equally rotten huts.
He heard the hounds and the roar of vehicles too late. Just as he crossed through a big clearing in the slums they found him. Gasping for his breath he stopped. It was no use. In moments they had him surrounded. There was no call to give up from them. Just as they would be no mercy. They would take what he had stolen and then the police would kill him. It was simple like that. Silvio had seen it a hundred times before. All that was left was to close his eyes and hope his death would be without much pain.
"Shit. That maniac again!"
The shouting and a string of curses made Silvio's eyes snap open. Just in time to see a young woman in torn clothes run onto the square with a howling battle-cry born in madness.
He saw the police sling their rifles and pulling batons out. "Beat her. Maker her suffer. Don't kill her," the squad's leader ordered.
With their intention on the charging woman, Silvio took his cue and ran as fast as his fatigued body could manage.
It was a shame really. To be rescued by Ella Ritter. That good for nothing wannabe hero of a hooligan. She had the spark of the Phoenix and what did she do with it? Instead of fighting the big villains that ruled the dystopian nightmare of Silvio's reality, she picked fights with the police. And that was what she did with her gift. The spark of the Phoenix was wasted on her. Of that Silvio was sure.
Grumbling to himself Silvio made his way home. Not even once he glanced back. He knew what would happen. Ella would put up a fight until the police would overwhelm her. Beat her to the brink of death and leave her in the gutters of the streets. Then the spark would heal her. Mend broken bones and mend the torn skin and organs. Then, an hour later, she will stand up and look for the next fight to pick.
Just why had the spark of the Phoenix picked her? It was a question Silvio had to ask himself many times. She was just a masochistic brawler always looking for her next fight. It seemed so unfair.
After making sure no one had followed him, Silvio ducked into one of the ramshackle huts that were just like every other in the slums with one difference. In it he found his mother lying on the makeshift bed.
Her fever hadn't broken yet and it worried Silvio to no end. With haste, he dug into his small backpack and fished for the small pill bottle he had stolen. Ibuprofen. Silvio wasn't sure what that medicine did, but he hoped it would help his mother recover. He gave her two pills and forced her to swallow them with the dirty liquid one might call water. If that someone was very generous.
The rest of the pills vanished with a few stolen food rations in their secret hiding place. Only then he allowed himself to lay down as well. Exhaustion took over and sleep caught up to him fast.
Silvio bit back the curse that was on his lips. He hadn't gotten one of the labor spots for the factory again. Another day without the meager income the job could provide. At least his mother felt a little better. For now, that had to count for something, but he knew tomorrow or the day after he needed to get a spot in the factory. Even if it meant showing up even earlier in the morning.
Lost in his misery he wandered aimlessly through the slums until shouting made him look up. It was close and he didn't have to go far to peek around a corner to see the commotion. Ella Ritter again. Brawling with the police. Sighing Silvio shook his head and walked away.
There were other jobs than the factory. Less legal ones, but out here in the slums that didn't matter much. Silvio was cutting through a part of the slums that had seen better days - those when the ramshackle huts hadn't burned down - when he saw a flickering. At first, he ignored it, but as it caught his eyes again he got curious.
"Probably some trash burning," he thought until he rounded a corner.
There it was. Something he had dreamed of finding since his earliest childhood. A spark of the Phoenix. It was a flame floating in the air about the height of his chest with myriads of sparks of lightning dancing within. It was as if it was calling out to him. Begging Silvio to reach out with his hand and take the spark for his own. Still, he hesitated.
The spark was really what everyone said. Part of the Phoenix. She had been the last Superhero. When all others had died or succumbed to the new evil overloads she had kept fighting. Streaking through the sky and burning henchmen and villains alike. She had been unstoppable. Literally, as she would always be reborn if she died.
For a while, it looked like she might actually win. Then the tragedy happened. A devious gadget hitting her, that not only burst her body apart but her very soul too.
What was left of her soul was scattered all over the world and Silvio now stood before a fragment of the legendary last hero. He could take it. Fuse with it and gain her power. Then he wouldn't be as helpless to the oppressors as he was now.
Yes. Silvio had decided. He would take the spark for his own and show everyone that there are still heroes around. Might even show Ella Ritter how someone could really use the power for good instead of using it to brawl.
Once again he reached out and this time he grasped the fire. It quickly roared to life and enveloped. Silvio wasn't scared. Even when darkness claimed him as he fainted.
Silvio groaned as he woke up. The very sound was strange to his ears. As he opened his eyes he saw the one thing he wanted to see less than the police.
"Good morning sleepy-head. And I guess welcome to the army of the Phoenix," Ella Ritter greeted him. Sitting on an empty turned-over crate nearby and gave him a cheery grin.
"Fuck you Ella and ..." Silvio stopped. Something was wrong with his voice and he reached for his throat.
"Let me guess. You used to be a boy?"
Used to be was correct as Silvio stared down on a body not his own. Or rather one that hadn't been his, but now it was. For a few heartbeats, he could nothing but stare down the ash-covered body and the curves that looked so very alien to him from this perspective.
"How..." he started, but his voice gave out.
"Isn't it obvious?" Ella asked. "Those who touch the Phoenix's spark take on aspects of the original Phoenix. And SHE gives out more than just her powers."
"Glad this amuses you," an annoyed Silvio shot back while standing up. "Why are you even here?"
"To welcome you to the fight ... and I guess to womanhood." Seeing his glare she quickly continued. "Also I thought you might want some clothes. No one ever strips before fusing with a spark."
Silvio was well aware of how right she was. His clothes were probably part of the nest of ash below him. "Thanks. Didn't know that you cared about anything besides picking fights with the police."
"So you know about me..."
"Everyone does," Silvio snapped.
"... and I don't know anything about you. What is your name?"
"Silvio."
"Don't think so. Try again."
"Silvio Copello"
"Worse! For one thing, you are a girl now and on the other hand, never reveal your last name," Ella chided him. "Look down on your right arm."
Silvio did and saw something red poking through the dirt sticking to his arm. After rubbing it away a bright red tattoo revealed itself in the form of a stylized flame.
"The police hunts everyone with the spark of the Phoenix. One can handle that or not. Worse is that they hunt everyone who is dear to you. Give out your true name and your friends and family will suffer. Now, what is your name?"
As much as he hated to admit it. Thinking of his mother Silvio knew she was right. He couldn't bear making her suffer for his choices. "I'll have to think about that," he admitted.
"Good. You do that. For now, take this." She threw him a coverall that clearly had seen better days. "Find me once you are ready for me to teach you." Then she got up and started to walk away.
"Teach me? All you can do is to brawl!" Silvio shouted after her.
Ella only turned around to give him a short cheery grin before heading out.
Violet cursed the very fact that Ella was right. From far away she spied on her mother's little shack. She didn't dare to get closer. No one knew yet that she had a spark, but just to be safe she came up with a new name. Or rather an old one. Her mother always had told Silvio that if he had been born a girl she would have named him Violet.
Violet didn't like her name that much, but it was something to remind her of her mother. It was something she always could take with her and no one would be the wiser.
With a sigh, she turned around and headed back to the outskirts of the slums where she conducted her training. One that so far proved to be miserable. Flying eluded her as much as throwing fireballs. She not even managed to summon the flame aura the original Phoenix had been known for. After three days she had nothing to show for.
Maybe something was missing. Like a teacher. Violet scrounged her face. No way she would ask Ella. How could she teach Violet something she couldn't do herself?
She was pulled from her self-pity when loud shouts and sirens broke the silence around her. People rushed past her and her old instinct nearly made her go with them.
Then she saw the mother and her child downward the street. They must be the intended target as the police slowly surrounded them. Violet clenched her fists. Injustice like this had made her want to become a bearer of the Phoenix spark. Now she was one and still, she was helpless. Nothing had changed. She had given her male body for nothing. No skill or ability had revealed itself.
Fighting them was madness. She knew that. She couldn't possibly win. Not in a million years. Still, she made a step towards the mother and child. Then another. She couldn't win, but maybe, just maybe, she could buy them enough time. Her legs fell into a jog and then full-on run.
A scream as mad as the dash she made escaped her lips. Heads turned and before the police could react Violet jumped and struck down one by punching his riot helmet.
She was as baffled as them as the guy actually crumbled down. She hadn't punched that hard, right? Or she had more strength than before. That must be it she reasoned. It gave her a fighting chance. A small one, but one she intended to take.
She jumped the next guy and everything around her turned to chaos. Violet punched and kicked every weak point she saw. Now and then she was rewarded with a satisfying crunch as an arm or leg gave in and a policeman howled in pain.
The advantage of her surprise attack didn't last long. The men fanned out and Violet had a harder time engaging them all. With the sudden chaos gone the men turned smart. Those before her got defensive while those behind her now attacked.
Pain flared as she heard the crunch of one of her ribs breaking. Still, she fought on. Pain be damned and all. She managed to knock out another one but found her left leg gave out as a vicious kick brought her down. Before she could react a baton smashed her face hard and all she could see for the moment were stars.
Violet knew this was it. This was as far as she would come. She managed a glance around before a kick into her chest robbed her of her breath. Three police officers lay on the ground unmoving and she saw five more clutching some extremity. No sight of the woman or her child. At least she managed to get them safe.
Another kick rolled her onto her back. One eye had a hard time staying open as blood flowed into it. The other saw the hard and angry faces of her foes. One of them drew a pistol. Violet grinned. Stupid police. She wouldn't have come half as far if they had pulled one at the start.
"Now you die bitch," the man with the gun said. He aimed at her head and she looked down the barrel. Two lives for her own. It wasn't much, but at least it was something.
"Wait!" another man shouted and grabbed the gun to push it aside. Mercy? From her enemies? Violet couldn't believe it. "Check her arm first."
One man crouched down to check by pulling up the sleeve of her overall. It was his last mistake. Violet pulled her last strength together and punched him in the throat. Gasping he pulled away and clawed at his own crushed windpipe. A moment later he ceased to move at all.
"Shit. Frank. And she is a Phoenix. What a clusterfuck."
"Can't be helped. Break every bone she got as long as it won't kill her. Give her so much pain she will regret ever touching that spark!"
And hurt her they did. A flurry of kicks broke what felt like every bone in her body. It was relentless torture till Violet would have begged for mercy if she still could. Then they left. Leaving her as a bloody pile of skin and bones at the side of the road.
Time crawled when you suffered immeasurable pain. Violet felt it all. The broken bones and bruises, the cuts and scrapes, and the steady dripping of her blood escaping her body.
She suffered through it all. Hoping, no praying, she would die soon. But the end didn't come. Only slowly her pain faded away and her breathing got less ragged and deeper. By dawn, she managed to pull her body up and against a wall with her arm she was sure had been broken. More than once.
"Not bad for your first fight," Ella remarked as she let herself fall down beside Violet. "Killed one, knocked out three, and injured a bunch more. At least that is the word out on the streets. You might want to go easy on the killing though."
Violet didn't answer. She didn't trust herself to manage that. Each breath still hurt like a bitch.
"Don't worry," Ella continued. "With time it becomes less painful and you regenerate faster."
"Fuck you!" Violet managed to press out. " 'am nothing like you..."
"Are you sure? Looked like a brawl to me."
"Couldn't… do more," Violet admitted through gritted teeth.
"Right! You are a newbie. How could I forget? You need a teacher," Ella told her.
"Not... you…"
"Not me? Well, how about another spark then? There are three others in this area."
That was news to Violet. All she had heard was of Ella. Faintly she nodded.
"Okay... Hmm. Julia Lowe lives near the bombed-out gas station. Sharron Snow on the south side of the Barrens and Iria Neves a dash north of the old tool factory. Hope that helps. If not then you can always find me."
With that being said she stood up and walked away. Leaving Violet with her thoughts and pain.
By the next morning, Violet was up and about. No injury was left. Not even a scar. That must be the regeneration Ella had talked about. Clearly, she knew things Violet didn't, but she would be damned to go to her for help.
It took her a few hours, but she found the gas station. Then Julia Lowe. It was a meager woman. Worn out and only skin and bones.
"Are you Julia?" Violet asked. With fearful eyes, she nodded. "I am a spark and ..."
"Out!" the woman screamed. Pushing Violet feebly with weak arms. That wasn't what made Violet comply. It was the sheer terror in the woman's eyes. The ramshackle door slammed into Violet's face. Her last glance was on a spindly arm with a faded tattoo on it.
Shocked about the reaction Violet turned away. There were two others. Maybe they could help her.
"Look what the cat dragged by," Ella greeted Violet as she walked over.
"The names you gave me ... They were sparks alright. But they can't teach anything. They are scared out of their wits. They're ... worthless. And you knew!"
"Of course they are. They have given up fighting."
"Argh! I asked for teacher and you ..." Violet broke off and shook her head in anger. "What were they supposed to teach me?"
"The biggest lesson of all. This is what happens to sparks who give up. Their fighting spirit was broken."
"What's that supposed to mean? I never get a straight answer out of you, do I?"
"You want straight answers?" Ella gave her a grin. "Go ahead ask, but make sure you ask the right questions."
Violet fell silent for a moment. Gathering her thoughts. "I am a spark and yet I can't ..."
"Fly? Shoot fireballs? Cloud yourself in flames?" When Violet nodded Ella continued. "Because you haven't died enough. Wait! Straight answers. I remember. When the Phoenix - the original Phoenix - started out she didn't have any of that. All she had was her fighting spirit. Everything else originates from it. Heightened strength. Fast regeneration. The refusal to stay down even if she got killed. Do you think she got some dominion over fire and flame? All that are physical manifestations of her will to fight."
Violet needed a moment to stomach the news. This was far from what she had heard before or had expected. "So all I can ... we can ... do is to brawl? What is the point?"
"The point? Besides fighting evil? We grow. With each passing year, there are more sparks. This fight has been going on for a long time. Both sides know their opponent's strength and weaknesses."
"Great. So we slowly grow in strength. Is that it? To win in a few decades? I doubt we make it so far. Those villains in their ebony towers probably lose patients long before then and kill us all off," Violet concluded.
In the distance, Violet saw a dust cloud drifting off from one of the police compounds. Someone was in trouble again she concluded.
"We are long past that point," Ella corrected her. "Despite how young I look I have been in this fight for over twenty years. Back then the police didn't hesitate to shoot into a crowd of rioters or sparks. They quickly found out that it was a bad idea to kill a spark. We come back to life better, stronger, and more pissed off. Nowadays they are scared to hand out guns to their patrols because they might shoot a spark. That is one of the changes we made happen."
Violet tracked the dust cloud with her eyes. Two vehicles she concluded by the size of it. "Why not capture us or so?"
"Ever see a Spark punch through a steel door? Because yes we can. Might take some time, but we punch through and then they have a spark right inside their base. Bad news for them. No. The only way they can stop a Spark is by breaking their will to fight. That's why they kick us to the brink of death. Hoping we get their hint."
"And we Sparks fight them to raise our fighting spirit and for the hope they kill us?" Violet wanted to know.
"It is a little bit more," Ella admitted. "Our goal is to take out the enemy forces. Break a leg or arm. That stuff. Not killing though. They would just recruit new ones. You see every policeman in the hospital drains their resources for weeks or months while we ... well, you noticed how fast we heal. Believe me, we are far from a stalemate, but it comes at a price."
"Pain," Violet threw in as she watched the police convoy split. Probably to cut off someone's escape route.
"Yes. For some, it is too much to handle. So now you know. So what about you?"
"Violet."
"What?"
"You once told me to get a new name. It is Violet."
"Well, then Violet. Being a spark or hiding for the rest of your life. What do you choose?"
Violet turned around with a grin and said: "I choose left."
She took off running before Ella could shake her confusion. It felt good to leave her with a cryptic answer for once. She grinned the whole time it took her to catch up to the vehicle that had split up to the left on the horizon.
With a mighty roar, she threw herself into the side of the big truck and it actually veered to the side and crashed. Angry policemen climbed out and Violet was ready.
This wasn't how she had envisioned it would be to be a spark. Nor was it the kind of hero she hoped to be.
But in this day and age what did it even mean to be a hero? Violet didn't know anymore. All she knew was that she had now the means to change something. Even if it was little and brought with pain. She would fight for those who couldn't.
The end.