The Woman Who Wound Be A Spy: The Interview, A Tale of Zhor, Part 1

Posted 7-8-2020
Revised  8-10-2020

THE WOMAN WHO WOULD BE A SPY: The Interview Part 1

A Tale of Zhor

by Christopher Leeson

Bherdur ob Caron stepped into the administrator's office, her lips pursed, her glance wary. The spymaster looked up from his desk and frowned with interest. He knew that his appointment was with a serum girl, and so he had expected to see a fine figure of young womanhood. She was that, at the very least, especially in regard to her lustrous blonde hair.

A chair stood empty before the desk. “Sit down,” Ewien Griff told the interviewee.

Caron drew in a deep breath and did as directed. Her controlled and precise body language suggested military training.

“I have reviewed your service record,” the man at the desk said. "You were a good officer.”

“Sire...” Caron began.

“Speak.”

“I am still a good officer.”

The spymaster nodded as he scanned the document in his hand. “You were retired from the First Horse Lancer Troop of Prydferth, after your unit’s unfortunate capture at Mabon Pass.”

“I can still serve my city,” she stated tonelessly.

“Your determination is very commendable. According to your application, you wish to enlist as an intelligence agent?”

“Yes, Sire!”

He nodded again. “I’ve already met several of your former comrades from the First Horse Lancer Troop. Two of them are now in training. Unfortunately, the remainder of the applicants did not inspire confidence. They were sent home.”  Now Griff captured Caron’s glance pointedly. “Do you know the general nature of work that a female agent routinely performs?”

“Infiltration, Sire,” Caron answered.

“That’s correct. Now, tell me, do you consider yourself male or female?”

She reacted with evident discomfort. “I am whatever the city of Prydferth wants me to be,” Caron replied.

The spymaster accepted her answer without comment. “Here are the facts, Vokshah Caron,” he said, using her decommissioned rank. In most endeavors, women are not useful in the field. In the business of espionage, their sex is against them. We need field operators who are able to infiltrate into the inner sanctums of the political and military leadership of the enemy. Even their own free women are not welcome in their enclaves. A spy traveling as a free woman may, of course, be of use occasionally, but such opportunities come along only irregularly. When one does, it is convenient to assign an agent who has been trained in broader applications."

None of this seemed to surprise Caron.

“Do you know the most efficient method for a woman to insinuate herself into the company of high-ranking enemy personnel, soldier?” He waited, watching her eyes carefully.

“To infiltrate into their homes and into their command centers in the guise of...pleasure slaves,” Bherdur ob Caron answered reluctantly.

“I assume that you have never performed as a pleasure slave before. For what reason do you contemplate assuming such a persona under the most dangerous circumstances?”

“To serve my city, Sire.”

“That is a commendable reason, but we need to know whether it is your true reason. If an enlistee comes to us with an ulterior motive, it can jeopardize his or her fellow agents.”

Caron raised her chin. “What would be a wrong reason, Sire?”

He glanced down at her service record again, but wasn't really reading it. “There are maladjusted serum girls who sometimes come to us to experience the world of female slavery, but they deceptive to the degree that they are too proud, or too timid, to admit to what they are doing.”

“Sire! If I was one of that kind, I wouldn't come here. There are enough slave clubs and camps to make use of!”

“No doubt there are. The women whom I have alluded to seldom make good intelligent agents. However, they oftentimes make excellent pleasure slaves.” He allowed himself a slight smile in appreciation of his own joke.

“Now, tell me, are you holding back anything regarding you motivations, Vokshah?”

“It is as I’ve said; I wish to serve my city,” she replied.

“And can you think of no less dangerous way to fulfill that desire?”

She squared her shoulders. “I would risk any danger, just so long as I can do something to injure the city of Gendir. I need to vindicate my city’s honor.”

“Vindicate its honor? How so?”

“Revenge for the shaming of my city. Revenge for shaming my troop. Revenge for the way that the enemy violated my person as collateral damage to accomplish their sordid aims.”

“You motivation is one that I am not totally unfamiliar with. As for your request, your face is one that could becomingly fit onto a slave's body. That leads me to my next question. What does your body look like?”

Caron pursed her lips, as if offended.

“You have been a woman for about two years. Have you never gazed at yourself in the mirror?” the man asked. He knew for a fact that some serum girls were so traumatized that they stubbornly avoided doing any such thing.

The maiden drew a deep breath. “I have deigned to gaze upon the wreckage that Gendir’s leaders have left of my natural shape as seldom as possible.”

“Why is that? Does you body display flaws, scars, or deformities?”

“No, Sire. I have been disfigured, but in a way that makes me appear fit and healthy.”

The spymaster nodded. “I have met many serum girls and have sized up what the trauma can do to their minds. The brutal truth is that they will find no shoulder to cry on here. We have an important mission that supersedes all personal considerations.Serum girls must buck up and get past their mortification. If they cannot, they will not make the grade. A female agent who goes out into the field does best if she can wear her beauty with comfort and pride, or at least assume a good counterfeit of those attitudes. Rise, soldier. Step back and remove your garments, piece piece. Then display yourself to me. I want to see if you can do so without betraying any self-consciousness or shame.”

Caron, as yet, was not rising.

“Stand up and strip, or else stand up and leave,” Griff commanded sternly. "I have much else to do, including seeing another candidate."

Grimly, Bherdur ob Caron belatedly got to her feet, withdrew slightly, and began to disrobe. Ewien Griff watched the process, remaining professional and detached.

When Caron had rendered herself nude, the officer directed her to unpin her hair.

She did so, but with some some awkwardness. Like many raw serum girls, Caron had avoided learning the details of a normal woman’s daily life.

“Now, let it fall over your shoulders,” Griff directed her.

Yet again he nodded. It was unusual for a raw serum girl to let her hair grow so long. That made him curious. He could see traces of humiliation in the language of Caron's body, but she was mostly hiding it under a facade of indignation. The officer judged that any normal man would have been impressed with the feminine specimen that was Bherdur ob Caron. Her breasts were full and rounded. Jutting nipples such as hers might have done credit to the skill of a masterful sculptor. Her legs were long, unblemished, and finely proportioned. She had dancer’s legs; they left him hoping that Caron had a talent for display dancing. That would make her even more appealing as an infiltrator.

“Physically, you are superb,” he told his interviewee. “I understand that the Gendirites gave all the Lancers Chadwar’s Serum. Are you also a feather-slave?”

Caron reacted as if insulted. “I am not a slave of any kind. Nonetheless, possibly -- probably -- one of the injections I was given was Chadwar’s Serum.”

“You are looking at circumstances wrongly. It would, in fact, be convenient if you received the serum. All of our female agents are required to accept it. For one thing, many slaves, upon each purchase, are given a standard fifty lashes of the girl-whip for their neglect of taking the serum when they were still free. An agent who carries Signir's Curse is spared that unpleasantness. Also, feather slaves are not lashed so frequently, due to the fact that most men enjoy subjecting a bound female to the passionbird feather instead. If the maiden in question has been conditioned to endure a long and skillful feathering, she is often able to hold back vital secrets from an interrogator.”

The ex-officer continued to listen without asking questions.

“Turn a bit, soldier,” Griff instructed her. Caron pivoted slowly, allowing her interviewer to evaluate the blond curls of her peren. “Very lovely,” he said. “Whatever part of your body a man gazes upon, you would have no lack of sexual offers. Do you prefer having intercourse with men or with women?”

Caron stiffened. “Boy-lovers are not accepted into the army of Prydferth,” she reminded him.

“Of course not. But that was before and this is now. The serum is notoriously effective in reorientating a male's sexual preference to the specifics of a female one.

‘“I have not been with anyone since Mabon Pass,” the enlistee told him, indignation smoldering in her glance.

“Not even with one of your own slave girls?”

“No!”

“Why not?”

“I do not care to casually expose this mockery of a body to any woman. Or to any man,” she quickly added.

“Step in front of that full-length mirror on yonder wall. Do not use your hands to obscure anything. Let your eyes remain open. Truly study your appearance. Objectively evaluate yourself as a prime specimen of womanhood.”

Swallowing, Caron stepped toward the polished glass.

“What do you see?” the man asked.

“I see...a...nude woman,” she answered, trying to keep emotion out of her tone.

“That is what I see, also. Do you think she is plain, pretty, or beautiful.”

“I suppose most men would consider her beautiful,” came the somber reply.

"Do you evaluate her body as one that simply begs for the collar and the brand?"

The spymaster saw her reflected ire.

"Answer, soldier."

"I suppose that...from the point f view of a...person...who didn't know me, I assume that I should.

“By the way, are you looking at her with the eyes of a man or a woman?”

“I'm not sure.”

"Are you saying that part of you may already be female in outlook or reaction?"

"I hope that is not so, Sire."

“Knowing that what you are looking at is your own appearance, do you feel pride?”

“No!”

“Do you believe that you can learn to project the illusion of being proud of your beauty?”

Her pause was a brief one. “Yes, if it were necessary."

"Necessary for what?"

"Necessary for the success of an assignment.”

Griff rubbed his chin. “What emotions do you experience as you gaze upon such a vision of loveliness?”

The girl spoke though clenched teeth. “The sight of it infuriates me.”

“That is not helpful, warrior. Look at it more detachedly. Can you envision that a sexually desirable object such as you are looking at could intrigue and attract a normal male?”

She forced out the word: “Yes!”

“Tell me something about yourself, Bherdur ob Caron. Have you had a robust sexual life? I mean, have you brolled many women?”

The reply came with a stumble. “Many? Y-Yes. I – I would say that I have.”

"From knowing so many desirable women, do you suppose that you have learned some of the seductive tricks that they use so shamelessly?"

"I...I tended not to pay serious attention to women's foolish games."

The man behind the desk asked, "Have any of your partners been joy girls?

“Yes.”

“Many?”

“Yes!”

“Were some of them pleasure slaves.”

“Yes...many.”

“Your record records that you were unmarried. Why?

Caron seemed taken a little off guard. “Marriage,” she began slowly, “is inconvenient to a military career, which often involves long absences from home. Women seem unable to see the larger picture and think only about their own satisfaction. And with so many well-trained slaves available, females who are specifically trained not to be selfish and quarrelsome, having a wife seemed to lack any practical necessity.”

“I suppose numerous soldiers would agree with you, Vokshah. Now, tell me, have you ever taken a free female lover?”

“No.”

“Why not?

“A free woman who is of loose morality is no fit companion for an officer. Her dishonor dishonors the man she is with.”

“Some cities hold adultery and fornication, if committed by women, to be serious crimes, an indignity to the entire polis. Some cities will condemn and sell such a self-degraded woman from the block. Do you consider that penalty harsh?”

She didn’t answer at once.

“Vokshah?”

“If a woman deliberately disgraces herself and also her family by unrestrained lewdness, it is probable that she has the heart a natural slave. It is better for that kind to spend the rest of her life wearing the brand and the collar.”

“Though you have never married, Caron, have you ever been in love with a woman worthy of you?”

“Perhaps.” 

 

TO BE CONTINUED…

Higher, Better, Faster, Stronger by Laisy Faire

ADMIN NOTE:  This is a story written by a good friend of mine.  She is a very good writer and I hope you enjoy:)
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Smoking can be a way of life. It brings people together in the most amazing ways. Friendships are formed, commonalities are discovered—anywhere in the world, one can light up and be sure that they will find someone with whom they can share a powerful experience. Marijuana, pot, weed—it has many names, and many uses. It can alter one's mind, calm the nerves, and relax the soul. It can cure and inspire, but most of all it just feels good. Simon's love affair with the green began when he was a teenager, struggling to deal with the embarrassment of losing his hair thanks to a skin condition. The smoke delayed some of his hair loss, but more importantly it connected him to friends that didn't care that he was going to look like Professor Xavier by the time he was twenty. Since then, it had become a ritual, something that he could do every Saturday night during his gaming sessions. Whether he was with a group of friends around the kitchen table playing tabletops, or playing some online game with complete strangers, the ritual remained the same.

It was another typical Saturday night and the sickly sweet aroma of pot permeated into every nook and cranny of Simon's one-bedroom apartment. His stoner friends had left for the evening, but he was still enjoying his buzz and there was Rocket League to be played.

Nice shot! Nice shot! Nice shot!

The canned comments plastered the upper portion of his screen as he scored a goal thanks to a perfectly timed pass from his friend, Casey.

Great pass! Thanks! Simon sent back.

Revving motors, the thundering cheering of fans, and the explosion caused by another ball in the net followed. The blue aura of his computer screen lit the room as Simon racked up goal after goal. It might have been a team sport, but leading the team in goals always felt good even if it did lead to Casey complaining about him being a little bit selfish with the ball. His friend's complaints were only a mild annoyance though. In the end, if the team won they both had a good time.

What a save! What a save! What a save! What a save! What a save! Simon spammed the chat as a member of the opposing team narrowly missed stopping a last second goal that would have tied the score.

“Great sportsmanship there, buddy.” Casey's voice echoed in Simon's headset as the game shifted back to the lobby screen.

“It's not like I told them to get cancer or something. It's part of the game.” Simon said indignantly.

“Whatever you say, man. I just thought that someone that's high all the time would be a little more mellow in the way he plays.”

“I'm not high all the time,” Simon shot back, “just whenever I'm stressed out, having trouble sleeping, and every Saturday night. Oh, and when I want to watch a really trippy movie. It's pretty much required then.”

“Can't argue with that. You're practically sober,” Casey chortled. “I don't care what you do as long as you're awake in time to hit the fair tomorrow. You know it's sweater weather and there's going to be some real cuties there. I don't want to miss my chance to find a Mrs. James because I couldn't get you out of bed.”

Simon harrumphed. He needed a best friend more supportive of his extra-curricular activities. He had plenty of friends that he smoked with and considering Casey's penchant for giving him shit about it, they all seemed like better choices. What made it worse was the entire reason for Casey's antipathy towards marijuana was that he did not smoke, thus logically it was a stupid activity.

Simon's increased irritation with his friend was a good sign that his buzz was wearing off. This was not how the evening was supposed to go. His little habit was supposed to help him forget about the fact that he was in his twenties and could not grow hair in more than little patches atop his head, or that he was of average height at best and certainly far shorter than most of his friends, or at the very least that his job was far more stressful than it needed to be. Would it kill the world to give him his one night a week that he could truly unwind?

“Simon, are you still there?” Casey broke up the self-pity party.

“Yeah, I'm still here, and don't worry about tomorrow. You damn well know that I'm not that kind of friend.”

“I know, but I still like to give you shit. Want to go another round?”

“Yeah, I have a few more in me, but not until I take one more trip down the Ganges.” Simon smirked and lit up, inhaling the stress-reducing smoke before queuing up for another game.

* * *

Another grey sky morning met Simon as they stepped out of Casey's late 90s model Range Rover and into the gravel parking lot outside the fairgrounds. The air still had that Northern chill—the kind of crisp air that would snap the senses awake and just cold enough to make Simon want to retreat further into his black hoodie. Grey seemed an all-too-familiar color lately. It was the color of his eyes and the color of his overcast disposition as of late. Sunday mornings were for sleeping in, not for spending the day hitting on out-of-town college girls. He was not opposed to girls, of course, but he just thought he had very little to offer them with his short stature and bald head that he kept hidden underneath the hood of his sweatshirt.

Casey slapped him on the back.

“Cheer up! We have a big day ahead of us. Just think about all the cuties that are going to be here.” Simon's taller friend smirked. “I'll even give you the chance now to call dibs. Who do you want first crack at—blondes, brunettes, maybe a redhead?”

“I want to go back to bed. The fair is going to be here all day long. Couldn't we come later in the afternoon?” Simon pleaded. “There's hardly anybody here yet.”

Casey gave Simon an incredulous stare.

“Do I really need to explain this again? We get first pick if we're the first ones here. Besides, how many girls are going to feel like being hit on after they're all bloated from stuffing funnel cake in their mouths?”

Simon slumped, mentally defeated. There was no arguing with Casey. His logic was so baffling at times that it defied argument. Then again, it was easy being Casey. He had everything going for him that Simon did not. He was tall with a sort of athletic look about him and had a thick mane of dark scraggly hair. Most of all, he was confident. Confidence was the one thing that Simon lacked above all else. He might have been a little frail, but there were other men that could take what he had and get a lot more out of it than he did. There was no Napoleon complex here. Simon felt about as big as he looked.

The morning hours went about as good as could be expected. Simon followed Casey around the fairgrounds like a zombie. The rides seemed even more of a blur than they normally were. Simon was barely coherent on the tilt-a-whirl, nearly sliding off his seat onto the floor more than once. He nearly fell asleep on the Ferris wheel, especially when they were stopped at the top to let on another pair of passengers. By the time they reached the bumper cars and Casey had yet to hit on a single girl, he was ready to go home. It was just his luck then that there was a fairly cute redhead in a purple skirt waiting in line and watching them as they stepped into their respective cars. 

From the start, Simon's plan was to keep moving. If he drove around the floor like it was a race track, it would be fairly difficult for someone to pin him down. Not long into their time, however, Simon noticed that Casey was getting rather competitive, crashing into any other adult male riding the track at full speed, doing his best to emasculate them. That's when he saw the redhead waving to someone on the floor. Seconds later Casey's car had t-boned him right into the wall and as he jostled about his friend backed up and then smashed into him several more times. The grogginess that had held him prisoner all morning faded away with each crash of rubber and metal. When the buzzer finally sounded, he was left frustrated and ready to get in a fight.

“What's your problem?!” Simon shouted at his would-be friend.

“Huh? Oh, sorry, no hard feelings man.” Casey seemed a bit distracted, scanning the crowd as they made their way to the exit. “Didn't you see that girl? She was totally waving at—”

Being Carla: A Story of Pleasure Island

By Christopher Leeson

Version 090614

 
Carl Boelke was a problem kid and he was getting worse.  In junior high, he ran a protection racket and punched out the smaller boys who didn’t pay.  In the senior grades, the police put him on a watch list.  Once, when a girl wouldn’t go out with him, he beat on her brother until she said _yes.    When their parents pressed charges, Carl juvenile court only sentenced him to community service.  When not under direct supervision, his behavior went unimproved.

His mother, Mrs. Boelke, a hospital employee, met a woman who came in frequently to visit a patient.  They occasionally talked and one day the visitor dropped a bomb.  She told Mrs. Boelke about Pleasure Island, and how the resort was more than just a resort.  It was the place that helped to solve the problems that their boy Roy was having with the law.  She hinted, in an odd way, that Pleasure Island could change the bad attitudes of troubled boys. 

Mrs. Boelke kept nagging her friend to explain how anyone could accomplish so much, but the lady kept saying that she wasn't the right one to explain it.  But relenting at last, she gave Mrs. Boelke a phone number, saying, “This man at the Pleasure Island Resort office can explain it much better than ever I could.”

The New Reservation Advice division at Pleasure Island were skilled at convincing people, even about the existence of magic.  A representative met with Mr. and Mrs. Boelke and demonstrated with videos and case studies how they could solve the problems they were having with Carl.  The Boelkes were finally convinced and signed a contract, after which Pleasure Island sent Carl a registered letter saying that he had won a free two-week luxury vacation at the island resort.  Actually, his parents had made the reservation, but if they had admitted that they wanted him to go somewhere, he might have grown suspicious.   Carl had been getting cozy with criminals.  It was his nature to trust strangers making flashy promises than to trust his own parents.

Pleasure Island was indeed magical, and its magic started to transform Carl, using the energy created by his bad thoughts and deeds.  Before he realized it, Carl had metamorphosed into a pretty blonde, just as the resort had promised his parents that he would.   When he – she – had calmed down enough, the Pleasure Island staff provided her with a traveling outfit that fit her smaller and slimmer stature and, also, convincingly forged documents that called her “Carla Boelke.  Then she was sent her back to her California home.




The first thing that Carla realized after the daze wore off was that she had a spell on her, one that made everyone she knew, except her own parents, forget that Carl had ever existed.  Her folks had also removed every picture of Carl from the home and had given all his clothes to charity, just as if there had never been such a person.  Her room had gone all yellow and fru fru, and her closets were full of girly things.  That was too much; she threw a wild tantrum, accusing her parents of having “ruined her life.”  Over the next few weeks, she absolutely refused to restart her life as a teenaged girl.  The Boelke's grew increasingly worried.  School was going to start soon and they needed to have their daughter on good behavior before that happened. 

The Pleasure Island customer service representative had given them some contact literature that presented some frequently asked questions.  The anxious parents finally decided to choose the option of securing a special teacher, one who was registered with, and certified by, the resort company.

The Boelkes had Carla picked up by her “Aunt Maud,” who wasn’t really her aunt.  She was an independent contractor whose job it was to work with hard-case former boys.  Maud had rented a house in Oakdale and island-associated technicians had prepared a bedroom for Carla.  Although it look innocent, it was wired for sound and subliminal messages from recorded lessons could be piped in without the occupant of the room knowing that she was receiving unconscious lessons that would help to adjust her bad attitudes.  

Maud tried to be non-threatening but firm with Carla.  She had rules that she insisted upon, such as those about curfews.  School was about to start and it was best that Carla attend school in Oakdale, among people who hadn't known Carl.  Consequently, there were rules about school attendance and homework.
 
Carla balked at everything, refusing to wear anything but old jackets, sneakers, tee-shirts, and dungarees.  She hated to be seen in daylight and mostly skulked around the dark streets at night.

  Hers was a difficult case, admittedly, but the teacher had long experience with transformed juveniles and many options.  The resort had provided her with  subliminal attitude discs to help her, one of which offered subliminal programming to make the listener enjoy school.  

It was important to get her mixing with her peers as soon as possible.  Once an ex-boy became part of a normal community, Maud knew, she normally stopped rebelling and went with the flow.  Though her pupil was soon attending school without kicking up a lot of fuss, Maud knew that Carla's real  “learning” would not come in class, but from the subliminal lessons she was receiving every night.  These lessons were intended to help transformed boys to open their eyes to the interesting and exciting possibilities of their new place in the world.

Revenge: A Story of Pleasure Island

  

By Christopher Leeson

Version date 01-03-15

Dean Fontain was too wild for his sedate parents to control. But their neighbors, the Boelkes, recognized what their friends were going through and told them about the secret that had changed their lives: the secret of Pleasure Island. What the Fontains learned that night astonished them and they couldn't help but think that their neighbors were playing a bad joke. They were actually saying that their pretty and well-behaved daughter Carla used to be a very bad boy, Carl.

"That's ridiculous," said Mrs. Fontain. "I remember when you brought that precious little girl home from the hospital eighteen years ago."

Mrs. Boelke shook her head and almost smiled. "There's magic involved. The first time you saw Carl as a girl, the enchantment he brought from Pleasure Island put false memories into your mind. We remember what really happened because the island people give parents a protective charm, but everyone else sees no change when a boy comes back different. Because of the spell you can't remember how badly Carl behaved, and even that you complained that he was tempting your Dean into so much trouble.”

“No,” replied Mr. Fontain curtly, “we certainly don't remember anything like that.”

"It's all true," said Mr. Boelke. The neighbors then offered to let the Fontains wear their charms overnight, telling them that the enchanted metal would take away all their false memories. Dean’s parents thought the idea was silly, but still something made them both go along with the joke. But by morning they knew that it was no joke. The charms had worked like, well, like a charm. They had awakened up knowing everything about Carl Boelke. The pair immediately went over to their friends’ home.

Carla was there with them, finishing the breakfast dishes. She was a pretty, upbeat teen who usually dressed in a way that would catch the attention of the neighborhood boys. It was hard for the Fontains not to stare, now remembering what a sour loudmouth Carl Boelke had been.

To get some privacy for her visitors, Carla's mother gave the girl some money to spend at the ice cream shop. A minute later, Carla had gone out the door and the four adults were left free to confer.

"How did you find out about Pleasure Island?" Mrs. Fontain asked.

"A friend at the hospital told me," replied her neighbor. "She had a boy who was hooked up with drug dealers and she had found out about Pleasure Island just in time to save him. Now he's a cheerleader who's doing well in school."

Mr. Fontain reached into his pocket and handed back the charms. "These things took the wool away from our eyes. We'd give almost anything if Dean were just as well behaved as your Carla is, even if it means that we have to exchange a son for a daughter. But can't the Island people fix a boy's bad personality without changing his sex, too?"

"All I'm sure of is that there's a good reason why they don’t want to do it that way. A sexual reversal gives off an energy that they call mana and they're able to capture and store it for use later. A gender change is actually not what they're after; it’s just a by-product of the mana-harvesting."

Mr. Fontain frowned. "What exactly is mana?"

Mr. Boelke looked at him very seriously. "All we know is what we've been told. Mana is what magic is made of, and it's also the energy that makes some babies develop into males in the womb. Developing infants who don't have the mana-absorbing gene are born female. Have you see films about how a boy and girl fetus look exactly the same until after a period of development? They develop into different sexes because the baby with the mana-gene is drawing in mana that enables its development into a male. 

"Remove that energy from a male, even when he is fully grown, and he will go to the human default form, female. Younger males have the most potent mana, so the wizards do all they can to recruit mana donors at a young age. But not at too young an age, because exploiting children is against another one of their rules. With parental consent, they can take the mana from an older child, because Pleasure Island has a law that says that a child is not a legal adult until twenty-one. If on Pleasure Island, a contract with the parents or legal guardian is makes donation without the boy's consent legal to to that age of maturity. They are not very much interested in taking mana from males over twenty-one for some reason."

"Hiring wizards must be expensive," Mr. Fontain suggested.

“Not very,” said Mr. Boelke.

This surprised the other couple. “Are you saying that they don’t care about money because because what they are really after is the mana?" asked Mrs. Fontain.

“It seems so. In fact, I've heard that they can make gold out of lead; money means little to them. They want mana."

"You're lucky that Carla turned out to be so pretty," Mrs. Fontain said. "I felt so sorry for the homely girls at my old school. They always seemed either angry or sad. A lot of the angry ones became feminists."

 

Carnivale Dreams: Spirit of the Festival by Mistress Simone

Simone and I have been acquaintances for a long time now and the other day, she gave me a story of hers to read over and enjoy.  I did and now that she's officially published it on her blog, I'm uploading it here as well.

Hope you guys enjoy Simone as much as I do!

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Carnivale Dreams: Spirit of the Festival


A Bella & Honey Fantasy written by Miss Simone


Chapter 1


You sit on your balcony, listening to the rhythm of the drums as people dance in the streets. The thump of the music is hypnotic, forcing you to sway, even when you aren't in the thick of it yourself. All your life you've dreamed of Carnivale and you have finally make the pilgrimage to enjoy the warm weather and bawdy sights.  You've only been in your hotel an hour, but excitement and curiosity are urging you to get out and explore. The music and party atmosphere down below your balcony tugs at your soul despite your exhaustion - And nothing tugs greater than the glorious Carnivale queens who strut down the streets like painted goddesses for all the world to see.


Finally, the watching and listening become too much.  You grab your camera and head downstairs into the streets to get a closer look of the beautiful creatures and their fantastically elaborate costumes. 


The dancers strut to the beat of the make-shift bands, calypso music like an infectious indulgence. One of them walks by you, favoring you with a wink as you snap her picture, then blowing you a kiss as she dances away with the parade.  You laugh and wave, entranced by her lust for life and joy of the celebration. After snapping a few more pictures you walk along to catch some of the sights, your steps in time to the beat of the heavy drums thundering away. Your favorite dancers have expressions of rapture on their face, clad in gold and silver jewelry as well as bright peacock-like feathers.  They even seem to have the proud posture of the alluring birds, always ready to receive the attention of onlookers.


Many people pass by you and they are decked out in costumes as well.  They wave at you and you wave back, enjoying the spectacle.  Most of the vendors are also in costume and the exotic scents of their foods lure you to sample the local edibles.  The trinkets and other wares are just as rich and exotic as the foods to you, all of it becoming a kaleidoscope of culture you’ve never experienced before.


A little girl smiles at you as she walks by, motioning for you to come closer.  When you bend to her level, she bestows a shiny novelty necklace upon your neck. The symbol on the pendant looks like some sort of glyph you don’t recognize but you thank her by giving her a few coins for candy.  As she skips off down the street, you glance down at the glyph pendant again.  It is a stylized B that you assume stands for Brazil.  Despite feeling cheap, the look of the detail in the design shows some true artistic work.  The dazzling emerald color twinkles in the light of the setting sun. 


You decide to hunt around and find out more about it - perhaps it is a symbol of Carnivale you aren’t familiar with.  As you continue walking around, you fail to see it on any banners, yet someone grips it and turns you to them as you stumble around the market.


 "Ah, so you've come to Carnivale," an older woman says as she inspects your necklace. The glyph on your pendant is tattooed upon the rich creamy caramel skin of her lower arm.  Age has given her laugh lines around her eyes and mouth and her hazel eyes twinkle with good humor. Behind her confident smile, light wrinkles and eyes full of wisdom, you can see glimpses of a young beauty who once haunted men's dreams.  You glance at the sign above her little table and see the third eye symbol.  She is obviously some sort of medium.


 "Oh yes!" You tell her enthusiastically. "The dancing and music are very beautiful!”


“Carnivale is a magical time,” she whispers to you, eyes glancing sideways as if she’s sharing a fabulous secret.  “It brings out everyone’s true self and unshackles fantasies so they can be made real.”  Her words hang heavy in the air like the notes of the music of the parade a few streets away.

Hunt and Seek

By Christopher Leeson

"That's the one!" the plain woman said to her blonde companion.  The latter, Mara, was already looking where the other was nodding, at a twenty-something, fair-haired male lounging on a bar stool. 

She frowned thoughtfully.  "If you say so, Clara." 

Clara smiled.  Mara Carnovon, as her colleague called herself on this world, never could see what was always so obvious to her. 

Mara, though she didn't have the same talent, admired Clara's expertise.  As chief Hunter for the Ludnican mission, Carnovon appreciated talent, and Clara was the best seeker she had on call.  But her subordinate was an insecure type that had to be handled carefully. 

On Vedar, most slavers were male; women mainly served the Guild as support staff -- as clerks and office managers, and, of course, whip-trainers.  That was still mostly true of the work on Earth, but here the basic idea of male and female was all mixed up.  The reality-shift between Vedar and Earth had turned everything on its head.

Mara had been born male -- Marar C'jarnovaun, scion of a traditional slaving clan.  In such a household, a young person couldn't help but develop an admiration for the slavers' calling.  Young C'jarnovaun could barely have conceived of working at any other trade.  Right after completing basic education, Marar had been taken on by a prestige House, the Ludnican.  

Early on, he had excelled as a hunter.  Always on the lookout for slave catchers who could work effectively on Terra, the House saw to it that all their most promising people were checked out.  This was done by skilled seekers that periodically reviewed the newer staff members to discover those suitable for assignment to Earth.

A seeker had a talent for envisioning what a man of Vedar would look like as a woman on Earth (and vice versa).  Few men welcomed the prospect of living and working as a woman on an alien planet, but such an appointment would qualify a slaving agent for large and frequent bonuses.  Accelerated income would allow a slaver's early retirement in comfort, a prospect that appealed to a great many.  It was mostly the ambitious who went to Earth.

On Terra, the hunter and seeker roles were pivotal.  They were the specialists who found and brought in the prey.  The seekers' talent was so rare that most of those serving the Guild had to be recruited from outside the members of the traditional slaving clans.  But not every good hunter on Vedar made a good hunter on Terra.  Violent abduction was to be avoided; it was a messy business that attracted official attention from Terran authorities.  Sexual allure was a better way to entice and capture a potential victim. 

For the Guild houses, this meant finding hunters who would translate into attractive women one Earth, and training them to perform seductively.  Their aim was to meet and fascinate Terran males, with the intention of leading them into easy and safe captures.  The prey was almost always Earth males, since there was very little market for captured women who would become men on Vedar.  Slave males were largely used for manual labor, and modern engineering had made unskilled labor secondary in the economy.  The small market that existed for erotic male slaves could be satisfied with local men, mostly those taken in war or born as the children of slaves. 

Vedaran males lived for status, and they gained it in many ways, including through sexual conquest, and though monogamy was widespread, the institution of pillow-slavery got around it.  The more supernally beautiful women that could be brought into the market, the better for business.  But stealing other city-states' women, either slave or free, could lead to war.  It was better to acquire stock from Terra.  Mara's team was one of many posted across the face of the Earth to supply that luxury market.

While the feminine face looking back at Mara from the mirror no longer awed her, contemplating the mysteries of multiplanar existence always did.  Ordinary biology or physics couldn't explain the results observed when the dimensional barrier between Earth and Vedar was pierced. 

To the Mana Born: The Commodity

To the Mana Born:  The Commodity

By Christopher Leeson

Revised 12-16-14

Author's note: This story takes place in the same universe as my earlier tale, The Dark of the Moon. The mystic forces that were at work behind the scenes in that story were kept veiled from the reader. In this entry, much of what must happened to Darrell and Loren can be placed in context. But this is not a new Darrell and Loren story; it explores the universe from the perspective of other characters. Many TG stories before this have featured wicked stepmothers, but few of them have focused specifically upon the stepmother character, exploring her dilemma and explaining why she does what she does. But though Elisa Ardens is not necessarily typical of every wicked stepmother, we hope that her story is a good one, and that it shall both interest and entertain.

* * * *

Chapter 1

Mrs. George Ardens was speaking to the intercom: "Okay, good, Polly. Try to get the email out before you go home." She glanced back at her computer screen. The next appointment up was Jethra Courtindale's, from Wizards Law Office. "Send in my two o'clock now."

'What a strange name for a firm,' Elisa thought. 'Some ex-Dungeons and Dragons kids must have gone to law school." She shook her head. It took all kinds.

She hoped that the subject of the visit wouldn't be about her stepson Langdon. There had been threats that some angry parents would go after her for alleged parental neglect.

Elisa hadn't been willfully neglectful, but too late she had awaken one morning realizing that she had lost control. Damage to public property, damage to private property, petty theft, rumbles -- Elisa didn't even know if gang fights were still called "rumbles" -- assault and battery, misbehavior with girls, shaking down kids, and, worst of all, Langdon had been charged with trafficking hashish oil, enough of the illegal drug earn a sentence of up to twenty years and a fine of $250,000. Worse, it had happened over the river in Iowa, where Langdon was a legal adult.

The sound of the turning knob made Elisa turn. Jethra Courtindale was wearing a dress suit that looked expensive, but it came off as being somehow eccentric. The businesswoman also noted that the woman had a mouth and big, light blue-gray eyes that reminded her of Angelina Jolie.

Elisa, standing, offered her hand across the desk. The other took it.

"Please, sit down -- Ms Courtindale."

The attorney complied. "Call me 'miss,' she suggested. I'm old-fashioned."

Her diction had an undertone of foreignness. Not Latino, not British, not Scandinavian. East European, maybe. Elisa got down to business. "I read your email. It was very brief. May I assume that your visit concerns real estate?"

The lawyer smiled. "It involves a far more valuable commodity than real estate."

Elisa sat down. "I don't follow you, Miss Courtindale. We don't deal in commodities."

The woman nodded. "Not as you would define the term, I'm sure. But, according to our information, you have legal control over a valuable commodity that our clients seek to purchase."

"I still don't grasp what you mean. Are you hinting at something -- unethical?"

The stunning attorney smiled. "Neither unethical nor illegal. Our clients scrupulously respect the letter of the law."

Elisa regarded the stranger closely. "Do they also respect the spirit of the law?"

Jethra smiled again. "Whenever possible. Their business sometimes operates in realms where the laws of man simply do not extend."

Once again Elisa suspected that she was dealing with a Dungeons and Dragons player. "Please come to the point, Miss Courtindale. I have much else to attend to."

The lawyer nodded. "This is the point. Your stepson is failing in school and, after years of minor offenses, he appears to be on the fast track to adult prison. Much worse, we foresee that he will die of a knife wound while incarcerated."

"A knife wound? Who's threatening his life?"

"No one; not at the moment."

Elisa bridled. "Of what concern of yours is my stepson?"

"To our firm, none at all. But he is of concern to the people whom Wizards represent."

"Is this another lawsuit threat? And what do you mean by 'foresee'?"

"It is not a lawsuit; it is a prognostication. Our clients are mindful of the portents."

"Your clients consult -- astrology?"

Courtindale took the question with apparent amusement. "That is an inaccurate term used in popular culture for what is actually an intricate science."

"If you say so. Who are these clients of yours?"

"They are the local chapter of a concern called the Starry Order."

Elisa frowned at the unfamiliar name. "And this order is what? It sounds like a mystical lodge, or a New Age publishing house."

"Neither. They serve a specialty customer base."

"What is their business?" Mrs. Ardens asked pointedly.

"Sorcery."

Elisa looked askance. "This has to be a practical joke, Miss Courtindale. Is there a candid camera hidden in your attache case? Or is this interview leading to something even more absurd?"

"I will be frank, Madame. As I have stated, my clients deal in magic. Wizards Law works solely with clients who seek to attain their business objectives through supernatural practices. We manage necessary negotiations and see to it that they keep within the strict laws of magic. We also take care that local jurisdictions are not offended."

"The laws of magic?"

"My firm represents wizards belonging to -- let us call it an 'ethnic group' -- that refers to itself as the People. Magic has its own code of ethics, set down many centuries ago by our ancestors. Sorcery is complex and its practice generate a great deal of work for legal consultants."

Elisa rolled her eyes. "There is no such thing as sorcery, so please…"

"It is natural that you should think so," Courtindale interrupted. "Formerly, as everyone knows, sorcery was widely recognized as being real and its was strictly against the law. Since then, wizards have learned how to conceal what they do from people – muggles is what people without magic are called in the current parlance. Without objective proof of the operation of magic in the world, ordinary people stopped believing in it. The prohibitions that were preserved in their law books gradually became dead letters."

"You're claiming to be a -- a witch, too?"

She glanced down as a show of modesty. "I'm a very minor practitioner. The issues of magical law are rather more congenial to my talents."

Elisa shook her head. "Please. Whether you are playing a role for a reality TV show, or are not in your right mind, I would appreciate it if you would state your business plainly, so we can end this conversation."

Courtindale did not seem at all perturbed by such bluntness. "I would be glad to, Mrs. Ardens. Case in point. Did you see that film with James Stewart -- Bell, Book, and Candle?"

As a matter of fact, Elisa had seen it. She had been deeply affected by the ending, when Kim Novak in the arms of Jimmy Stewart tearfully says, "I don't think I can. I'm only human."

"I've seen it. You don't believe that all that stuff about witches is true, do you?"

The lawyer shrugged slightly. "The movie decently presents the general idea of the existence of the People, but the details are all wrong. Witches are not the ne'er-do-wells of the sort that are depicted in the movie. You would be surprised at how many societal leaders in this day and age are actually witches. It takes magic to get ahead in the world; it always has."

Elisa stood up. "Please, Miss, this has so far been a pointless interview. I only want to know why you seem so interested in my stepson."

Jethra Courtindale sighed. "You must first concede that magic is real, otherwise nothing I say can possibly lead to a productive discussion. A free demonstration of sorcery is usually the deal-maker. If you are willing, I shall provide you with ample proof that magic does indeed exist."

The hair on the back of Elisa's neck prickled with unease. "I'd rather…"

The lawyer raised her hand. A tingle ran through the realtor's body. "I must request that you sit quietly and do not speak until bidden."

Elisa wanted to exclaim, "How dare you!" but to her shock, she couldn't utter a word, nor keep herself from sitting down. Though the businesswoman struggled against the compulsion, she could barely even wriggle.

"Don't be concerned with your paralysis, Mrs. Ardens. This is only a demonstration."

Elisa's expression had already changed from one of bafflement to one of fear.

Courtindale spoke concernedly. "Please be calm -- if you wish to, of course. It will make you a better listener."

Elisa's feeling of being trapped at once disappeared and she could regard the lawyer objectively.

"Your boy is the major problem of your life," Jethra continued. "It's bad enough that he's facing juvenile justice in Nebraska, but we're aware that he's up for drug charges in Iowa, too. It will only go from bad to worse. A charge of date rape will soon be filed, also."

Elisa wanted to demand how she knew that, but couldn't make reply.

"People have different destinies," said Courtindale. "The trend of an individual's destiny can be read beforehand, but the soul walks along an aisle with many doors. Prognostication is the process of probabilities. A few doors lead to happiness, many to mediocrity, and a few to utter catastrophe. It takes wisdom and a moral compass to find the best way through, but Landon is not well endowed with either wisdom nor morality.

"Sometimes magical aid can save a person from his own folly. In this case, your best hope is, indeed. magic, unless you don't care that he will soon die violently, and probably do so in prison."

Elisa already knew that Langdon was a kid on the wrong road, but she couldn't believe that he was so far gone. He hadn't killed anyone, at least not yet.

Miss Courtindale continued. "Your own destiny, by the way, is to suffer ruinous civil lawsuits stemming from the fact that the law makes parents and guardians responsible for damage inflicted by a minor."

Elisa again tried to reply, but couldn't.

"Excuse me. You may now converse normally," declared Courtindale.

"W-What do you want?" Elisa stammered. The sudden return of her power of speech startled her. If there was such a thing as a witch, this woman was one.

"Your name has come up as a good potential negotiating partner," Courtindale said. "We almost never deal with happy families. We are looking for families in breakup, distressed parents, and especially stepparents and guardians who have feel driven to the wall."

"What do you want with me?" Elisa asked.

"My clients are offering to buy Langdon's mana."

Elisa looked confused. "What's that? It sounds like that food they mention in

the Bible?"

"The substance you're thinking of is spelled M-A-N-N-A. Mana, M-A-N-A, is a type of supernatural energy."
Mana is a term that comes from the Pacific islanders, but the concept goes back beyond the beginning of preserved history. It has commonly been interpreted as "the stuff from which magic is formed." The word is amusingly ironic in English. There are different types of mana, but the one we are interested in constitutes the essence that makes a male out of the generic human clay. The basic human is female, of course; a male is only a female who has been born with a prenatal connection to the free flow of mana."

"It sounds like some foreign religious idea. You say it's Hawaiian?"

"The word spans many cultures, but the concept encompasses the universe. In a world of muggles, the concept of mana actually bridges both science and religion." Courtindale folded her arms and rested back. "Scientists usually don't believe in deities, but their theories of quantum physics is actually the proof divine creation."

Elisa looked puzzled. Divine creation? She was very afraid this was more than she was up to dealing with.

Chapter Two

"My clients are among the leading brokers of mana," said Courtindale. "They seek the sexual-type mana, which is the easiest to acquire without the loss of life. You see, most of the other types of mana are more basic to preserving reality and harvesting them would lead to death or even non-existence.

"Just as a wool merchant buys wool from a farmer's sheep, my clients buy mana. Mana ebbs naturally with age and beyond the age of thirty, it has so dwindled that is not worth harvesting at all. We can and often do buy mana from younger males. Unfortunately, youths in the flush of their masculine virility are the least willing to sell it.

"Our law does not allow us to acquire mana from anyone under eighteen, not even if they were willing and had the consent of their parents. In most places, a boy of eighteen is a legal adult and so we can and do deal directly with him, but our success rates are low. Fortunately, in Nebraska a boy of eighteen is still a minor. That means that, as his legal guardian, you may ethically contract for the sale your ward's mana. If do you, we can arrange to take Langdon off his path of self-destruction, and also to protect the security of your finances."

The attorney looked deeply into Elisa's amazed eyes. "But I suppose that you are still refusing to believe anything that I'm saying."

The realtor blinked. Was this strange woman actually telling her that she could sell Langdon for profit?

"You said that taking mana kills. That's murder."

Courtindale shook her head. "The loss of sexual mana does not kill, nor does it even endanger the health. We harvest mana safely all the time. The logging company is not in business to kill trees; the lumberman replants his crop scrupulously. When we take mana, we commit ourselves to looking after the welfare of the young person who yields it. No doubt, that is where those stories about fairy godparents first began."

"You mean, like in Cinderella?"

"Yes, exactly. If she was a historical character, as many of the People suspect, Cinderella must have been a mana donor."

"Magic is real? Fairytales are real? Is that what you're saying?" Elisa muttered.

Courtindale smiled charmingly. "If you enter into agreement with the Starry Order, Mrs. Ardens, your guardianship endures. The after-sale department of the Order will be ever on call to help you assist you through the crises of parenting. If necessary, they will even protect him from you, if you fail to do you proper duty. Supernatural protection from a bad stepmother was really what the story of Cinderella was all about."

Elisa's doubt became incredulity. Were these people calling her a bad stepmother? Were they trying to usurp her guardianship of her stepson?

"Now, Mrs. Ardens, do you have any questions?"

"This all sounds insane," Elisa said.

"Do you still disbelieve? The fact is, the universe couldn't operate without what we call magic. Magic is simply the intelligent use of the ancient creation energy that makes life and physical reality possible."

"You can do things, I admit, but you may have me hypnotized or something."

"I can hypnotize you, and do it very well. But I haven't."

"How does it hurt a person to lose this…mana stuff?"

"What happens is remarkable. Without the energy that keeps a male in his reproductively-viable form, he will revert to the low-energy state of a human being."

"Is that dangerous?"

"Not at all. The default energy state for a human being is female."

"Female? In what sense?"

"In every sense. A gynecologist would find nothing amiss in a boy's physiology after the loss of his mana."

Elisa let that soak in, then she scowled. "You have to be crazy. Nobody can change a person that way!"

"We do not actually profit by such a radical alteration. Sex change is simply an unavoidable byproduct of the process. It happens because to take the linchpin out of the subject's reality, so we deal with it."

"I must be dreaming…." Elisa murmured.

"You will not be forced to contract with us, but we can make it well worth your while, should you choose to do so."

"I have to ask you to leave, Miss Courtindale."

"I have convinced many skeptics before this, Mrs. Ardens. Let me demonstrate a magical transformation. Suggest something. For example, would you like to have a functioning third eye in the middle of your forehead?"

"N-No!" Elisa declared.

The lawyer regarded an object upon the desk. "I might turn this paperweight into gold, but without expert opinion, could you tell true gold from an imitation?"

"I suppose not."

"Would you like to experience being an animal of some variety? I do a very nice golden retriever."

"No, thank you!" She felt like she had fallen down the rabbit hole into Wonderland.

"Or would you like to be -- a woman who is younger and much more beautiful than you are?"

Elisa looked fixedly at Jethra. "Is -- Is that why you have movie-star good looks yourself?"

Courtindale nodded. "This is not the shape I was born with. I am over three hundred years old. I have benefited from a simple physical-change spell, and it takes but little mana to bring it about. In fact, I have worn several shapes over time. Tastes in beauty evolve with the epoch. Instead of merely changing our clothes, we change appearances. In Rubens day, a decidedly plump woman was considered to be the epitome of sex appeal. Now many women will go bulimic in order to achieve a shape like my present one."

Elisa regarded the lawyer warily. "All right, then, prove what you say by making me a... a beautiful and youthful woman. Something like that would convince any reasonable person."

Jethra raised a finger. "There are many kinds of beauty, Elisa. Always take care when seeking for advantage through magic."

"What is the risk?"

"Minor, if it is left to the experts. The old warning holds: 'Do not try this at home.' Magic is power and power corrupts. The will to abuse it ultimately depends on the sort of person one is. The children of the People are trained in the ethical use of it very early. The training process is very like what is shown in the Harry Potter movies."

"I tend to be very cautious about unfamiliar things," Elisa said.

"Caution has its value, but we take risks every time we step into a car or bus. If you prefer to risk nothing, I will walk out of this room and you will never need to hear of the Starry Order again."

Elisa thought about that. "You've gotten me very curious. How long would a demonstration take?"

"Less than a minute."

"Then I would want lustrous blonde hair, and to be only twenty years old. A face like a magazine model. Slim, with perfect skin."

The attorney nodded and said, "You can now move, Elisa. Go look into the mirror."

Suddenly the businesswoman found that she could push herself out of her chair. She held up her hands and saw that they had become smaller and smoother. Had the promised change already occurred? She had felt nothing.

There was a decorative mirror on the wall and she stepped unsteadily toward it. A shiver ran down her spine. Her reflected face looked like a college girl's. Her gray-green irises had turned azure. Her graying, unruly hair had become a flow of pale, golden silk.

"You must be using hypnotism," the realtor muttered.

Jethra was on her feet and arranging her attaché case. "You decide. I've placed a stock enchantment on you. Every stranger in the world will see you as you are now, because your present appearance is the physical reality.

"To avoid complications, though, your secretary and any other person who truly knows you, such as Langdon, will see the illusion of your natural shape. Go out on the town, have a good time. I shall come back to finish this negotiation. How long would you wish to carry on with this experiment?"

Elisa's mind was in a whirl. "I-I don't know."

The other woman smiled. "Then until Friday. I shall return at that time and, with your permission, we shall continue our discussion."

Elisa felt dazed. "What exactly are you offering me, if I let Langdon become a girl?"

"Whatever you desire, within reason. To be empress of the world? I don't think so. The point is to disrupt the lives of innocent people as little as possible. Money is no object. Might you enjoy claiming a prestigious linage that would put you at the head of any social set? Electronic documents that would confirm your new appearance and life history are easy to alter. You would need a new identity, of course."

"You're saying I could stay this way?"

"You could, if we come to terms."

"If I dealt with you, would -- would Langdon look like a real girl?"

"Yes, but because he is not an attractive boy, he would not make an attractive female. Fortunately, as you know, magic can make a plain person beautiful. We prefer to make a transformed boy beautiful merely for his own emotional health. What person could hate the shape he possesses if it invokes his vanity? Beauty leads to popularity. Most people see popularity as something positive."

Courtindale had placed a hand on the doorknob. "Think about what would make your life happy, Mrs. Ardens, as well as what you want for Langdon."

Elisa didn't know what to say.

Jethra Courtindale never opened the door. She simply faded away like a movie witch.

* * * *

Though the sorceress was gone, truly, the mirror told Elisa that she still remained young and beautiful. But the thought flickered through her mind that she had become a stranger to herself. She was frightened at the thought of being seen by acquaintances and going unrecognized.

Elisa needed some sort of proof that she wasn't mesmerized or dreaming. 'People can fly in their dreams,' she thought. 'I'll try to fly.'

She could not fly.

'Well, that's something…' she whispered.

What would happen if Polly saw her?

She walked stiffly into the reception area. Polly was at her desk and there was her next appointment waiting in one of the

chairs.

The receptionist glanced up, but did not change her expression.

No reaction? Elisa wondered if her appearance was only imaginary. Still, Courtindale had warned that those who already knew her wouldn't be able to see any change.

Then Elisa shifted toward the client, a man whom she had never met before. He was staring at her.

"M-Mr. Dunware?" she stammered.

"Ah, yes! Miss Ardens…" he began.

"Mrs. Ardens," she corrected him, her smile tense. "I'm a widow. You are here representing the Saunders firm in regard to that industrial lot in Hayrack?"

"Yes," he affirmed absently. "But call me Harold. No one told me that our realtor was so young and attractive."

Elisa heard Polly grunt, "Hmmm."

The transformed woman was taken aback. The idea of looking different to two different people in the same room was very disorienting. She wanted to be alone with her client.

"I think we should discuss our business over lunch. I'm famished," remarked Elisa.

Dunware smiled broadly. "There's a fine little Scandinavian restaurant not far from here."

"I know of it. I'd be delighted."

Elisa looked back at Polly. "I'll before my four o'clock appointment."

Dunware was holding the door open.

'Being treated like a beautiful girl isn't thumbscrews,' Elisa was thinking. 'Even Langdon could learn to like it.' 

Chapter Three

Elisa hadn't hadn't been in the company of an admiring and attentive man for a long while, and found herself wanting many more repeat experiences. Elisa realized that she had less than three days to enjoy the body that a strange destiny had granted her. After that she would turn back into a peasant -- unless she cut a deal with Miss Courtindale. But what she was asking for amounted to human sacrifice. 

She had once loved Langdon. When his father was still alive, the boy had been bringing home glowing teachers' reports. He also seemed to be missing a mother's attention and had welcomed her into their home in a friendly way. That had changed suddenly when his father died. He didn't seem to understand that when bad things happen one just had to be strong and go on. Instead, he had gotten touchy and seemed to hate almost everybody. Since the age of thirteen he had learned little in school, except about attention-getting misbehavior.

She wanted to put her stepson on a better course, but she had been able to do nothing with him. She could almost believe that changing him for the better would require magic. But Elisa's instincts told her that dealing with the shadowy People could end well for anyone involved.

After a friendly goodbye with her escort, Elisa had returned to the office. Her present situation was too good to waste, and so she took her four o'clock and then told Polly to reschedule all her appointments that were for Wednesday and Thursday. She would be busy until Friday afternoon, she said, but would be able to come in and catch up with work on Saturday. Elisa offered to give Polly either Wednesday or Thursday off if she'd come in Saturday and the young woman had agreed.

When her secretary left, the realtor did called around for a salon appointment. She wanted a beautician to see her new appearance, and so needed a place where she wasn't known. Elisa found an open slot in a place that stayed open to seven and catered to downtown businesswomen.

Before her appointment, she hurried to a boutique to buy something youthful and trendy. Once she had arrived at the salon, she told the cosmologist that she was going to a party hosted by wealthy investors and wanted an appropriate look.

She had barely gotten back to the office before Mr. Dunware arrived to escort her to a real party. Some of the men there were very attractive and the sprite blonde on Mr. Dunware's arm didn't have any trouble detaching herself and attracting other attention. After about a half hour she noticed that Mr. Dunware was nowhere to be seen. That made her feel sorry, but not for long.

Elisa was wined, dined, and able to dance with her choice of spontaneous admirers. If the realtor could only hold on to these incredible new looks, she anticipated the possibility of an excellent new marriage into the wealthy set of Omaha's elite.

'Comfort, prestige, and millions of dollars, too,' she was thinking. But the glowering cloud on the horizon was the certain knowledge keeping these things would have to come at Langdon's expense. Still, each time she looked into the mirror behind the bar, the wicked stepmother, like a serpent at her breast, whispered, 'It isn't so bad being an attractive girl. Anyone could learn to like it, even Langdon."

But doubt continued to accuse her. Can any course so overtly self-seeking lead to happiness? How well could she trust the People? Could holders of such superhuman powers be trusted to do what they promised, and do it in an honorable spirit? What could she do if they decided to discard her as a pawn no longer needed?

All through the next day Elisa's depression alternated with elation. Impulsively, calling her new identity "Daphne," the businesswoman went to a "glamour" photography studio of the sort that staged “special" pictures for women to give to their lovers and husbands. She paid $200 for a shoot that featuring her wearing her new club dress. Then, falling more into the spirit of the fantasy, she put on items of lingerie that the photographer had on his rack. Some of the shots were out-and-out cheesecake. 'I could have been a Playboy centerfold looking like this,' she realized.

During her hour in the studio, Elisa was able to play at being a sort of girl that she never had been, the type who always seemed to get all the attention and have all the fun. Her set of photos would be the proof of this experience that she would treasure afterwards, so that she would know whether or not these incredible three days had actually happened.

But she was living on an emotional roller coaster. Elation always gave way to trepidation. Elisa was being asked to sign a contract and the idea reminded her of the story of Faust. What if these people had not only inspired the stories of fairy godparents, but also people's memories of a tempting Satan? What if they were demonic beings pretending to be mere wizards? Were they not after this mana thing after all, but souls?

At home on Wednesday evening, Elisa checked her answering machine. There was a call from her lawyer. It shocked her to learn that the family of the girl that Langdon had got mixed up with were trying to get him arrested if she didn't pay them off. Courtindale had predicted that this would happen. How much more of what she said would turn out to be true, such as Langdon's imprisonment and murder?

Fortunately, when she called the attorney, Mr. Owlsley, the next morning, he told her that he could give her an excellent defense. The litigants had waited too long to throw this new stink bomb and he didn't think that an impartial court would let them get very far with it.

The more Elisa thought about this new problem, the more depressed and incensed she became. Why did this have to happen now? She could have been enjoying these last two days to the fullest, but the news had ruined her mood. Would the torture of being a failed parent ever stop?

Langdon was foolish and reckless, but in her heart she didn't think that he deserved prison -- not yet, not in this world where judges let drug cartels and serial killers walk. But he surely didn't deserve to get off scot-free, either. She suspected that his grief and anger, once real, had become a cold, hard, cynical excuse for getting away with being bad. In her sympathy, she had for too long allowed him to get away with it. But against the boy's stubborn defiance, his six-foot height and great strength, what could she do?

Elisa didn't think that she liked the answer.

* * * *

Friday afternoon, Miss Courtindale sat quietly while Elisa paced and talked, not always coherently. Every glance into the mirror told her how awful was her present reality, now that her days as Daphne were over.

"I understand,' said the lawyer. "But everything that you say tells me that a big change would be for the boy's own good."

"Don't patronize me!" Elisa snapped. "The fact is, I'm weak! You've offered me temptation that is just too great for me. I don't just want a new look. I want a new life. I want to throw my old problems out of my life like rubbish. I've been bought and Langdon's is sold. If I deal with you, I deserve your contempt. Say it!"

Courtindale shrugged.

The realtor clenched her hands into fists. How could the woman be so nonchalant while she was such a mass of emotion? "If all we have left to do is haggle over the terms," she suddenly said, "I want to know what the payment will be. Start with the money."

Courtindale regarded the skyline out the window thoughtfully. "We could afford billions, but could you afford it? One loses the value of money if he has too much of it.”

“What do you all too much?”

“I've never met anyone whose life was ruined by, say, ten million dollars."

Elisa didn't seem impressed. "That doesn't sound like so much, not in this day of the Warren Buffets. But…." She threw up her hands. "If that's the limit, I would insist that none it should be wasted on taxes. I want ten million, free and clear."

"No problem. We can even give you a paper trail to justify your immunity to taxation. It's done all the time. Would you like to be part of the Old Money class? A trust-fund baby? Once it was only the peasants who were taxed. Nothing has really changed since then. Only now it's the working class that keeps the party going."

"There won't be anything suspicious that governments could pick up on?"

"The electronic data systems of today have made even the most outrageous financial fictions very easy to prove. Again, it's done all the time."

Elisa's mouth felt dry. She went to the coffee pot and took what was left. Then, cup in hand, she said, "Now, let's talk about Langdon. He's going to go out of his mind when he sees how he's changed."

"True, almost all the new girls undergo shock," Courtindale said. "We have ways to help minimize the shock. Do you have any ideas, Mrs. Ardens?”

"I want the punishment to fit the crime."

Courtindale shook her head. "The Starry Order is not in the business of punishment. The consequences of mana loss bring a little inevitable suffering. But so much of the modern world's problems come from the fact that social reformers have forgotten that suffering builds character. A disproportionate number of history's most successful men suffered the loss of their father in youth. Removing one source of suffering only creates another kind, like putting a jungle animal into a nice safe zoo. Tell me what sort of life would be justified for Langdon and I will let you know whether our code prohibits it."

Elisa took a deep breath. "Langdon has been a bully. That has to stop. It has gotten him into a lot of trouble and it's made most of the kids hate him. As a girl, I wouldn't want to see him carrying on that way, pushing around smaller girls and little children."

Her mind was racing. "He should be only about five-foot five, light of build, and without much upper body strength. But he shouldn't be frail or sickly. I want him to enjoy robust health all his life, freedom from all genetic defects, and to be extremely resistant to disease. Think of a cheerleader type, vigorous, active, but attractive." Her own mother had been anemic from childhood, and her frequent illness had robbed much joy from her family.

Courtindale didn't change her expression.

"When I was Langdon's age, I wasn't pretty and I hated it. I want Langdon to be as attractive and well-fashioned as a girl can be."

The lawyer lifted her chin. "Any specifics?"

"I don't know. I think that he'd be happiest if he looked like the sorts of girls he admires most."

"What sorts are that?"

"He collects Playboy centerfolds. He used to hide them from my view; now he puts them upon the wall of his room for all to see. I think that if given a choice, he'd most want to look like that sort of girl."

Jethra Courtindale seemed to consider the prospect.

"But I don't want him to be classically perfect, not a goddess. I've read that the most beautiful women complain that they frighten the decent men away and only egotistical rats have the gall to hit on them.  Langdon should come off as the girl-next-door type, obviously pretty but not intimidating. In short, I want him to be the kind of girl that even the mild mannered boys can find enough nerve to ask out." 'Like I wasn't asked out,' she almost added.

"Attractive girls often have problems with sexually aggressive boys," Miss Courtindale warned.

Elisa shook her head. “I would have accepted the trade-off. The worst problem a girl can have being ignored by boys." 

Lawyer nodded congenially. "What do you want for Langdon in the long term?"

"I want him to gain in character, become wiser, and contribute positively to society."

"And what, in your opinion, would serve to make him wiser?

"It's the Golden Rule. I want him to learn to treat people the same way that he'd like to be treated."

"I see. And what would you like his sexual preference to be while he's learning this?"

She paused a moment before she answered, "I'd like him to be attracted to boys. Could you do that?"

Courtindale's pursed her lips. "We have rules against mind control. But sexual preference is usually an outcome of of brain structure. The magic can alter boy's brain to match that of a heterosexual girl. Also, girls are attracted by male pheromones, and vice versa. We can take care that Langdon will be given the physiological underpinning to be very stimulated just in being around boys."

"A pheromone is a kind of a scent, isn't it?"

"Yes. Between a altered brain structure and a pheromone susceptibility, some previously very hetero boys I've encountered have became mothers in less than a year after their mana siphoning."

Up to now, Elisa hadn't thought about Langdon getting pregnant. Would that sour him on being a girl? What, exactly, did she want for her stepson?

"I wouldn't care for Langdon to be starting a family before marriage," she said out loud.

The lawyer was leaning forward, gathering her gloves from the desktop. "It all comes down to free will. From the reports, Langdon is by nature oversexed. If this quality not adjusted, that could potentially make him sexually overactive as a girl. Too strong a sex drive can lead a young woman into unnecessary difficulty. There are remedies, though. We'll discuss the subject next time.  She stood up. “Well, I believe that we've carried this discussion far enough for one day. Our clients will be happy to know that we have begun serious negotiations."

"I've been wondering, where does the mana go when it is taken?"

Courtindale paused only for a moment. "It feeds into a mystic receiver for storage, a sort of 'mana battery" that we call a 'mana bank'. Almost every member of the People has a mana account. We are not paid in money. We are remunerated with mana."

"Fascinating, I suppose. We'll speak again, won't we?"

"Definitely. But you're emotions are running high just now. One can't always think clearly if angry or excited."

"Have I suggested anything that –- that goes too far?"

"Nothing that I've heard. By the way, I understand that Langdon is still only a junior, despite being eighteen."

The businesswoman nodded. "Yes. Most schools won't place a child in first grade unless he is at least six years old when school begins. Because Langdon was born in mid-September, he's almost a year older than the other juniors. Is that an issue?"

"No. I was just thinking that it would be easier for him to adjust to his classmates if he were physically of the same physical development."

Elisa nodded. "Langdon did get big and strong early. He's always hated looking older than the children in his classes. He's always thought that it makes people think he's stupid and that he's been set back a year. But being the biggest boy in his class has has helped him be a bully, though."

"Some girls look younger than they are; I suggest that for Langdon. He can physically bloom at the same time that the other girls in his grade do."

"It sounds like a plan," agreed Elisa.

The lawyer paused at the door. "Do you have anything else to add before I leave, Mrs. Ardens?"

"More than anything, I just want him to be a good learner and a smart student. I want him to be able to pick a job that he likes and make a success of it."

Courtindale rubbed her chin. "We can give him a efficient and high quality physical brain, but exactly how a young person does in school comes down to a matter of attitude and motivation."

"Langdon started out as a high-achieving child."

"Maybe this experience will bring back the person that he was meant to be," suggested the lawyer. "May we get together at two o'clock on Monday?"

"I'll keep that hour open," Elisa assured her.

Chapter Four

For the next week, Elisa Ardens and Jethra Courtindale met frequently, going over draft agreements, editing, deleting, and fleshing out the salient points in detail. What they were doing was a standard contract negotiation, lawyerly in the extreme. For the most part, they were establishing formal language to convey the general ideas that had been set own at the very beginning.

Today they were meeting in Elisa's condo. The realtor's expression showed her concern. "How can this be done without Langdon realizing the part I've played in it? If he ends up hating me, what kind of a parent can I be when he needs one the most?"

"We'll address that question soon, but remember that this change will be permanent. When Langdon realizes he has to be a girl for life, he will either go into a long funk, have an emotional breakdown, or…"

"Commit suicide?" Elisa put in anxiously.

"I was going to say, he might actually feel relieved."

"Relieved -- to be a girl? Langdon?"

She nodded, as if remembering the lessons of a long life. "Many boys are surprised when they find out that being a pretty girl can be very pleasant. And if they've started to like boys as well, why would they ever want to be male again? Unfortunately, male psychology is programmed to reject the feminine in themselves even while admiring it in their lady friends.  Many will not admit that they are experiencing changing feelings about their situation, not even to themselves. Honestly admitting that their hearts are singing “I Enjoy Being a Girl,” will be impossible for them. But if they realize that fate has stepped in and forced its own choice on them, boys are able to stop wrangling with their inner demons, bear down, and face life anew."

"What happens then?"

"Usually they go out and party. They'll be surprised at how much easier it is for a girl to pick a boy up if she's pretty. Boys are used to having a hard time getting the opposite sex to show any interest in them. That's because of the differences in temperament between the sexes, and in the way that they are brought up. 

"The danger is that a new girl can fall back on old habits approach sex the same way that a boy does. But sex can't be so casual for a girl. It can get her trapped into pregnancy and change all her plans and expectations. These days there's abortion, of course, but Planned Parenthood never talks about the emotional scarring that such a violation can bring to a young woman. If you would prefer, there is always the option to have Langdon become an infertile girl."

Elisa looked surprised and replied slowly. "I was told that I couldn't have children. I felt it as a hurt that wouldn't go away. I was lucky, though, because by the time that I discovered that...that I wasn't a complete woman...I already had a stepson. I don't want to rob Langdon of any of his possibilities for a full and beautiful life.”

"Has your experience with parenthood been beautiful?" 

"No," replied Elisa, "but I needed the chance to at least try to make something good of the experience."

The lawyer nooded. "Most of the decent parents we deal with feel the same way.”

Suddenly Elisa frowned. "I was wondering. You changed my shape, but then turned me back. Could the People turn a boy back if they wanted to?"

Courtindale shook her head. "The great wizards are well able to make a boy out of a girl, but in practice it's almost never done. A boy has all the generic information needed to make a girl. A girl does not.

"She lacks the basic building blocks that goes into making a boy. A boy who turns female is a plus for us; it fills our banks with mana because that extra mystical energy inherent in boyhood flows to us. A girl has no such essence to give. She can be changed into a boy only if stored mana is used to effect the transformation. The People have little motivation to spend so much mana just to gain one more boy for the world. If a boy is transformed, we try to the new girl learn to enjoy being a girl so much that she wouldn't want to change back even if she had the chance.”

"But is it even possible? Like, if you were paid enough?”

“Money doesn't interest to persons who can turn lead into gold. But sometimes a trade can be arranged. The trouble is, I seriously doubt that either you or Langdon would have anything to offer the People in that regard."

"What would the wizards want?"

"You wouldn't have a spare Spear of Longinus in your broom closet, would you?"

Elisa looked blank.

Jethra smiled. "I didn't suppose so."

Elisa's gloom would have been obvious to any observer.

"But your contract will have an opt-out clause," Courtindale told her.

The realtor looked up. "It will?"

"Yes. After the signing, you can cancel at any time -- at any time prior to the mana donation, I mean."

"Why don't your wizards take mana from boys who want to be girls? There's lots of transvestites on those trashy reality shows. According to the news, they're in our schools and sometimes they're actually allowed to use the girls' rest rooms. They can't be hard to locate."

Jethra sighed. "If only it were so easy. Transsexualism is almost always a symptom of mana deficiency. Most boys who want to be girls start out with as little mana in their auras as middle-aged men have. As inconvenient as it may be, it's the sort of boy who glories in male pursuits, who scores high in male outlook on psychological tests, and who obsesses about having sex with girls who possesses abundant mana. That is the sort of boy that mana harvesters are looking for."

Elisa nodded, resigned. "There's something else I'd like to know. How -- how does the -- the siphoning process work? Will he have to be taken to a…a wizard's workshop? Or is it called a laboratory?"

The other woman smiled. "It's something that actually can be done at home. If we have some hair, blood, or nails, the required mystic link can be established remotely, like with voodoo dolls in the movies."

"It's that simple?"

"More or less."

"Will there be any pain?"

"None at all. The boy falls into a deep slumber. When his mana has reached a critically low level, he will default into a basic female physiognomy. Before he wakes up, the managing wizards will send a bit of magic back up the pipeline, and this will refine his physical body and shape in the way that you have requested."

"I feel like I'm hiring an assassin."

Courtindale touched Elisa's arm, like a friend. The realtor didn't didn't jerk away in startlement. The witch-woman had, in fact, become her only confident in helping her to explore the feelings that were so raw within her. "There will be no pressure to coerce you. Just remember that your decision, pro or con, will be the most important one that you will ever make, both for Langdon and for yourself."

Elisa glanced away perplexedly.

"I respect you for having doubts," Courtindale went on. "Too many guardians that I've met have been so greedy or so indifferent to welfare of their young charge that my firm has recommended to our clients that any negotiations with them should be broken off. How the stepmother treated Cinderella was absolutely disgraceful."

Elisa looked up. "But Cinderella was always a girl. She didn't have any mana."

Jethra shook her head. "If there was a historical model for Cinderella, the memory spell involved would have made everyone except Cinderella and her stepmother forget her years of boyhood. How could folklorists know how she started out? Once she had her prince, Cinderella wouldn't have told anyone anything. And her stepmother wouldn't either, since she had been involved in something that would have gotten her burned at the stake."

Elisa raised her chin. "Is that the best that can be said about me? That I might not be as bad as Cinderella's stepmom?"

Jethra Courtindale smiled. "The People do not look at muggles as either saints or sinners; we do not call them names for the things we persuade them to do. The only one offenses that we cannot abide is a purposeful violation of our contracts or our ethics."

"And the victim has no role in establishing what ethics he should be subject to?"

"To us, this is essentially a legal issue, Mrs. Ardens, not a moral one. The law, wherever you go, is always cold-blooded. It is the muggles, not the People, who make the laws that all are expected to live by. The laws that the People make are only for the People. We wouldn't presume to tell those outside our own group how to live."

"I never wanted things to come to this," Elisa said suddenly. "I wanted a son who would love me as much as I tried hard to loved him. I wanted a real family life more than anything."

"A new start is still possible," Courtindale told her. "Remember that."

* * * *

Langdon's legal problems had made him even more sour and grumpy than usual. He rarely talked about his concerns and would simply walk away whenever his stepmother brought up such things. He seemed to be in denial. She had wanted to hear some hint of remorse from him, some reason to hope that these bitter experiences he was undergoing would help to turn him into a responsible young person.

Having no reason to think that such a wish would come true, Elisa continued meet with the lawyer. By now they were on a first-name basis.

"We always want a boy to think that that his girlhood will only be a temporary condition," Jethra told Elisa. "That will avoid any excessive reaction in the early weeks when he's still in shock. If he thinks he can soon change back, he'll want to avoid panic and hold things together. Very few want others to know what happened to him."

"What do most boys do when it happens?" Mrs. Ardens asked.

"Remember the story of Pandora? All the ills of mankind escaped from her box, but because the box also held Hope, mankind retained the moral courage to struggle on. A boy behaved better if we help to keep his hope in place.”

"But isn't that a lie? There isn't any hope, is there?”

"No, but by the time he admits that fact that he'll be female for as long as he lives, he will have been living as a girl for a long while. Total-immersion into girlhood has a way of getting under the skin of former boys. Don't feel sorry for them. Once they adjust, they have every possibility of becoming happy.”

“You said there was a way to keep Langdon from blaming me?"

Jethra nodded. "A boy behaves best if he thinks that what has happened has been caused by his own mistake. On the other hand, if he is able to blame someone else, he'll hate that person with a passion and things may get violent."

"But how can he be convinced that he's done anything magical to himself?"

"We've worked out excellent procedures over the years. First we have to put Langdon into a state of mind where he thinks that sex-change fantasies are extremely erotic and very enjoyable. We want him to start daydreaming regularly about what it would be like to suddenly restart life as a pretty girl."

Elisa grimaced dubiously. "He's hidden a lot of porn in his room, but I don't think that he'd ever find sex-change the least bit erotic."

"We can help him to think otherwise."

"Magic?"

"No. Mind or attitude control by sorcery is not ethical."

Elisa's curiosity was piqued, but the lawyer was not about to tell her more that day. But Courtindale had told her the date and hour for the contract signing.

It was only a couple days away.

Chapter 5

Despite misgivings, Elisa agreed to the appointment and, two days later, the attorney was placing a sheaf of printed sheets on Elisa's office desk.

One Mr. Crowlers, as a representative of the Starry Order, sat in one of the visitors' chair. Unlike Jethra, he displayed no Olympian beauty and was remarkably nondescript. Elisa began to wonder where these people came from, and whether they were truly human. She wanted to ask questions about the People, but Courtindale had advised her that such inquery would be futile. The People were very secretive.

Cowlers had just read several important paragraphs of the contract out loud. "Do you fully understand all the terms and ancillaries?" the man asked.

"Miss Courtindale and I have gone over each line exhaustively," Elisa replied. "I still can't understand how magic works, but I believe that it does work."

"Good, very good," said Mr. Crowlers. He made a few more inquiries, making sure that she did indeed understand all that she had agreed to. He seemed satisfied with her answers.

Courtindale then read the escape clause and then fully explained it. "Refusing to give the final permission for the siphoning procedure will terminate the agreement," she said. "If that should occur, no indemnity shall be exacted from either party."

"Yes," said Elisa. "It seems very generous."

"Not at all. It is a standard clause," said Crowlers with the tiniest of smiles. "How can one possibly enjoy a new life if he has the slightest doubt regarding the ethics or the rightness of the contract he has agreed to?"

Elisa didn't venture any answer.

"Shall we begin the signing?" suggested Courtindale. Crowley agreed; Elisa added her nod. "Send for your witness," the lawyer advised. Elisa according summoned Polly in as asked that she act as a witness for routine real estate contract.

With the secretary looking on, one paper after another was placed in front of Mr Crowlers, who signed it and passed it on to Elisa Adrens. After Elisa, Courtindale witnessed for Crawlers, and Polly witnessed for Elisa, though the former didn't bother to read enough to know what the contract was all about. She could do her job, but had never been interested in real estate beyond her narrow duties.

When the last sheet was witnessed, Elisa sent her secretary back to the reception room.

A moment later, having gathered up his copies, the wizard expressed his courtesies and took his leave with his copy of the documents. Elisa put her contract pages into order and placed them into the office safe. It occurred to her, belatedly, that nothing would be safe from these people; they could do any sort of skullduggery that they wanted to. Robbing a safe would be child's play. 

She wondered whether their attitude toward her would change, now that they had the signature that they had wanted. When she glanced over her shoulder, Jethra Courtindale was still standing by the desk expectantly. Elisa regarded the woman thoughtfully. They had had no specific discussion about what was supposed to happen after the signing.

"No doubt you're feeling very tense right now," Courtindale observed. "What say we take some lunch?"

Elisa rose and looked at the clock. "Is this the last time that we'll be meeting?"

"By no means. You will need a liaisons with the Starry Order, even after the siphoning. It's very hard to be the parent of a daughter who's undergone what Langdon will undergo. Let's get something to eat. It will be a good time for you ask any questions that may not have occurred to you before."

"Yes…I suppose," said Elisa. What other person would she want to spend time with? How could she talk to anyone else about the secrets that were burning in her breast?

Now that she had done it, what had she done, really? Was she dealing with evil people? Was this going to end badly?

How could it possibly end well?

* * * *

As they rode in the cab, the realtor began to think that she deserved to be punished. Nothing in her life had been so reprehensible before this. If an executioner suddenly appeared in front of her, she wasn't sure that she would even try to run away.

"Now that things are settled," the lawyer said, "we will want to move swiftly at getting Langdon ready. We don't want to do the siphoning until he is psychologically prepared, and that will take some weeks."

"I suppose," Elisa murmured absently. It was like she had become a stranger to herself.

The other woman smiled sympathetically.

"By now ten million tax-free dollars have been deposited electronically in your new account in Zurich. Agents will be drawing modest amounts from it in the name of Daphne Harrison, to acquire a European home for you and to make investments in your new name. They shall be establishing a complete new life history for you, one that will stand up to scrutiny.

"You will receive the needed documentation just as soon as the final consent form is filed regarding Langdon's siphoning. In the meantime, you will need to consider on an ongoing basis if the cancellation clause is something you should invoke.”

"You say that almost as if you would advise me to invoke it."

"I don't intend to. But I want you to understand that there will not be any reprisal for disappointing the Starry Order. It is against the law of sorcery to gain or preserve a contract through intimidation. Also, not doing so is the right thing to do."

"The lawyers I've known only talk about winning, not doing the right thing."

"Yes, I know what the world is like, and I find it sad, too,” replied the witch. Then she changed the subject. "When you wish to exit this identity of Elisa Ardens and become Miss Harrison, an impostor will fill the role of Elisa until your return, while trying scrupulously to avoid creating new problems in your life. Most clients want to return to their old haunts now and then. For example, you may wish to come back to see Langdon's high school graduation."

Elisa murmured agreement, while her mind raced ahead.

As Daphne, Elisa would possess the necessary family and educational records. She would, of course, have no need for any employment history because she would be the last heiress of a family of wealth that was dignified by its connections to several houses of Central European nobility. Now that the Iron Curtain had become a thing of the past, these families were in flux, over the last decade and a half many of them had drifted back to their ancestral land, out of Western exile. It would be possible to find herself a place amongst an aristocracy rebuilding itself from the ground up.  Jethra Courtindale had assured her that if the false Anastasia had had documents such as the People could provide, she would have lived and died a royal princess.

This idea suited Elisa because she was herself mainly Hungarian and had read a good deal about the ancestral country. Apparently, a Daphne imposter would be engaged by the Order in order to put the new heiress on a rock-solid social and economic footing. Before long, she would be well known to the European cocktail set, to the exacting mavens of fashion, as well as to bankers of Zurich and other useful people. Elisa would be able to step into a life that would already be an on-going thing. Then her mood sank.

Fine promises. But Elisa had no leverage to make the People keep their word. What could a contract mean to persons who played with reality as if it were a computer game? Scraps of paper. How they deigned to treat her in the future would depend entirely on the ethics to which they claimed to be so dedicated.

Elisa squirmed. "I can't relax. I feel like ants are running under my clothes. What come next?"

"Rest; try to regain your confidence. All is as it should be. Occupy your mind with the task of making this as easy as possible for Langdon. That reminds me. I want to visit your home when he's at school."

"Why'?"

"The way into a boy's mind is through his music."

* * * *
Elisa didn't expect Langdon home for hours, so she brought Jethra into her condo right after lunch. Langdon's room was a mess, of course.

"What a depressing place," remarked the visitor, "but I've seen worse. By the way, we have a subliminal CD that will inspire a young person to enjoy living in orderly surroundings."

"Is it like sleep teaching?"

"Yes, very much like that. In the business of the People, where magic is unethical, science may serve. As we know, science has no ethics." She shifted topics. "What are his favorite CD discs?"

"I'm not sure. The bands all have strange names, and all their music is noisy and absolutely awful."

"You sound like a parent," the lawyer commented lightly. "Another of our CDs improves the listener's taste in music."

The lawyer spotted the CD player and turned it on. The tray had a five-disc capacity. Of the five discs inside, all but one was by "The Gruesome Zombies."

"He seems to like this band. I'll drop off duplicates of these same CDs at your office tomorrow. You'll have to switch them with these original ones," Jethra told her.

"They'll be subliminal?"

"Yes. Their purpose would be to get him interested in listening to a different band, the Graveyard Dead."

"Why?"

"When a boy is into this kind of rock, we use Graveyard Dead CDs that have been prepared in advance. We could have used any similar band, but the tech people for settled for the Graveyard Dead. Whenever Langdon brings home a new Graveyard Dead concert, you let us know which one it is and we'll switch it with a duplicate that carries the messages we want."

"Bring one that makes him like 'oldies but goodies.'"

"Or one that that makes him want to listen to the tunes that teenage girls like?"

Elisa sighed. "Considering the racket that both boys and girls like, I'm not so sure."

Jethra smiled. "Just one thing more. I need to place a listening device in this bedroom. It will help us choose the exact right moment to start the extraction process."

Mrs. Ardnes shrugged. What else could she do, now that she was into this thing with both feet? Every strange request that was now made of her has started to seem so dismayingly logical.

* * * *

The next day arrived, and so, again, did Miss Courtindale.

She had brought several Gruesome Zombies discs to the real estate office, repeating her previous instructions to switch them with Langdon's originals.

"If, by the end of a week, he's is showing any enthusiasm for the Graveyard Dead, it will be a sign that he has good receptivity to our variety of subliminal conditioning."

"What message will they carry?"

"A message about woman-envy. That is basic. The aim is to induce Langdon to develop a rich and luxurious fantasy life about changing into a sexy girl. What is erotic always holds a powerful allure for a teenaged boy."

Elisa thought it dubious. Langdon seemed totally the wrong type for enjoying that kind of fantasy.

"Will he start behaving differently?" she asked.

"Very unlikely. A male's sexual daydreams are a private pleasure, like smoking. In their everyday life, males are really quite detached from their fantasy life. It's a kind of compartmentalization."

"It sounds like this process will take a long time."

"Not as long as you think. Anyway, the longest journey begins with the first step. I'll try to explain the psychology behind it all before I leave."

* * * *

It was that very weekend when Langdon came home carrying a package from the music store. His stepmother pretended not to be at all interested in his musical tastes, but checked out the bag while he was in the shower.

Bingo!

Langdon had bought back three Graveyard Dead albums. As instructed, she called Jethra Courtindale to let her know which titles they were.

The next morning, Courtindale stopped in at the office, rested her attaché case on the desk, and drew out a trio of discs. Their labels said "Graveyard Dead."

"Does it begin, really begin tonight?"

"Yes, providing the young man listens to them. One message that they all will carry is to listen to them repeatedly, and to get even more titles by the same band."

"Well, he always plays something. The walls never stop shaking with the cacophony."

"Good. Just let me know what new titles he buys and we'll exchange them as quickly as possible."

"But how will we know whether the CDs are having any effect?"

"Some of them are intended to give him an interest in things available on the Internet. His computer has been hacked by our techs and infected with tracker ware that will allow us to monitor his Internet habits. One thing we'll be doing is sending him pop-ups with our ads to special tg websites."

"Tgee?"

"Transgender. One CD will inspire him to look for tg stories and videos. Once we know where he's browsing, we'll be feeding him a subliminal messages to keep him thinking about sex-change and woman-envy as much as possible, even when he doesn't have the doctored CDs blaring into his ears."

"And all this is supposed to make him want to be a girl?"

"Only on a fantasy level. That's all that's necessary. Male fantasies of this kind are very common, but very few men really want to be girls. It doesn't matter. An intense and pleasurable daydream is the same as a meditative visualization."

"Like in yoga?"

"Close to that. Our magic needs the subject's voluntary consent for it to work. Many computer viruses requires the operator to click a software button of consent before the virus can infect the system. Basically, it tells the computer to let its defenses go down. We do the same thing. If Langdon is frequently visualizing turning into a pretty girl, thinking about the stories and videos on the net that use, say, magical or science fiction means to attain it, it constitutes a sort of mystical consent which will let the magic produce those very changes on his body.”

“I thought that our contract gave you consent,” said Elisa.

"You gave us the right to take the mana. But Langdon has to give us at least implicit consent if we are to go beyond that, such as making him physically attractive and giving him a female-structured brain.”

"Between the internet and the CDs, it sounds like he's getting battered from all sides."

"The real subliminal battering will start once he's become a girl. Once that happens, we have to keep his mind off his moping. We'll do all we can to start him thinking about happy things, boys and clothes, for instance."

"Won't all these sexual fantasies turn him gay even before he's a girl?"

"He's not naturally gay and this sort of psychological conditioning won't make him gay. It will all be just an enjoyable fantasy for him. It will be different when he's a girl and has a brain that has been restructured for girlhood.  Then we'll try to remove all the barriers that are hold him back from yielding to his feminine instincts. The roots of sexual preference lies in the brain structure.”

"If you say so."

"Another thing. We'll want to make him curious about magic. He was a Harry Potter fan, wasn't he? He shouldn't have any strong prejudices against non-scientific ideas that he's presented with. Once we think that he's thinking along the right lines, it will be time to send him a small package in the mail."

"What'll be in it?"

"That would take a while to explain. We'll save the details for our next meeting. Right now, I need to get some hair and, if possible, blood and nail clippings. His brush should provide ample hair."

"Nail clippings are all over his carpet," Elisa said. "Also, Langdon was in a brawl this week and came back with a handkerchief all red from his nosebleed. It's not laundered yet. Will that work?”

"Excellent!"

Chapter 6

If Elisa had been expecting to see a change in Langdon over the next week, it didn't happen. There was nothing feminine about his swagger or his rough way of talking. Nonetheless, Jethra Courtindale phoned in with positive news. 

"Langdon's progress is excellent. Every day he's making more and more use of the tg resources on the net. He had a Western novel on his screen only last night."

"A Western novel? I don't understand."

"It's a Western parody, about a gang of outlaws that get changed into beautiful women by a magic potion and are put to work in a saloon."

"The court hearing is Monday. I just wish I could be sure that it will go our way. I'd like to believe that he's innocent, but I really don't."

"We all wish our loved ones well. But the more legal pressure that's put on Langdon, the more susceptible he'll be to using magic to get himself out of trouble."

"Can magic get him out of trouble?"

"It can, especially if it makes him over into a school girl. No one who sees him in that shape will remember that Langdon Ardens ever existed."

Elisa was impressed. "By the way, do the stars say that your plan will succeed?"

"The portents appear good, but free will is stronger than destiny. That is one reason that the People respect it so much."

"Oh, one more thing," said Elisa, "I wanted to let you know that Langdon bought three more Graveyard Dead CD's this week." She read the titles off her note pad.

"I'll bring the replacements around to your office tomorrow."

Shouldn't we be getting identity papers for the…girl…ready?"

"Don't worry.  We'll provide them. We've provided them for hundreds of boys."

"What about people who don't see the girl and still remember Langdon?"

"You should throw a party and invite as many of the important people who know Langdon as possible. Make sure they all see Langdon. And then take him around to see personally people any significant people whom you can't invite. Most persons in authority don't care about individuals; to them they only exist as text in a data bank, and those texts will be changed. Trust me, it works. By the by, do you have a name that you'd like to give your stepdaughter?"

"No. It's always seemed so unreal up to now."

"What's Langdon's middle name?"

"Frederick."

"How do you feel about Fredrica?"

Elisa shook her head. "People would call her Fred."

"Langdon? Lana?"

"I'm not sure.'

"Donna?"

"Donna?" The realtor considered the name. "That's better. When he was small, we used to call him Donny."

"Well, let me know once you decide."

"Okay."

Mrs. Ardens placed phone on the hook and pondered the name. Donna? Pretty. Very pretty. She wondered how Langdon would like it.

* * * *

Langdon case was heard by a grand jury in Iowa, he was indicted as an adult. His trial was set for December 27. The boy's best chance for avoiding lockup would be plea-bargaining for a suspended sentence, maybe with community service. Owlsley would press for that, along with making a big issue about his relative youth, and the fact that at home he was still a minor. It was unusual for a man on bail to be allowed out of the state, even to await trial at home, but Owlsley sounded confident that he'd be able to get a favorable ruling once bail was made.

Elisa had little money saved or invested, so she raised the bond through a bondsman. It was strange to think that before the trial date Langdon would likely be living his life as Donna. Jethra had told her that the whole case against Langdon would be wiped out by the Starry Order, and that the scheduled trial would vanish from the court calendar, probably even before a judge was assigned. They would also see to it that the bail payment would appear as tendered in the imprisonment of a non-extant defendant and be earmarked for return to the Ardens.

After making the bond, Mrs. Ardens returned home. Langdon would probably come back to Omaha with Owlsley the next day. Since this strange situation had begun, she hadn't been able to resist searching Langdon's room for girly things, and she did so again tonight. As usual, nothing was to be found, except a few videos such as It's a Boy-Girl Thing and Identity Theft, as well as some sf books, including Identity Matrix and I Will Fear No Evil. All of these works of popular culture featured male to female sex changes. But, personality-wise, her stepson had seemed so utterly unchanged that she decided that psychological science was beyond her understanding.

The three days Jethra Courtindale phoned and asked, "Elisa, how was Langdon after he got home?"

"He didn't say much. He was sullen when he off went to school in the morning, but he was grinning when he came back, and his step seemed lighter."

"Excellent."

"What happened?"

"We gotten him hooked up with a new girlfriend at school. Her name is Glory."

"Why do that?"

"She's one of our people. She started coming on to him before his appearance at the grand jury. Now, after all that stress, he'll be eager to unwind with her. She called to tell us that they're be getting together tonight."

"So that's where he went."

"Very likely."

"Is she a girl if his own age?"

"She'll looks his own age and acts like it, but Glory is actually be older and more sophisticated than she appears. She's helped many boys like Langdon before. Her real work will begin after he's a girl."

"What is she going to do?"

"When Langdon returns to school as Donna, Glory will have already established a bond of trust with him -- her. He'll be looking for someone to support him, someone he feels comfortable with from his old life. Glory won't let on that she remembers his real past, but she'll act like Donna's BFF, the perfect a shoulder for her to lean on, and sometimes to cry on. When Donna needs to know something -- like how to dress, how to walk, how to speak, how to be popular -- Glory'll lend a hand. She'll also encourage Donna to start dating boys. She'll also be Donna's on-site fairy godmother -- or sister -- but she won't say anything about that, either."

"Aren't your People putting a lot of resources into this?"

"Not at all. It's service for value. And, anyway, it's not our policy to foul our nest and move West. We want to operate profitably in Nebraska for many years to come. The Starry Order puts its post-signing customer service very seriously. Compared to the value of mana, all this will cost the Starry Order what amounts to mere pennies."

"I see, you don't just make girls; you try to make happy girls, right?"

"Yes. That's what I've always said."

"This Glory, she's a good girl, isn't she?"

"As good as she needs to be," the lawyer replied. "She has to appeal to Langdon, and if you'll be honest with yourself, you'll know that his tastes run more to beach bunnies than to choir girls."

Elisa sighed. It was all too true.

After hanging up, the realtor wondered whether saving Langdon's mental health wouldn't depend more on the Starry Order than on her.

It shouldn't have to be that way.

* * * *

That evening Jethra Courtindale called to make a Friday morning appointment. Elisa met her at nine.

Jethra came in looking pleased and excited. "Lately Langdon has been downloading Lalola. Now that he's found out about the series, he'll have to watch our site, since we have the only version on the net with English subtitles. The video that we stream is heavily underlain with subliminal suggestions. There are over a hundred and fifty forty-three minute episodes, so that will amount to a lot of attitude-modification time."

"What is it? About a boy who changes into a girl?"

"It's about a young businessman who becomes a woman by the curse. He goes back to get his old job back, pretending to be his own smart-as-a-whip cousin. The story is told in almost day-by-day detail and, in the end, he – she – does everything she can to keep the spell from breaking so she can marry the man she's fallen in love with.”

"I guess Langdon is starting to obsess about this stuff," Elisa observed.

"Yes, and things are going swimmingly with Glory, too."

"You're sure she can help him?"

"Most of her former protégés are already married. Some are still single but successful. I just saw one of them looking incredible on the cover of a motorcycle magazine."

"Langdon's difficult and coarse, not at all the blooming bride type."

Courtindale smiled. "Did you see Three Faces of Eve? In each human being there exists not just three, but hundreds of different personalities. All we have to do is to guide Donna's experiences along so that the personality of a congenial young lady will emerge naturally."

Mrs. Ardens shook her head. "You'd know more about these things than I ever will."

"It's now time for the end game -- the end game of Phase One, I mean. This afternoon UPS will deliver to Langdon that small box I told you about."

"I haven't been clear about how it's supposed to work."

The lawyer didn't lose her enthusiasm. "Our subliminal messages have already put it into the boy's mind that magic is something worth trying. I'm sure it will work, because he was already a fan of Harry Potter and similar movies. He doesn't have to believe in sorcery honestly, but in his desperate state of mind we're sure that he'll be willing to give it a try."

"Give what a try, exactly?"

"The package will contain a flashy-looking medallion and a note. The text will say that the anonymous sender is a Wiccan master who believes that Langdon is being railroaded into prison by a corrupt legal system. He will be urged to wear the medallion charm while he meditates upon summoning the Protective Forces by reciting the chant that the note provides.

"The chant is supposed to channel the Force through him while he visualizes that insurmountable obstacles will magically arise that will prevent his trial from ever taking place. He'll be encouraged to think that the magic will work swiftly and that events should start to break his way after about a week. However, long before he has time enough to get discouraged, we'll have taken his mana."

"Is there any real magic in the charm?"

"None at all."

"Then what does it accomplish?"

"He's likely to visualize something vengeful, like all the witnesses dying in great pain. But, instead, when he'll wake up as a girl, he'll guess that the magic went askew. If he's sensible, he'll blame his own recklessness for playing with magic, and you'll be off the hook."

Elisa frowned. "Langdon is seldom sensible. His first instinct is always to blame someone else."

"If he doesn't come up that reasonable explanation, the expert he talks to will suggest it to him. To her, I mean."

"What expert?"

Jethra opened her attaché case and took out a sheet of notepaper. "When Langdon finds out that he's a girl, he'll want to rush to the hospital. Take him instead to this clinic. The doctor who sees him there is one of ours."

"What will he do?"

"He'll say that he believes everything that Donna is telling him is true and that his diagnoses is that magic is at work. He'll explain that most doctors know about sorcery, but they've always had to deny it because government policy forces them to cover it up. Then he'll send you and Langdon -- Donna -- to an expert mystic, one who, he'll claim, has already helped patients get rid of curses.

"The spell-breaker will inform Donna that she has unintentionally cast a spell on herself. He'll explain that because she was inexperienced, her unconscious thoughts got into the way, that these thoughts perverted the magic. It stopped the trial, but in a way to make her powerful sexual fantasies come true."

"Then what?"

"The expert will assure Donna that he has seen many of these accidental spells. He'll say that it can be broken, but that doing so always takes a little time. Donna will be told that she has to meditate on removing the curse frequently. She'll be told that she has to focus on the idea that she wants, more than anything, to be a boy and only a boy.

"She'll be expected to keep it up for a year, until the night comes when stars are back in the same position as they were at the time of the actual change. This is usually a short enough length time to keep a boy from despairing or panicking. But she'll be warned that returning to boyhood depends entirely on her. If she has any lingering doubt about wanting to give up her girlhood, then the magic might not work."

"Well, it won't work. What happens when the year is up?"

"With most boys, just like in Lalola, a year is enough for them to realize that they like their new lives. All this time, Glory will have been trying to get her to enjoy being a girl, and if she's been successful, Donna won't be all that much surprised when the bogus spell fails. Donna might actually feel secretly happy, especially if she's taken up with a boy by then.

"But if, as in rare cases, her reaction is excessively negative -- angry, or violent-- we have a Plan Two. But there's no reason to get so far ahead of ourselves."

A few minutes later, Courtindale had gone and Elisa sat alone in her office, trying to collect her thoughts. "How on earth did I get into a world where things like this can happen?" she asked herself, and not for the first time.

And she still had no answers.

Chapter 7

The all-important package came the next day and Langdon had taken it away, not telling his stepmother anything about what he had found inside. She had been advised by Courtindale to stand back and let things happen as they happen. The listening device that the lawyer had hidden near Langdon's bed would inform the Starry Order's listeners whether or not Langdon had started chanting.

Elisa hadn't been at the office long before a call from Jethra Courtindale came in.

"I need to see you," said Jethra. "Do you have time this morning?"

"My calendar is open at eleven."

"Fine." She hung up.

Elisa sighed. Was this terrible process just going to keep going on and on?

At eleven sharp, Polly let her boss know that Miss Courtindale was back.

Elisa motioned to the chair as Jethra entered her office.

The latter began without preamble. "Last night Langdon meditated until he fell asleep. The odds are that he'll do so again, every night for at least a week." The lawyer selected a paper from her case and put it in front of Elisa.

"We won't have to wait a week. He's psychologically ready. When he changes, he'll think that it was the chant and the medallion that did it. This is the final consent form in front of you. It authorizes the transfer of mana from a minor, of whom you are the legal guardian, to the Starry Order, in return for consideration, as per our established agreement."

"This is the time that I'd have to either use the opt-out clause or forget about it, right?" the realtor asked.

"Yes," Courtindale affirmed.

"What should I do?"

"Physically, or morally?"

"Morally of course."

"You should always try to do what your heart tells you is right."

"What is right?"

"A person won't go far wrong if he is faithful to those whom he loves. You won't want to go on from here unless you can go forward with a clear conscience."

"I don't know if there is anyone left that I love. I'm pretty sure that there's no one who loves me."

The lawyer's expression was as patient and sympathetic as she could professionally allow herself to become.

Elisa Ardens looked away. Of course she was unhappy. Her unhappiness had dictated every step of what she had done so far. She had filled her contract with every unfulfilled wish of an aching and overburdened heart, and she had bestowed it not only upon herself, but also on Langdon. But ultimately she couldn't deceive herself to think that she was selling out Langdon for her own happiness, not for his. But did youth, beauty, heath, wealth, travel, and palatial homes add up to happiness?

No, not happiness. She couldn't expect that. The Blue Bird of Happiness was never to be found hidden in a mountain legalistic detail, or in a vault filled with cold treasure. Far from expecting happiness, she would be grateful if she found that she was stepping into something just a less awful than Hell.

Elisa looked down at the paper. Her son didn't love her. She also worried that she had stopped loving him.

Why was she so unlovable? What was it about Langdon that made him so loveable?

He wasn't the worst criminal in the world, she knew, but he could become worse. Still, many women had loved a bandit. Many had even loved hot-blooded murderers. But what no one could love was a person who had a piece of ice for a heart.

She didn't know where to turn. Was creative destruction the last best chance she had left?

Could a new daughter make a beginning and a new family?

Could Langdon do better, be better, if put on a new path, if not by his own decisions, then by hers?

She didn't know. She didn't know anything.

Elisa couldn't see behind the door.  So she just took a deep breath and decided that doing something was better than doingnothing, and would let the consequences take care of themselves.

After signing the paper, she dropped the pen as if it had been the dagger of an assassin.

* * * *

Langdon was so seldom home at dinnertime that Elisa had long since stopped cooking meals for two. Tonight he came in about eight, smelling of fast food and beer. As she watched the boy go to his room, she regarded him from behind. He had grown almost fully into a big, sturdy man, but would never be a handsome one. Was he ever sorry that he wasn't attractive, just as she was sorry about her own plainness, or was being someone who could frighten others enough for him?

Normally the boy didn't come out of his room during the evening except to use the bathroom. While she endured the long hours before bedtime, Elisa wondered if she could carry out the detailed plan that Wizard's Law Partners had recommended. Everything about her life, and Langdon's, would be different, starting tomorrow. Intellectually, she was accepting this future as true, but in her soul she couldn't accept it.

Maybe it really was just a hoax? If so, it was a hoax so elaborate that no simple Candid Camera type show could have inspired Courtindale and whoever else was working with her. But if not that, why would two strangers approach a nobody like her and make fantastic promises that didn't hold an ounce of truth?

What had Courtindale and Crowley gained so far from this farce? The chance to blackmail a barely-solvent person like her? For what? For being gullible? For letting herself be bribed into allowing them to go through the motions of using magic that they didn't really have? To be exposed publicly as having been so foolish would be embarrassing, she realized. Elisa would be so ashamed of herself that she would have to restart her business in some other part of the country, a place where no one knew her, but shame wasn't crime.

Anyway, she didn't have many friends or important contact to alienate if she were publically exposed as a fool. But how could this be a fraud? What about the miracles that she had experienced?

Had they been done with hypnotism, as she had conjectured before?

Elisa had not used her opt-out clause. Now, whatever happened, events were completely out of her hands.

That was assuming that anything could, or would, happen.

Elisa rose and walked to the medicine cabinet, and there took the strongest prescribed dose of Valium, hoping it would subdue her anguish. She wanted to sleep tonight, and not be tossing and turning, waiting for morning -- the terrible morning to come.

After she had tidied up the kitchen in an almost dreamlike state, Elisa retired to her own room. The first thing she did there was to check the pack of photographs of herself in the guise of Daphne, just to be sure that they were still there, they were still real.

Daphne was so young, so beautiful, and so glamorous. With all her heart she wanted to be Daphne.

"If this could happen to me…." she said to herself, "…maybe everything else they've talked about could happen, too."

That both gave her hope and additional dread.

Then Elisa Ardens dropped into bed, still mostly dressed.

Would she soon be young again and very rich? Would Langdon become a high-school girl? It was impossible to plan ahead, impossible to believe in it, as it was impossible that Santa Claus himself would bring presents. She couldn't wrap her mind around any of it. If those promised things did happen, on an emotional level she'd be very surprised. On the other hand, if tomorrow turned out to be just like yesterday, she wouldn't be surprised at all. She would simply despise herself even more than she ever had before.

Thanks to the Valium, Elisa managed to drop off before twelve. Her doze seemed to be dreamless.

The realtor was suddenly shocked awake, not knowing what time it was. The house was echoing with shrill screaming.

And they sounded like the screams of a teenaged girl.

End