TAILS OF TRANSFORMATION

(Welcome to the Animal Kingdom!)

By Bob Stein

Cover art by Beth Davies

All content copyright© 2014

Contents

Monkey Magic

Summer Bovinox

Peanut Gallery

Substitution Penalty

Charlie’s Eyes

Surrogate

Knight on the Town

Payback

Finishing Touch

The Lamb

Unicorn Dance

Whispers

Ashes and Dust

Tradition

Strapped for Cash

Team Spirit

Totally Pucked

Something to Remember

Monkey Magic

Thick mud pulled at Chip's feet, mosquitoes swarmed by the thousands, and the trees around him were known to hold everything from ticks and poison ivy to rattlesnakes.  So why was he enjoying himself?  He mulled the question over as he battled a particularly stubborn patch of muck for custody of his right sneaker.  Thrill of the hunt, perhaps?

He smiled at the thought.  These mountains were usually full of hunters, but he was probably the only one whose prey wouldn't bleed when he hacked off a part.  Come to think of it, he was the one who was usually bleeding, thanks to the sharp thorns and brambles that filled pretty much all the empty spaces between trees and rusted hulks of metal.

After more than an hour working through this immense, overgrown junkyard, Chip's camera held at least two hundred images of antique cars, trucks, and even buses.  A few still looked potentially restorable, but most were so bad that Chip had trouble even identifying them.  He hoped that the Packard he was looking for was not among the latter, though at this point he'd be happy to find it at all.

A quick jerk freed his leg, but the mud won the battle for his shoe.   Balancing on one foot, he grabbed at the vanishing footwear and pulled it free.  Leaning against the semi-solid remains of a 1951 Studebaker, he was working the back over his heel when a flash of reflected sunlight caught his eye.  The glint came from behind a thick bank of brush higher up.

Listening hard for movement in the grass (not to mention a warning rattle), he worked his way around the Studebaker and what might have been a mid-fifties Plymouth.  At least the ground was more solid here.  Squinting through the thick tangle of foliage, he saw a promising shape on the other side.  Using his tool bag as a shield, he pushed through.

A Hudson.  No help here.  Once disappointment faded, he looked over the car with appreciation.  It was a '52 or '53 Hornet sedan, recognizable to millions of kids and car-loving adults as 'Doc Hudson' from a popular animated movie.  However, this particular example was a long way from any real or imagined fame.

Large patches of moss covered the windows and once-white top, blending almost perfectly into the splotchy green paint on the body.  Like his Packard, the wide, rounded Hudsons were often referred to as inverted bathtubs.  With the windows covered, this one really did look like an abandoned tub, albeit a 20-foot long one.

His practiced eye cut through the dirt and debris.  No obvious signs of damage, or missing parts.  It looked like the car had been driven up here and forgotten, judging from the trees and brush which now boxed it in, a good forty years ago.  Chip wondered what had brought the Hudson here.  Had the cost of repairs gotten too high?  Or maybe the owner had gotten tired of driving a 'bathtub'.

Curious, he tried to open the front door.  Locked, or stuck with age.  The rest of the doors were also secure, as was the trunk.  Getting into the car was now a challenge for him.   Setting the tool bag down, Chip walked around the car again.  He was unwilling to do anything to damage it.  Too many parts he'd needed had been ruined by vandals or broken by people who didn't know what they were doing.  Maybe the vent windows?  The front pane was either stuck or locked, but the rear vent flipped open easily.

A strong odor wafted out, like a barnyard or stable.  Alarmed, he listened carefully but did not hear anything moving.  It was too dark inside to see anything but the vague outline of the dashboard.  He used the flat of his hand to slap the side of the car and shouted, hoping to startle any potential occupants into giving themselves away.   Nothing.

Chip looked around and found a stick which he inserted and waved around inside.  When that also brought no reaction, he decided it was probably safe.  He was able to slip his arm through the opening, and cautiously felt for the inside handle.  The door panel fabric felt encouragingly dry and intact, and his fingers found and wrapped around the metal lever.

Something touched his wrist.

"Yaauuugh!"  Chip jerked back, nearly breaking the handle off as he tried to yank his arm out.  The door came open, trapping him for a moment before he twisted free and fell backwards onto the ground.  Scrambling away from the car, he jumped up and spun around, ready to run.

The Hudson's door now hung partly open.  Nothing had jumped out after him.  There were no marks on his wrist, though his arm had a raw scrape from his frantic reaction.  After a moment, he started to feel really stupid.  Probably nothing more than a fallen headliner, or even a piece of junk thrown inside which happened to fall against his arm.

Even so, Chip waited a minute or so before cautiously approaching the car again.  He found another old branch to push the door fully open, ready to bolt.  The interior looked intact, way better than he had expected.  In fact… he stuck his head inside and stared in amazement.

Clean striped grey fabric and burgundy vinyl upholstery covered the sofa-like back seat and door panels, and the handles and trim showed no signs of corrosion.  The front seat was missing, offering an unobstructed view of the cream plastic steering wheel and intricate, chrome-bedecked dashboard.  It was easy to see there was nothing inside the car.

Well, almost nothing.  The floor was covered from the back seat to the firewall with leaves and long grass.  The greenery was all fresh and soft, and Chip looked back at the trees around him in confusion.  Late fall had painted the foliage with reds and golds, leaving few of the bright green leaves that carpeted the Hudson.

The front door opened easily from the inside, letting in more sunlight which sparkled off the chrome knobs and switches.  The entire interior was in mint condition, even the wood grain decals on the dash and window moldings.  It took a moment to register the fact that some of the light came from an interior lamp, which had come on as he opened the door.

What the hell?  How could the battery still be good?  A familiar sound drew his eyes to the dashboard, where the Hudson's clock dutifully ticked off the seconds.  On impulse, he reached over and twisted the radio knob.  Even though the key was not in the ignition, the dial lit up, and music faded in as the tubes warmed up.  Sounded like the tail end of an old Beatles song.

Chip clicked the radio off, shaking his head in disbelief.  Brushing aside the leaves revealed a perfect mohair carpet, apparently original.  Even the tracks for the missing front seats were clean, except for a small trace of fresh grease.

The hood release handle was on the far side, and he had to lean across the car to reach it.  Some unfamiliar shapes on the far side of the huge transmission hump startled him momentarily, but they turned out to be a few corked pottery jugs and some leather bags.

The release popped easily, and he turned his attention to the new items.  The first bag jingled when he picked it up.  It was slightly worn, but sturdy, and tied with a short strip of darker leather.  When he pulled the knot loose, the 'bag' turned out to be a flat piece of leather which spilled a collection of silver and copper coins onto the floor.

The biggest was a silver "Peace" dollar, shiny as the day it was minted in 1879.  A perfect Indian head penny was dated 1853, and there were pennies, nickels, and quarters ranging from 1936 to 1940.  He couldn't identify some of the coins.  A few might have been old Spanish or Mexican, and there were two irregular pieces crudely stamped with human heads and symbols.  The last two were darker than the pennies, but still looked clean.  Bronze, maybe.

Both jugs were heavy and sloshed when he picked them up.  He pulled the cork from one and sniffed.  Some sort of wine, probably still good, though he wasn't willing to taste it.  Despite outside appearances, somebody had to be using the old Hudson as a hiding place.  The jugs of wine indicated an adult.  Maybe a homeless person who'd claimed the relatively luxurious car as a shelter.  That would explain the smell.  And possibly the working electrics.  Whoever it was might have found a good battery in one of the recent wrecks near the front of the junkyard.

However, nothing explained the condition of the interior.  After carefully replacing the jugs and coins, he withdrew from the car and prodded the outside of the door.  Bubbling paint crumbled away, along with several square inches of rotted metal.  Even the door handles were covered with algae and moss, his handprints being the only sign of recent use.

The hood had risen slightly, but Chip had to struggle against hinges stiff with rust to open it.  Even so, he was still surprised to see the leaf-filled tangle of rotten rubber hoses and crumbling wires.  A large black lump on the left was only barely recognizable as a battery, with half the casing missing, and dry, corroded plates.

He traced the rotted cables with disbelieving eyes.  No way this was powering lights and the radio.  Was there another battery rigged somewhere else?   Maybe hidden in the trunk.  He pulled out his camera and took pictures of the ruined engine bay, and then moved around to get close-ups of the dashboard, working dome light, and pristine upholstery.  Even if he couldn’t use the parts himself, he could put the word out to folks who could.

It would be nice to take a souvenir, though.  Nothing from inside - but maybe one of the 'Hudson' emblems.  He put the camera back in its case and set it down on the fender, then moved back around to the hood to see if he could coax the faded logo free.

A loud thud made him jerk around, heart pounding.  The front door had swung shut, probably from its own weight.  He started to laugh at himself, but the chuckle died in his throat as the rear door rocked against its stop.

The catch gave, and the door slammed closed.  Chip flinched, struggling to stay calm.  "Hello?"  His voice cracked and he had to swallow before he could speak again.  "Who's there?"  No answer.

Had the car's occupant returned?  It seemed unlikely that anyone could make it through the dense brush and rough ground without him noticing.  The only other explanation that came to mind was a minor earthquake, which he surely would have felt.

A cold knot deep in Chip's gut told him it was time to go.  As fast as he could.  He squatted down slowly to grab the handles of his tool bag, and then reached for the camera.  Only to have it suddenly jerk away from his outstretched fingers.

Without thinking, he grabbed for the case and managed to snag the dangling strap.  There was a considerable resistance as he yanked the camera free from the case, which bounced away from him and floated in mid-air a moment.  Then, as he stared in bewilderment, the case launched itself into the nearby brush and something hit him in the stomach.

He kicked out in blind terror.  His foot connected with something soft, and a high-pitched squeal exploded in his ears.                Stumbling backwards, he spun and ran from the noise, his own screams joining the beating cry.  Branches tore at his face and hands as he crashed through the heavy undergrowth, and he bounced painfully off several trees in his blind terror.  Then something seemed to grab at his right foot and he fell forward.  There was a splintering sound and agonizing pain shot through his leg, then a hard jolt and sudden blackness as his head connected with a tree trunk.

Chip came half awake, feeling stiff and awkward.  What a weird dream.  He shifted around, trying to get comfortable.  The surface under him was uneven, and rustled slightly as he moved.  Huh?  He bolted upright, wide awake.  It was pitch black, but the earthy odors of the old Hudson surrounded him.

Sudden memory of the fall prompted a cautious exploration of his right leg and ankle.  He could move everything without any trouble, though the pants leg was slightly damp.  Other than a dull ache in both legs, nothing felt broken.  Could he have popped a hip out of joint?  There was no trace of a bump or blood on his head, either.

Somebody must have found him, but why stick him in the old car?  Maybe his rescuer had to go back for help.  Chip groped for the door handle, and pulled it back.  Nothing.  The window crank was just as useless, turning easily, but not moving anything.  The rest of the handles seemed to be broken as well.  All of the lock buttons were up, yet nothing worked.  This didn't make sense.  He'd opened the door from the inside handle before.

The vent window!  The latch was still open, but the small glass pane refused to budge.  Frustrated, he started to beat on the door, but stopped suddenly when he heard a rustling outside.  "Hey!  I can't get out!"  No response.  "Is there somebody out there?  Can you open the door?"

There was still no answer, but the outside handle creaked on the front passenger's door.  Feeling nervous, he grabbed one of the pottery jugs to use as a weapon and slid back against the rear seat.  The door was jerked partly open, letting in dim light.  It started to swing back closed again, but another yank opened it fully.  Chip hefted the jug, and carefully looked out.  There was nothing there.

Dropping the jug, he started through the opening, but ran face-first into something soft and warm that gave out a loud grunt.  Recoiling with a loud "Shit!" he stared at what should be an empty door.  It was getting dark out, but there was still enough light to see clearly.  He started to blame an overactive imagination again - then the leaves shifted as something he couldn't see climbed in.

Chip scrambled back until he was pressed against the back seat, too terrified to breathe, much less scream.  The air shimmered slightly and then solidified into a grinning, shaggy-haired boy of twelve or thirteen.  No, not a boy.  He had a dark, scruffy goatee, thick eyebrows and sharp features that placed him in his late teens at least, maybe early twenties.  Bare-chested despite the cool weather, the newcomer's only clothing was a pair of oddly-shaped pants made of what looked like curly black sheepskin.

"Still feeling a bit rocky, I'd guess."  The voice matched the odd little man's appearance, pitched like a boy's but edged with adult gruffness.  He grinned at Chip and plopped down straddling the transmission hump.  It was immediately obvious that the newcomer was wearing nothing at all.

Chip automatically averted his eyes in embarrassment, but did a double-take and ended up staring in disbelief.  The "pants" were actually wooly legs which tapered impossibly thin and ended in small, cloven... hooves.

Above the waist, his visitor looked mostly human.  At least until he noticed the tips of pointed ears and what appeared to be short horns protruding from his unruly mass of black hair.  Chip closed his eyes.  God, he was hallucinating.  People didn't appear out of thin air, and they sure didn't have hooves and horns.  However, the little man was still there when he looked again, and there was no doubt as to where the strong animal odor was coming from.  This was one hallucination in need of a good bath.

At least he had no trouble identifying what he was looking at, thanks to recent fantasy movies and books he'd seen commercials for.  A satyr, or faun.  Was there a difference?  A half-goat/half-human monster from ancient Greece or Rome, or maybe C.S. Lewis.  Right.  And there was probably a golden dragon circling overhead.

The satyr grabbed one of the clay jugs, and pulled out the cork with his teeth.  "Care for a swallow?"  Chip cringed away from the offered jug, earning a look of annoyance.  "I'm not gonna poison you, not after all the trouble I went through to save your sorry ass."

His casual attitude helped take the edge off Chip's fear, who managed to relax a little.  Hesitantly, he reached out to touch one of the furred legs, but stopped short.  As he did, the leg kicked out, and he yelled as the hoof connected painfully with his shin

"That's just in case you think I'm some sort of illusion."  The goat-man took a drink from the jug, and offered it to Chip again.  This time, it wasn't refused.

The wine was light and sweet, and washed away part of the dryness in his mouth.  Actually, the kick had helped him a little.  He might be able to imagine the sounds and smells, but the bruise forming on his leg was no hallucination.  A little relieved that he might not be totally crazy, Chip finally worked up the courage to speak.  "Wha… uh... Who are you?"

The creature smiled again, and leaned back against the dashboard.  "Glad you can talk.  I was starting to wonder."  He paused a moment, then shrugged.  "In this world, I'm what's called a satyr, or faun.  Just call me Matthew. You couldn't pronounce my real name."  He extended a grimy hand.

Chip automatically took it, but had to fight the impulse to snatch his hand back.  "I'm, uh, Chip.  You don't come from this world?  I mean, are you from another planet?"

Matthew snorted.  "This place was our home before your kind came down from the trees.  Didn't see any harm in the monkey folk back then.  'Course, that was before they got the magic."

A muscle spasm rippled through Chip's legs, and he shifted uncomfortably.  "So you live here?  How come nobody has ever seen you before?"

The goat man scratched himself absently.  "We don't live here now.  Just visit.  Our place is nice enough, but we don't have forests like this.  That's why we still come back every now and then.  It's dangerous, 'cause it's harder to find places where the monkey-folk don't live."

He picked up the leather bag and dumped the coins into his hand.  "Can't say as I like what your people have done to the planet, though I do like the little jewelry you trade for goods."

Chip noticed that some modern coins had joined the ones he'd seen.  His, no doubt.  He felt his pockets, and discovered more than just his change was missing.  Car keys, wallet, even his belt was gone.  Before he could say anything, Matthew pulled the missing wallet from behind the wine jugs and handed it to him.  "Don't worry.  Your things are right here."

Chip tried to slip the billfold into his back pocket, but found that his pants were stretched so tight that it wouldn't fit.  Finally, he put it on the seat cushion behind him.

The torn pants came to mind, and he gave them a closer look.  Both legs were very stiff, and the ache had spread into his rump.  The fabric had a rip in it, and the surrounding area was soaked with dark liquid.  He'd thought it was mud, but now he could see the red stain of fresh blood on the skin underneath.

Alarmed, he pulled the ragged tear up to find unbroken skin underneath.  "You're all fixed up now."  The satyr sighed.  "Good thing I thought to follow you a bit.  Popped the bone through, and took a vein right with it.  Spurting like a regular fountain.  I couldn't just leave you there to die, even though you'd messed up my trip."

Chip stared at the smooth skin, trying to picture the injury.  He could remember the pain as he fell, and there was certainly a lot of blood on his pants.  His fear was fading into a sense of crazy detachment, as if all this was a weird nightmare.  "Not to sound ungrateful or anything, but why did you put me in here?"

Matthew laughed, making a sound very much like a goat's bleating.  "You think I could move a big lump o' flesh like you?  I had a friend carry you in here, though even he had a time getting you through the door."

The satyr was suddenly serious again.  "We have a real problem, you 'n me.  If you'd not been such an oaf and gotten yourself busted up, I could've just cleared out.  Even if you brought people back, they'd have just found a normal junked car."  He waved a hand, and the Hudson's interior was suddenly a mass of rotting fabric and springs, barely recognizable.  Another wave restored the mess to its original splendor.

Chip felt the smooth cloth, and gave Matthew a bewildered look.  "How do you do that?"  The goat-man sighed.  "It's the magic.  About the best I can explain it is that my people can see it, and change it with our minds.  We just think of what we want to happen, at least little things.  That's how I fixed your leg."

Despite what he had already seen, Chip was incredulous.  "Magic?  There's real magic here?"

Matthew looked at him oddly.  "That's why we had to leave.  Look.  You've heard of unicorns, elves, and dragons haven't you?

Chip nodded uncertainly.

"Well, all those creatures, and maybe a hundred other races, started here way back when there was nothing but big lizards running around.  We lived here for thousands of years, not paying much attention to the other creatures.  The races which could use the magic sorta' ignored the rest.  It wasn't 'til the monkey-folk started banding' together that the trouble started."

"Monkey folk?"  Chip frowned in puzzlement, then made the connection.  "Oh!  You mean humans.  And we don’t have magic like you guys."

"Magic isn't something we carry in us.  It's all around, like the sunlight, or the air.  Everything has magic in it.  We can see it, and change it with our minds.  But your people seem to be blind to it.  Only a few of the monkey folk can see the magic, and almost none could figure out how to control it."

"Some of our people worked to help them out, using magic to make their lives better."  The satyr paused, and then shook his head sadly.  "But after a while, a few started to play gods.  They got demanding, then outright cruel, thinking that the monkey-folk were helpless."

"Might makes right."  Chip thought of some recent movies that had depicted humans fighting against cruel ancient gods, both in ancient times and modern day.  "But it sounds like your magic was no match for swords and arrows."

Matthew scowled.  "Your weapons had nothing to do with it."

"But…"  Chip stopped, remembering the casual ease with which the satyr had transformed their surroundings.  It would be just as easy to turn a broadsword or spear into petunias.  "How?  If we couldn’t use magic...?"

"The monkey folk couldn’t control magic."  Matthew managed a bitter smile.  "But it turned out they could most definitely use it.  Half of the magical races were exterminated.  The only ones that survived stayed hidden in the woods and mountains   Millions of us were gone before we escaped to the new land."

Chip's next question was uninterrupted by a muscle spasm that shot through his lower body.  He rubbed both thighs, trying to work out the cramping.  "How come everything still hurts?"  Part of the problem might be his jeans, he realized.  They looked to have shrunk somehow.  Not only were they getting painfully tight, but his ankles stuck out a good couple of inches past the cuffs.

It took a moment for Matthew to answer.  “I can change things that aren't alive any way I want, and they just return to the way they were when I leave.  It's different with living things.  They have to be from my world."

A cold knot formed in Chip's stomach.  "What did you do to me?  What's happening?"  New pain drew his eyes to his feet, which had swollen so badly they were actually splitting out of the muddy tennis shoes.

The satyr sighed again.  "I had to make you part of my world."  At Chip's bewildered look, he pointed out the still open door, and snapped his fingers.

Leaves shuffled outside, and then a coarse-featured young man, bare-chested like the satyr, leaned down into the opening to look over the door.  He had shaggy, long blonde hair, large brown eyes, and flaring nostrils.  A friendly-looking smile revealed wide, flat teeth. "This is Posti, the friend who helped me get you in here.  You're going to end up like him."

Chip shifted around to get a better look.  In contrast to the goat-man, the newcomer looked perfectly normal, if a little tall.  Then he moved around the door, and his lower half came into view.

Like the satyr, Posti had a thick coat of hair which started at the waist, but instead of the hindquarters of a goat he had the full body of a reddish-brown horse.  A centaur.  Another figure from Greek mythology.

The huge creature spoke in clicks and grunts, seeming to ask a question.  Matthew responded with similar sounds.  Although Chip could not understand anything, there seemed to be a sense of urgency in the conversation.  After a few more exchanges, the centaur moved back out of sight.

Staring at his swollen legs in horror, Chip could barely speak.  "I... I'm turning into that?  Why?"

The satyr shrugged.  "You were unconscious, so I couldn’t ask you for a preference.  I suppose I could have made you into a Sasquatch or a Minotaur, but I happen to like centaurs.  At least like this, you still look partly the same."

Chip suddenly convulsed as another, more violent spasm rocked his body.  It rolled down his legs with such force that the already-split sneakers flew off his feet.  Except they weren't feet any more.  He had hooves.

Something finally snapped inside, and Chip lunged towards the door with a scream.  Despite the pain and stiffness, he actually knocked Matthew aside and rolled out onto the ground.  There was an explosion of the strange language from inside the car, and massive hooves pounded towards him.

Screaming again, he managed to pull himself up and staggered away.  If he could make it into the trees, the monster behind him couldn't follow.  Every step was torture, only partly relieved when his pants finally ripped apart at the seams.  Strong fingers grabbed at his shoulder, but he jerked free and threw himself into a thick clump of trees.  More of the clicks and grunts erupted, this time from the centaur as he tried to force himself between the thick trunks.

Matthew was shouting after him, the sound faint but getting closer.  Chip was having trouble getting through the woods himself now, stiff joints combining with a heaviness that made it almost impossible to move.  He could hear the satyr more clearly now.  "You can't go back.  It's too late."  Chip staggered on, aided by the downward slope.  If he could just make it to the main junkyard.

The trees thinned out ahead, and he could see the rusting hulks piled in the field beyond.  Gasping in pain and exhaustion, he leaned against a tree to catch his breath.  Spasms shook his body again, pushing him up into the branches.  There was an incredible weight below his waist which kept pulling him backwards, and he had to grab the trunk to keep from falling over.

More shouting drifted to his ears, but the sounds came from ahead, not behind.  Battling the pain, he focused on the junkyard beyond.  Small points of light waved between the rows of cars, moving towards him.  People!  They must have seen his car was parked out front, and come looking for him when the junkyard closed.

"I'm up here!"  At first he thought that they hadn't heard his shout, but then the flashlights converged and started towards him.  He started to shout again, but a final wave of agony wrenched his body, and he fell heavily to the ground.

It took a moment to realize that the pain was gone.  Not just the muscle spasms, but all of the aches and stiffness.  God, he felt wonderful.  He rolled up to stand, no longer having to depend on the trees for balance.  Still, there was a wrongness about his body, despite the absence of pain.

He looked down, and felt the cold fear again.  The tattered rags of his pants had fallen to the ground, revealing dark-furred legs which stretched down to hooves almost completely obscured by feathers of white hair.  Twisting around revealed the heavy equine body behind him, and he watched the thick tail twitch slightly as new muscles worked.

"You have to come back!"  He spun around and saw Matthew partially hidden in the shadows.  The satyr took a hesitant step forward, looking nervously towards the approaching lights.  "Please!"

Chip backed away.  "There are people down there. They'll help me."

The centaur… the other centaur… moved behind Matthew, but neither creature came out into the clearing.  "You cannot stay here anymore."  Matthew's voice was urgent.  "It is almost too late already."  The shouts were getting closer now, and the satyr moved a step closer.  "You can't let them see you."

Chip backed further from him.  "Why not?  Are you afraid of them?  I'll tell them all about you, and they'll track you down."

The satyr was pleading now.  "Yes, we're afraid of them, and you have to be, too.  Their magic can affect you now.  If they see you, you'll be lost forever."

Chip moved further away, wary of the two creatures.  "They haven't got any magic.  You're the one who can change things."  He could make out individual voices now.  The searchers would be here any minute.

Posti turned and galloped back through the woods, but Matthew held back.  "Don’t you understand?  Your people have the magic that drove us from your world.  We can transform normal things into anything we can imagine.  Your people transform anything they can't imagine into something normal."

Light shone in the clearing, and the satyr stretched out his arms in a final plea.  "Chip, you have to come now!"  Then he gave a sudden bleat of terror and bolted back into the trees.

The voices were very close now, and Chip looked uncertainly back towards the lights.  Maybe this wasn't such a good idea.  If the satyr had truly meant him harm, he could have just left him to die.  And though Chip didn’t know why, the approaching search party suddenly filled him with dread.  He turned to follow the vanished satyr just as the first flashlight beam hit him.  There was a wrenching in his head and arms...

"Shit!"  The junkyard owner puffed a bit from the long climb, and then yelled back to the men further down.  "It's just a damn horse!"  Disgusted, he played his light over the animal, which shook its head violently and finally threw off a dark T-shirt which had gotten caught over its muzzle.  Wild eyed, it skittered around in confusion for a moment, and then was suddenly calm.

"Where the hell did you come from?"  The horse snorted once in reply, and then dropped its head to pull up a clump of grass.  The man picked up the T-shirt, and shone his light on it.  Looked like what the missing customer was wearing.  He thought he'd seen the guy in the clearing just now.  What kind of game was he playing? And what was he doing binding up a horse's head?

Confusion turned to anger.  Bad enough the damn fool had them all combing the mountain.  So he liked scaring animals? A rustling came from the woods further up the mountain, and he caught a glimpse of someone or something running away.  With another curse, the man stuffed the shirt in his belt and followed. .Damned nutcase!  He'd probably have to call the sheriff's office and get a real search team out here.  They'd worry about the horse after things got back to normal.

The End

Summer Bovinox

The sun was still just a faint glimmer of red behind the rolling hills, but it would be rising soon.  Myron turned on the rental car’s map light and checked his scribbled directions.  Right 5.2 miles outside of Chirbury, then a left onto B4386 for 2.1 miles, and finally, right on Leigh Road for 2.9 miles.   According to the odometer, he should be smack in the middle of Mitchell’s Fold, Shropshire.

Climbing out of the tiny Fiat, he peered at the dark landscape for some kind of sign or marker.  One of these dark mounds was Stapeley Hill, home of the ancient Celtic stone circle he was looking for.  Not that he expected anything noteworthy - the old woman running his bed and breakfast had been quite clear that this was a ‘local’s only’ attraction.  In fact, she had only told him about it after hearing of his disappointment in Stonehenge.

Although it had looked impressive in photos, the famous landmark was actually only 12 feet tall and thirty feet across. And it was roped off so that you couldn’t touch anything, with no visitors before dawn or after dark.  Even when Stonehenge was open, the ancient structure was so crowded with tourists that he was more likely to commune with nature in a Walmart store.

OK, maybe it wasn’t all that bad.  A good part of his bad mood had been caused by the long trip back.   Driving in Great Britain was a test of nerves and memory.  The divided highways were easy enough, but a few accidental attempts to maneuver the busy roundabouts in the wrong direction had earned him blaring horns and shaking fists more than once.  Happily, this early morning trek had been free of traffic almost the whole way.

Well, the cows were up, even if the farmers were not.  He heard soft lowing from the grassy hills.  Miles from any street lights, the stars were still twinkling in the pink-gray pre-dawn sky.  He had to grin.  Most of his friends would probably think he was nuts to have gotten up so early just to stand in the middle of an empty field.  Of course, their idea of a great vacation was Vegas, or Disneyland.  Noise, bright lights, and crowds of people.  He shuddered.  That was more his idea of Hell than a place to relax.

After a moment, Myron started walking up the larger of the hills.  Since the stone ring was set up to work with the sun, it seemed logical that it would be on the highest point.  There was supposed to be a public footpath leading to the ring, but until the sun rose he was probably going to have better luck just wandering around.  He stopped a moment, considering going back for his camera, then decided there would not be enough light anyway.  He could come back for it later.

Although it was the beginning of May, the morning air had a slight chill.  Not enough to be uncomfortable, but he was grateful for his long-sleeve shirt and slacks.  Sticking his hands in his pockets, he strolled over the soft ground, heading for the crest of the hill.  The cattle were visible now, mostly gathered close to the top.  Great.  The ancient stones would be even harder to spot among dried cow patties.

Some of the huge animals turned to watch as he approached, and a couple actually plodded towards him to snuffle curiously from a dozen feet away.  They probably weren’t used to seeing humans wandering around the dark.  There would be plenty of them here later on.  That was another tidbit of information shared by his hostess.  Some of the locals would gather on this spot at mid-day to celebrate the Festival of Beltaine.

The event honored some ancient Welsh deity that the old woman had referred to as “The Shining One.”  He was the god of healing and light, and had something to do with the welfare of sheep and cattle.  Given Britain’s epidemics of hoof and mouth disease, it looked like Old Beli wasn’t doing a very good job these days.  Maybe that was why he didn’t rate an early morning event.

As Myron had feared, any stone set into this hilltop were nearly invisible.  He’d been hoping to find the center marker before sunrise, just to see if the ancient Celtic astronomers still had things lined up.  It didn’t really matter. He was content to stand here and watch the rural landscape come alive.

A sudden prod from behind startled him, and he turned to find one of the cows regarding him with huge, liquid eyes.  She had only the barest nubs of horns, with a thickly muscled body covered in golden brown and white fur.  Although the animal was huge, he was amused rather than frightened by her attention.  She snuffled at him, and then butted her head against him again, pushing him towards one of the larger clumps of cattle.

A little bewildered, but also curious, Myron stumbled ahead, only to have the cow nudge him again.  The other animals seemed a bit nervous, opening their circle as he was pushed among them.  Amusement quickly turned to annoyance.  The first rays of the sun were breaking over the far hills, and he seriously doubted that the view would benefit from a border of bovine butts.  Yet the animal kept shoving him, moving with him each time he tried to step out of the way.

The cattle had closed ranks again, and Myron felt a twinge of concern that made him feel silly.  He could see the tabloids now.  ‘Yank Tourist Held Captive by Cows!’  Make that, ‘Yank Suffocated by Cows.’  He wrinkled his nose as the combined odors of his audience assaulted his senses.  Why the sudden increase in stink?  His worst fears were confirmed when he glanced down.  A large, grayish lump was directly in front of him.  Major cow flop.

Then he looked closer.  The surface was too regular, the edges too defined.  Amazed, Myron looked around the hilltop and then back at the stone directly in front of him.  This was the main marker!  Grinning, he turned towards the horizon.  The sun was dead center between two distant hills, sending a hard edge of light that was creeping towards him through the grass.  Just then, the cow almost knocked him over with another hard shove that sent him stumbling forward.  His right foot landed on the stone in perfect unison with the first ray of sunlight.

It was as if he had stepped on a land mine.  A shock of pain and heat shot through his body and his legs jerked so violently that he literally flew backwards and landed in a heap on the dew-covered grass.  He lay there for a few moments, literally stunned.  It took a while to recover from the sudden and intense jolt, but he slowly realized that whatever the cause, the pain was gone.

What the Hell had happened?  Myron raised up on one elbow and rubbed bleary eyes, still feeling a little disoriented and somehow bloated.  He must have pinched a nerve or something when he stepped on the stone.  The sensation had been awfully intense – hopefully nothing had been broken.   Nothing hurt – actually, he felt oddly warm and content just lying in the thick grass.

It wasn’t until he started to get up that he realized his shoes and socks had come off.  And his shirt must have gotten twisted as he fell, for it was hanging open around his belly, the buttons popped off.  God, he needed to go on a diet!  Myron stared at his massive gut in dismay.  English cooking must be really packing on the weight.  He shook his head, trying to clear muddled thoughts.  This didn’t make sense.  He’d been eating lighter than usual, not heavier.

He pushed himself up and managed to stand, though balance seemed a bit off.  His left shoe was on the ground, but the right was nowhere to be found.  As he leaned over to pick up the one loafer, he felt a cramping in his toes.  Balancing awkwardly on one leg, he tried rubbing the spasm out – and stared as the toes pressed together, and then merged into two thicker lumps.

No.  It wasn’t possible.  He could see the main bones thickening, his foot stretching out.  This was some allergic reaction to the grass.  Or maybe some really weird bruising from hitting his foot on the rock.  Yet even as he thought that, Myron realized that both feet were affected equally.  And not just his feet.  His entire body was swelling, gaining mass with each heartbeat.  His pants were sliding down in the back, too small and too short.  The fabric squeezed his legs with increasing pressure, and his ankles were jutting well below the cuffs.  The right cuff wasn’t even there anymore, just some tatters of blackened fabric.

Myron spun and stared at the stone.  Sure enough, a scorched footprint was burned into the top, with bits of melted rubber and bits of leather that might have once been his other shoe.  He closed his eyes, trying to clear this mad hallucination from his brain.  Unfortunately, he could feel the pressure and pulling as he continued to swell, and grabbed automatically at his pants as they finally slipped off his butt.

His fingers couldn’t quite grip the fabric, and the cause was quickly obvious.  His hands were altering to match the swollen, thick lumps that had been his feet, no longer able to flex.  Although his rational mind was still trying to deny the obvious, his eyes easily matched up the general shape with the cloven hooves of the cows around him.  He was turning into a cow?  Bewilderment mixed with his disbelief.  There were cows all around him, dozens, maybe a hundred.  What possible use would another bovine be?

The answer came in the form of intense warmth and swelling in his crotch.  Myron gasped as his testicles and penis swelled suddenly, his lengthening member drawing up to his belly as a dark-furred sheath formed around it.  God, it looked like he was carrying some small cannonballs between his legs!

Myron suddenly remembered the Festival of Beltaine, and realized that there probably WAS a deity involved.  Beli, the Shining One.  A quick glance around confirmed his immediate suspicion.  The cattle watching him with increasing interest were all female.  If there had been a bull for this herd, it must have died of old age, or perhaps been a victim of the hoof and mouth disease slaughters.  In either case, Old Beli had obviously decided to show Myron just how well an ancient god could look after the welfare of his charges.

Curiously, the knowledge was somehow comforting.  Though he still hoped that this was all some insane delusion, the result of bashing his head on a rock when he fell, Myron felt his fear draining away.  He was still bewildered as his body continued to transform, but those feeling were becoming based more on awe and amazement.

The seams of his pants finally gave way with a popping of stitches, revealing a long, ropy tail that swung loosely with a twitch of new muscles.  His shirt actually shredded, fabric pulling apart over the barreling mass of his chest and back.  It was getting hard to stand upright now, and he leaned forward precariously on fully formed hooves.  The sensation was curious, like having his feet asleep.  Hands and feet were numb, yet he could feel pressure, even coolness through them.

Up to now, his head had been mostly ignored by the forces reshaping his body.  They rectified that oversight with a pulse of heat that thrust his lower face forward even as it sucked the back of his skull back into his thickening neck.  He longed for a mirror, a still pond, but had only the flowing shape of his own shadow to follow the transformation.  Pressure in his forehead eased as horns emerged, forming elegant black curves in the grass.

Finally, his mass was too much to hold up, and he fell forward onto thickly muscled forelegs, his hooves hitting the ground with a solid thud that seemed to reverberate through the air like the tone of a huge gong.  Momentum threw him off balance, and his hind end twisted sideways and hit the ground.  The position was uncomfortable, and he found himself rising with a lunge that came all too easily.  Standing on all fours felt normal, but seemed to accelerate the process, as if the earth itself was fueling his change.

He felt his muzzle make a last push outwards, saw the shadow horns make a final outward curve.  A sensation of mass, of incredible strength and virility washed over him, and for one terrifying moment, he felt the transforming heat touch his mind.  However, when it faded, he realized that he, Myron, was still present and accounted for.   Relief mixed with gradual awareness that his thoughts had not gone unaltered.

Odors, rich and varied, filled his nostrils.  Grass, dirt, his own bullish sweat-urine scent, even a lingering trace of that marked his own lost humanity.  Then his mind processed another, far more overpowering smell – the desire of a hundred cows combined into a single heady perfume that awakened new instincts and desires.  Cows that pressed forward to welcome him, pulling off the scraps of clothing that still hung on his black-furred, powerful back.  Cows that he felt a sudden and deep attachment to, a need to serve and protect.

One of the females pressed against his side, gazing into his eyes with obvious desire.  Her scent was familiar, her markings known.  This was the cow that had pushed him here, the one responsible for the loss of his humanity.  He tried to summon a spark of anger, a faint glimmer of resentment.  And was more than a little surprised to find nothing but gratitude.

Perhaps it was more of Beli’s influence, a change to perception and thought that made the prospect of his new life acceptable.  Insurance that the cows would not be short-changed by an unhappy bull.  Still, as Myron tilted his head to regard the first of his bovine mates with bemused wonder, he found himself responding with a very deep and contented ‘Mooo.’

The End

Peanut Gallery

“Mysterio the Magnificent?  You should call yourself Boris the Boring!”  Mike didn’t quite shout his derision, but it was loud enough to carry through the carnival tent where the old geezer in a tux was faking yet another hypnosis trick.  This time, the ‘volunteer’ was clucking and scratching at the stage floor with one foot, supposedly believing he really was a chicken.

Mike’s ongoing critique wasn’t appreciated by the rest of the audience.  They were glaring at him and several started yelling for him to shut up.  God, did these morons believe this bullshit?  Rather surprisingly, his only support came from the object of his taunts.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please!”  Mysterio had raised his hand and smiled up at Mike.  “Everyone is entitled to his or her own opinion.  I am sure the young man will allow me a chance to prove I am worthy of my name, rather than shouting insults from the peanut gallery.”  He snapped his fingers and the ‘chicken’ did a creditable job of looking surprised and confused.  “Thank you, my good man.  I believe I have another volunteer.”

“How you gonna do that, old man?”  Mike was annoyed to have his heckling thrown back in his face.  “Call in another plant from the audience?”

“Of course not.  The only way to prove myself is to do something absolutely magnificent, using you as my subject.”  Mysterio made a sweeping gesture towards the stage.  “Please come down to the stage, sir.”  The audience laughed and applauded loudly, and turned to grin at Mike.

His first impulse was to flip the guy off and walk out.  Not that Mike believed any of this hypnosis crap, but he was sure Mysterio would find a way to make him look stupid.  Then again, it would give Mike a chance to show just what a fraud the guy was.  Anyway, if he left now it would give the bastard the victory.  “OK, bub.  But all you’re gonna do is prove my point.”  He worked his way out to the aisle and sauntered down to the stage.

“And your name, sir?”  Mysterio flashed a smile, but his eyes showed no sign of humor.  Up close, he looked a little more impressive.  Slender and just a touch taller than Mike and maybe not as old as he had thought.  The tuxedo and white gloves were immaculate, and the man did seem to radiate a kind of energy.

There were some scattered chuckles from the audience, and he blinked.  “Uh, Michael.”  Damn the man!  He’d gotten Mike distracted somehow.  OK, score one for the geezer.  That was the last victory he’d have tonight.

“So, Mikey.”  The guy made a point of using the kiddy version, even though Mike was almost 20.  “What can we do to make you a believer?  Safely, of course.  I’d hate to be responsible for harming a lad with his whole life ahead of him.”

Mike snorted.  “Oh, like you scare me?  Go ahead and do your worst.”  He sneered at the guy.  “Or maybe we should go ahead and start calling you Boris the Boring after all?”

“All of you are my witnesses.”  Mysterio looked out at the audience, his hands spread open.  “What do you think?  Should I truly do my worst to this brash young man?  For I assure you it is a truly terrible thing.”

“Yeah!  Screw him over good!”  Someone from the back shouted out, and was quickly joined by some of the other morons eager for a good show.  “Show us what you can do!”

“Well, then.”  Mysterio tented his fingers under his chin and turned to regard Mike with a cold smile.  “You seem to like rhymes.  How about Mikey the Monkey?  Appropriate for someone from the peanut gallery, is it not?”  This brought laughs and applause from the audience.

Mike flushed and clenched his fists at the reaction.  It helped to remember that nobody he knew would be out there watching.  He’d made the mistake of choosing this two-bit carnival as a rest stop on the long drive back to college.  “Ha, ha.  Real funny.  Whatcha gonna try to do?  Have me scratch my armpits and eat a banana?”

“I am sure that would not be enough to impress such a knowledgeable ‘man’ of the world.”  Mysterio reached into a pocket and fished out the big gold pocket watch he’d used for his previous subjects.  “No, I shall make a real monkey of you.  Give your simian behavior a matching form.  Will that be enough proof for you?”

This made Mike blink, then give a derisive laugh.  The guy was nuts!  He grinned.  Time to show Mysterio up for the loon he was.  “Oh, sure.  A real monkey?  Fur and tail and ‘ook-ook’, right?  Go right ahead.  That way I won’t have to finish up my paper on Western Civilization.”  He snapped his fingers.  “Say, I won’t be able to finish school at all!  Guess you’ll need to get me a job here with your lame-ass carnival.  I’ll work for peanuts.”

Mysterio simply smiled and nodded.  “But of course.  I wouldn’t think of abandoning a dumb animal.”  That brought a fresh round of laugher at Mike’s expense.  The bastard knew how to twist a conversation, but he would still end up the loser here.  He raised the gold watch high, and started swinging it slowly in front of Mike’s face.  “I want you to look at the watch and relax, Mikey.  Focus on the watch and my voice, and empty your mind of everything else.”

Mike made a point of staring past the watch up into the man’s eyes.  Better to play it safe and not cooperate at all on the off chance the guy really could hypnotize him.  He didn’t want to find himself swinging for the tent poles when this was all over.

“You are feeling relaxed now, Mikey.  Tension and fear are draining away, and you hear only the sound of my voice.”  The guy was repeating the same drivel he’d used on the first two, trying to pretend it was working.  His expression was neutral, giving no indication of annoyance at Mike’s resistance, and he met Mike’s gaze evenly.

The staring contest got boring quickly, and Mike switched his attention to the watch.  It looked really old and heavy, probably pretty valuable.  Damn, he should have bet the guy something before they started.  Bet his car against the watch.  The guy wouldn’t have been able to refuse without admitting he was a fake.

There was some fancy engraving on the case.  Mike tried to follow the watch to make out what it showed as Mysterio droned on.  It was a really pretty watch.  The gold glinted dully in the harsh lights of the carnival tent, carefully polished and free of nicks or scratches.  He concentrated on the patterns, determined to identify the picture.

“What is your full name?”  Mysterio had finally ceased his droning, though the question was posed in the same even tone.

“Michael James Carter.”  The response sorta slipped out before Mike thought about it, but what did it matter?

“No, your name is Mikey.  Just Mikey.  Monkeys don’t need any more than that.”

That brought a flicker of annoyance, especially when the guy asked the same question again.

He frowned slightly, still intent on figuring out the image on the watch as he answered.  “I already told you.  Mikey.”  Why did the guy keep repeating himself?  The audience must be catching on, for a smattering of laughter reached his ears.

Mysterio didn’t react, choosing to continue the farce.  “And what do you do, Mikey?”

“I’m a sophomore at the University.  Majoring in Business.”

“Oh, I think you are a little confused, Mikey.  Perhaps you meant that you major in monkey business?”

“Yeah.”  There was more laughter mixed with scattered applause.  What were they clapping for?  Maybe they liked the fact he was learning to be a...  monkey?  Something didn’t seem right, but he couldn’t quite grasp what was wrong.  Then the pattern recaptured his attention.  He almost had it now.  Some sort of geometric pattern, lines and circles.

“And you are a very good monkey, aren’t you?  Mikey the Monkey is the best monkey ever.”

“Uh-huh.”  Mikey nodded his head distracted, not really paying attention to the man who smiled down at him as he continued to swing the watch back and forth.  If he was studying to be a monkey, then he must be good at it.  There was more applause that faded away into a collection of gasps and nervous-sounding whispers.

“Mikey the Monkey is a handsome young animal, isn’t he?  Everyone likes Mikey the Monkey, because he is cute and furry.  Tell me who you are, Mikey.”

“I’m Mikey the Monkey.”  Mikey suddenly realized his pants were slipping down, somehow having gotten undone.  Weird.  All his clothes felt really loose, but he couldn’t work up enough concern to take his gaze away from the watch, which swung in front of the man’s stomach.  He was cute and furry, and he didn’t need to wear clothes anyway.  The gasps were louder now, and there was some scuffling of chairs.  One woman screamed.  What were they all so upset about?  It didn’t matter – he almost had the pattern now.

“Very good.”  The man dropped the shiny thing lower so Mikey could watch it swing back and forth without raising his head.  “You are a monkey, and you will remain a monkey for the rest of your life.  That makes you happy, doesn’t it?  You want to be a monkey forever.”

Mikey nodded absently, having trouble focusing on the shiny thing and the man’s words.  There were a lot of other humans here, making loud noises and running away, but he felt safe and happy here.  He twisted his tail free of his tent-like shirt, and was relieved when the confining clothing around his legs dropped away.  “Yeah.  Mikey be a monkey forever.”

“Excellent.  We are almost all done here.  You have the fur and the tail.”  The human squatted down and smiled at Mikey, keeping the shiny thing moving.  “I want you to remember, Mikey.  Remember who you were and what you had.”

Confusion clouded Mikey’s thoughts, and a swirl of memories returned.  Michael James Carter, 19 years old and ready to take on the world, loving family back home, friends waiting for him at school, not a bad guy but a little too smart-mouthed for his own good.  The shock was almost enough to break his fascination with the watch, but he realized that the human past now resided in an animal brain.

“When I snap my fingers, you will wake up as a monkey.  You will think and act as the animal you are, and the final bit of proof you required will be done.”

The shiny thing was suddenly jerked away and Mikey heard a loud sound.  He blinked and looked up in bewilderment, trying to match images of what he somehow knew was his own past with the reality of his existence.  The human towering over him made some noises, but all he identified with were ‘my kee’.  A jumble of sounds that might have been words tried to make their way out of his throat, but all that emerged was ‘ook-ook.’

The human smiled and nodded, and tossed him a peanut.

The End

Substitution Penalty

“Woooooooooooooooo.”

“Stop it, Brad!”  Melissa kicked at the boy under the table.  “This is serious!”

Brad rolled his eyes.  “Oh, right.  We’re gonna talk to some dead guy using an old bone and a game board?”

“It’s an Ouija board!”  Martin Silverman, the freckle-faced kid across the table, perked up.  The poor sap still thought that his resemblance to the red-haired actor in the Harry Potter movies was ‘cool,’ even dressing the part tonight.   It might have been cute if they were still in fourth grade, but the four of them were high school juniors!  “I looked it up.  There are documented cases where these have been used to communicate with the afterlife.  It’s been scientifically proven!”

“Scientifically proven?”  Snorting derisively, Brad leaned back in his chair.  “By who?  How come we don’t have ‘Ghosts and Goblins 101’ instead of biology?”

Alicia scowled.  “Maybe they should offer it as an option for the football team – that way you’d have a ‘ghost’ of a chance of passing!”

“Fun-nee.  Maybe we could raise some ‘team spirits’?”

Melissa glared at him.  “Look, if you’re gonna be a pain about this, just go home.”  That was not good.  The only reason he’d agreed to take part in this silly charade was the hope of getting a Halloween ‘treat’ from her tonight after the others left the party.

“I’m just kidding.”  He pointed at the dull, off-white object that lay on the table next to the game’s rectangular pointer.  “Hey, I brought you the bone, didn’t I?  And it wasn’t easy – If Parker had caught me stealing it from his lab, I coulda gotten kicked off the team!”  He milked the moment for all it was worth.  “I could have gotten expelled!”

“Right!  Like the coach would give up next year’s Quarterback?”  Her expression softened, becoming a guilty smile.  “Still, Mr. Parker is gonna have a fit when he finds part of the skeleton missing.  How did you get it loose?”

“Uh, don’t worry about it.”  Brad flushed slightly.  “I’ll put it back in the morning.  He won’t ever know anything was taken.”

“Come on, Melissa!”  Angie, the fourth member of their quartet, tapped on the table impatiently with a five-inch black fingernail. She was into the Goth look, always dressing in black, and even wearing black lipstick and nail polish.  Combined with her long, stringy black hair and sharp features, the overall effect was a teenage witch.  All she needed was a wart on her chin.

It was hard to understand why his popular, pretty girlfriend would hang with such losers – Martin and Angie had been branded as social outcasts back in Middle School.  But for now, at least, the geek and the freak were baggage that he could deal with.

“OK.”  Melissa positioned the plastic pointer carefully in the middle of the board.  “We have to be really, really careful, OK?  Once we start, don’t talk or joke around.  Everything has to be just right.”  She was so serious about it that Brad had a hard time suppressing a laugh.

One by one, they placed their fingers lightly on the pointer.   Angie had to shift hers slightly so the ridiculous fingernails didn’t drag the board.  When everything was set, Melissa closed her eyes.

“We seek to contact the netherworld, to speak to the soul that this bone was once part of.  Come to us on this night of ghosts and restless spirits, give us a sign that you are here!”

Nothing.  She continued, her voice getting louder.  Brad hid his smirk.  What, did she think ghosts were hard of hearing?  “Lost spirit, wandering soul!  This part of your physical body is a doorway to our world.  Come forth!  Give us a sign!”

The pointer shifted suddenly, sliding an inch to the right.  Brad was startled, then rolled his eyes.  “One of you pushed it!”

Swallowing, Melissa looked at the pointer nervously.  “Spirit?  Are you with us now?”  After a moment, the triangle began to move to the lower right, stopping with the pointer on the word YES.

“What do we ask it?”  Martin was staring at the bone.  “I know!  Spirit!  Were you a man or a woman?”

The pointer remained still.  Melissa frowned.  “Maybe it can only answer yes or no.  Spirit?  Were you male?”  This time, the pointed slid up, back to ‘YES,” then to the middle of the board.

Brad looked at the indicated answer and laughed.  “Maybe?  I think we got the ghost of a fag here!”

“Spirit?”  Angie leaned forward.  “Were you killed in a car crash, or murdered, or anything like that?”

YES again.

“Cool!”  The witch-girl’s eyes were bright.  “We might have seen him on the news!”

“Spirit?”  Melissa looked puzzled.  “How many years ago did you die?”

The pointer slid from the nine to the zero.  Brad stared a moment, then snuck a glance at his companions.  They all seemed focused on the pointer – maybe it was just coincidence.

“Spirit?  Did you die this year?”

The indicator moved down to YES.  OK, this was too weird.  One of them knew.  Brad was a little annoyed that someone was trying to horn in on his trick, but whichever one it was seemed to be playing along for now.  Well, he could share the joke.

“That doesn’t make any sense!”  Melissa frowned, and then gave him a suspicious look.  “You promised that you were going to get a bone from the human skeleton in the science lab!”

Brad tried to look shocked.  “What makes you think I didn’t?”

“That skeleton has been in the lab since I was in ninth grade!  How could he have died this year?”

Damn!  Busted already!  Brad was about to confess when the pointer suddenly began to move again.  To the left, then up, right, and down.  The motion repeated, speeding up as the indicator continued to circle the center of the board.   He blinked.  The air above the board looked misty, almost foggy.

“Guys…?”  Martin was staring at the darkening cloud, eyes wide.  “What’s going on?”

Brad’s mind raced.  This had to be some sort of trick.  Martin was always tinkering with stuff, and Angie was into this magic crap.  They must have tackled this scam together.  Dry ice under the table, or maybe one of those special effects smoke generators.  He jumped as a flash of light flickered through the swirling fog, a miniature bolt of lightning that crackled faintly.  OK.  Plus a strobe light.

“Melissa!?  Make it go away!”  Angie was putting on a good act.  Her face was even paler than normal, and her free hand was trembling.  “This isn’t fun anymore!”

“Spirit!  We don’t want to talk to you now!  Go away!”  If anything, the rolling cloud got larger and darker.  Melissa sounded really scared.  “Something’s wrong!  Brad!  What did you do?”

“This is bullshit!”  Brad stood up suddenly, kicking his chair back.  “If you think I’m gonna fall for your phony spook show…”  He stopped as he looked under the table and saw only the others’ legs.  Where was the equipment that had to be doing this?

“You broke the circle!”  Melissa was staring in horror at the tiny thunderstorm as it began drifting away from the board.  Towards him.

“OK!  OK!”  Brad stumbled back from the approaching cloud.  “The bone isn’t from the lab!  I got it from the butcher shop!  Are you happy now?  Turn it off!”

“We’re not doing anything!”  She looked down at the pointer.  “Stop it!  It was a mistake!  Please, Spirit!  Go back to wherever you came from!”

He backed against the wall, watching the mist coming towards him like a gray-black football in slow-motion replay. Not a joke.  Not a trick.  “Break contact!  Dammit, get away from the board!”  The others stared back blankly, as if hypnotized, fingers still resting on the pointer.   “GRAAAAAAAAH!”  Screaming, he charged through the cloud and slammed into the table, knocking the Ouija board to the floor with a sweep of his hand.  There was a blinding flash of light…

Brad blinked and looked around the suddenly quiet room, breathing hard.  Angie and Melissa were huddled in the corner of the room, while Martin scrambled up from the floor.  He must have been knocked out of his chair when Brad attacked the table.   The Ouija Board was upside-down on the floor, its pointer by Brad’s right foot.  Glaring at the harmless-looking hunk of plastic, he very deliberately crushed it under his shoe.

“Enough of that shit!”  He felt a sudden surge of satisfaction, as if destroying the game piece was a major victory.  Damn, he was pumped up, ready to take on the world!  Grinning broadly, he looked at the others.  “Man, that was intense!”  His voice was louder than he intended, and they actually seemed to cringe back from him.

“Oh, come on!”  Brad frowned, realizing that Martin and Melissa still looked terrified.  Only Angie seemed to be recovering, though she was staring with a strange fascination.  “It’s over! It can’t get to us now! I destroyed the connection!”  He flexed both arms.  “Touchdown!  Humans 1, ghosts zero!  Hoo-ah!”

Melissa’s eyes widened. “Oh, God!  It was already here, Brad!  You didn’t lock it out!  You destroyed the only way we had to send it back!”

“What are you talking about?”  Brad shifted uncomfortably – striking the pose had caused his shirt to get twisted, and the fabric was pulling in strange places.  “Look around.  It’s gone!  And I chased it away!  I’m de man!  Hoo-aaa!  Muuuahw…”  Brad grabbed at his throat suddenly, startled by the strange bellow that had emerged.  “What was that?”  A dull ache began to build in his groin, quickly followed by tightness around his legs, feet, and chest.  He looked down and gasped.  The slightly large Varsity shirt he constantly wore was stretched taught, fabric beginning to tear as his chest and belly ballooned out.

A part of his mind was pleased by the sudden transformation, actually eager for more mass, more weight.  Brad was confused now, knowing he should be terrified, yet unable to get past a growing conviction that his skin should be covered in dark fur, and the odd, weak fingers and hands on his thick, rounded arms were much better off fusing into massive black hooves.  Neck muscles rippled, pushing his head further from dropping shoulders.  Powerful.  Strong.  Massive.  Balance was wavering now, and he was uncertain why he still struggled to balance on two legs.

The three humans were scrambling back now, screaming and shouting things that he couldn’t quite understand.  Hoping to calm them, he dredged up words from the deep muck of his fading intelligence and twisted his expanding muzzle into what he hoped was a smile.  “E’rything is phhhine.  Is ‘ust muuheeeee.”  However, as that last bellow left his lips he realized, as they had known all along, that he was full of bull.

The End

Charlie’s Eyes

Nature called when Scott was climbing over the rusted hulk of an old fire truck. He tried ignoring the signals from his bladder, concentrating on searching for the 1967 Buick that was supposed to be hidden among the trees. Cooler weather hadn’t done much to reduce the insect population, and he had no desire to expose any more of himself to the clouds of mosquitoes than necessary.

After a few minutes, however, he had to choose between becoming a bug buffet and soaking his jeans from the inside. Since most of the insects seemed to be swarming around the cars, he made his way to a small clearing and unzipped. He almost didn’t make it, and sagged in relief as pressure started to ease. At least he didn’t have to worry about offending anyone by watering the plants. Well, mushrooms, in this case. This part of the junkyard probably hadn’t seen a human in weeks. Nobody else was stupid enough to brave steep hills, thorns, and ticks to track down parts for a 30-odd year-old sedan.

As he relieved himself, Scott heard a distant shouting, too faint to understand over the steady sound of his own activity. Probably Mr. Wilson's wife screaming for a price. The couple was old and eccentric, and very hard to deal with. Most of the car nuts he knew stayed away from the junkyard because the old man charged high prices, and also because they didn’t want to hike over a mountain to find what they were looking for. Scott knew the secret to dealing with him, though. Wilson had a weakness for fantasy books.

It was a strange interest for someone who looked like the stereotypical redneck, but Scott had noticed a dog-eared copy of “Lord of the Rings” on his desk the first time he came. Next visit, he gave the guy some modern fantasy paperbacks that he’d planned to throw out anyway. Not only had prices dropped substantially, but after the second such visit Scott was granted freedom to roam the junkyard at will. No one else he knew had ever been allowed to wander unescorted.

The screaming had gotten a little louder, and curiously, almost sounded like it was coming from near his feet. He glanced down just as a tiny spark flared brilliantly on the ground and shot up the stream of urine to explode in his groin.

Instinctively jumping back with a strangled shout, he tripped over his own feet and ended up falling backwards onto the mossy ground. Fear for his privates overshadowed all else for a moment. Then movement in the area of his makeshift urinal drew his attention to something that made him forget even the throbbing heat in his loins. Something that looked like a tiny cross between a grasshopper and a very old woman was heading for him. A very angry cross between grasshopper and old woman.

He stared in disbelief for a moment, trying to figure out what he was seeing. Then a second spark of light formed on the thing’s antennae and hit his left foot with numbing force. Any further curiosity was abandoned in a mad scramble to escape. He felt a burning pain shock his back with even greater force than the first two, and was nearly blinded when he looked back and caught a fourth square in the forehead. That last bolt actually saved him from further attacks, for it sent him tumbling down a steep ravine.

Recent storms had left the ground fairly soft, and Scott reached the bottom without serious injury. Wincing from assorted scrapes and bruises, he struggled free of the dead branches that had broken his fall. What in Hell had he run into? He tried to come up with something logical. A bug that shot lightning bolts? Whatever it was, he knew the attack was not imagined. His whole crotch throbbed with heat, as did the middle of his back. In contrast, the lower half of his left leg had lost all feeling. His head didn't hurt, but his forehead was swollen and hot to the touch.

There was renewed shrieking from above, that sounded like more of the weird insects were joining in.  The noise touched some inner sense that raised the hair on the back of his neck, and brought real fear to his heart.  He spun and limped as quickly as he could back towards the road.  The junkyard office was a half-mile away, but it was the only place where he could get help.  Maybe Wilson knew what was going on.

The wife was talking to someone on the phone, her back to the door. Wilson, puffing on the stub of a cigar in his battered old recliner, smiled when he first saw Scott, but then went pale and sat up abruptly. "What in Hell did you do, boy?" His wife turned and gasped, backing away in obvious horror.

Scott realized he must look really awful, and hoped that he hadn't been hurt worse than he thought. "Something, I don't know what. I was up in the old part of the yard, and something attacked me. Looked like some big bug, but I swear it shot electricity at me!" The couple looked panicked. Probably afraid he was going to sue them. "I need to go somewhere to get checked out. Is there a hospital or doctor's office around here? I have insurance."

"What. Did. You. Do?" Wilson's voice was harsh, and there was no mistaking the raw terror in his eyes.

"Nothing!" Scott was bewildered by the man's reaction. "I was looking for that 67 Buick. Over behind the fire trucks. I went over to a clearing, and then this weird grasshopper thing attacked me. Never saw anything like it before!"

"Before that! What did you do just before it attacked you?" The man was grilling him like a murder suspect.

Flushing slightly, Scott battled growing anger and embarrassment. "I had to take a leak. It was too far back here, so I went over to the clearing to get away from the mosquitoes. Maybe it had a nest under the mushrooms…"

"Shit!" The man interrupted him, pushing out of the chair with surprising speed. "God-damn idiot takes a piss in a toadstool ring, and don't know why he got attacked! Oh Christ Almighty!" He grabbed a walkie-talkie and shouted "Charlie! Get yer ass outa there now! Don't come back to the front of the yard. Charlie? Damn your hide, you'd better not be sleepin' this time!"

Scott stared open-mouthed as the woman scooped the contents of the cash register into her purse, and ran out the door.

Wilson screamed once more at the walkie-talkie, and then threw it aside and glared at him. "I let you wander around 'cause I thought you knowed better! All those books you brought me. Didn't you read any of 'em?" Then he pushed past and followed his wife out the door. She was already waiting in the truck, and before Scott made it outside, they peeled out in a spray of gravel and dirt and took off down the road.

He looked around, wide-eyed. What would scare them so badly that they'd run off and leave their business like this? Then he picked up a faint and terrifyingly familiar sound which seemed to build. Maybe they had the right idea. Scott stumbled for his car. Better get out of here now, and try to get help on his own. There was a fire station about ten miles back… He stopped, patting his pockets frantically. Oh, shit! His keys were in his toolbox. And his toolbox was up by the old fire truck.

Scott's throat was suddenly very dry. The phone. He could call for help. Walking was getting harder, and he had muscle spasms starting in his back. Going back into the office, he shut the door and searched out the telephone. It was one of the old black rotary types, but he got a normal tone when he picked it up and dialed 911. It rang once, and then went dead. The drink machine rattled into silence at the same moment.

A shiver ran down his back, and he caught himself panting. This was crazy. And what was Wilson going on about? What did the old fantasy books have to do with a bunch of weird bugs? A glimmer of an idea formed in his head, but before he could quite identify the link, he saw movement through the window. It was the kid who worked for Wilson. Charlie. A scruffy kid, late teens, with bad teeth and long dark hair that looked like it hadn't been washed in a week. He was scowling, banging on a walkie-talkie as he came out of the far gate and turned to walk to the office.

Scott's first reaction was relief. Charlie probably had a car, and they could get out of here. Then he saw the kid stop and look around in puzzlement. Screaming a warning, Scott ran for the door, but even before he opened it he saw the first sparkle of light. Even a hundred feet away, it was obvious that these were much smaller than whatever had attacked him. Charlie still stood there, waving his hand in the air to shoo away what he must think was a swarm of fireflies.

Maybe he could save the kid. Scott kept telling himself to open the door and call out, get the boy inside. Yet he remained frozen, watching in horrified fascination as the sparkles increased in number. Charlie brushed at his face and hair, starting to look annoyed. He was obviously unaware of the dark hair growing across his cheeks. A dense group of sparkles swarmed around his hands for a moment. He shook them off, and then stared open-mouthed at the dark lumps they had left behind.

He screamed then, a child's pitiful wailing that tore at Scott's soul, only to fall silent as another swarm illuminated his throat. Spinning, Charlie ran for the office. His sudden movement seemed to aggravate the sparkles, and they enveloped him in a malevolent cloud of light. The boy stumbled halfway to the door, and then tripped over an old tire. His clothes fell away as he hit the ground, revealing a twisted, brown-furred body.

As he tried to get up, he caught sight of himself and seemed to sag. The sparkles seemed to intensify their attack. His legs stretched out impossibly thin, and his toes fused into cloven hooves. The boy's outline blurred slightly in the brilliant glow, proportions changing to match his limbs. He looked towards the window, and saw Scott. Incredibly, the boy's face seemed untouched except for patches of fur across his cheeks.

Charlie tried to speak, but he no longer had a voice. He struggled to stand up on all fours, his human head grotesquely sprouting from a deer's neck. Fear left his eyes, and he actually grinned at Scott as the sparkles clustered around his face. His bad teeth straightened, and then pushed out as nose and mouth became a muzzle. Even after his head had fully changed to that of a deer, the boy seemed to be somehow amused, as if he knew the punchline of some inside joke. The sparkles rose up, stopping to form a crown of light around his skull. His large brown eyes showed a moment’s confusion that faded into the empty innocence of an animal. The doe that had been Charlie blinked, and then bolted away for the trees.

Tears ran down Scott's face, and he realized that he had been holding his breath the whole time. His aching lungs drew attention away from his other problems temporarily, but the memory of the boy's transformation provided a terrifying reminder. Sure enough, tugging his left shoe off revealed a swollen, dark mass instead of toes. It was hard to reach the middle of his back, but fingers reported thick, coarse fur instead of his normal body hair. He remembered a mirror in the small bathroom in back, but wasn't ready to see what had happened to his face. There was, of course, the first point of their attack.

They weren't turning him into a doe. His sexual equipment was huge and dark, but it was still definitely male. It was not, however, human. Even after watching Charlie become a deer, Scott was shocked by the obvious transformation of his own body. What next? Would they make him a stag, perhaps even bond the two former humans as mates? Curiosity overcame fear, and he made his way to the tiny, dirty bathroom. It was getting dark, but enough light made it in through the windows for him to see his reflection.

His skull was wide and oddly flattened, obviously part animal. He tried to picture himself as a deer, antlers pushing out from his forehead, only to remember Charlie's eyes. The boy might still be alive out there, but everything that made him who he was had been snuffed out. They had killed him for no reason. The big question was, who and what were 'they.'

Wilson's screaming came back to him, and he went back to the old man's chair. He'd seen the fantasy books before, of course. Many of them were his. He picked up one and saw that Wilson had scribbled on the cover. "Use Latin?' The book was Elf Defense, a modern fantasy story that Scott had read years ago. He frowned, trying to remember what it was about. The main character was a woman who did battle with the King of Elves. A woman lawyer. The Latin phrases had been used as a weapon against elves.

He picked up another book, this one covered with notes. 'Demons of the Dancing Gods.' Another modern fantasy, this one had references to cold iron and soul-stealing used to kill faerie. A quick check of the other volumes seemed to confirm his conclusions. Wilson had been collecting ways to kill elves and faeries from literature. Blinking, Scott stared out the window at the glowing swarm which had slowly made its way back towards the far side of the junkyard. Faerie? In this day and age? The idea was ludicrous. What else could they be? Space aliens? One theory made as much sense as another. And Charlie was still a doe, and he was still… what?

Human enough to drive, at least. Scott stumbled to the window and looked at the ground. The boy's clothing had been reduced to rags, but he could see change and what looked like some keys. There was an old red Ford sedan with current tags on it parked next to the wrecker. It had to be Charlie's. The swarm had vanished into the trees now. He could grab the keys and sneak over to the car. Wilson had gotten away, so maybe he could outrun them, too.

Scott opened the door carefully, and moved slowly to the tattered clothing. Luck was holding, for the keys bore a Ford logo. So far, there was no sign of the sparkling. He started for the car, hope rising. Scratching absently at an itchy ear, he eased the door open and climbed in. Damn. Dropped the key. He saw it on the floor and reached out, only to freeze when he realized that his hand was illuminated by a soft glow.

Raising it, he saw a tiny sparkle on the back of his fingers. It was like a butterfly made of spun, multicolored glass. There was another flicker in the rear view mirror, and he saw two more of the lights hovering by his right ear. If he concentrated, he could pick up an almost musical drone as they flickered around the side of his head. The sound started to increase, and he realized that his ear was actually lengthening. Hair spread across the edges, thickening as the tip reached slowly higher. There was something oddly sensual about this gradual transformation, quite different from the violent shocks he'd experienced before. The other ear was growing now, urged into a different shape by new sparkles. They were both fully animal now, the right ear larger than even the doe's had been.

A brighter glow drew his attention back to his outstretched hand. The single butterfly had been joined by four others, and they danced over his dark, swollen fingers. He gazed at them in wonder, feeling delicate tendrils of light reach into his flesh and remold it, making it thick, and hard, and black. The sensation was warm and thrilling, unlike anything he had ever experienced before. No wonder Charlie had grinned just before…

Scott shook himself out of a daze, and batted the sparkles away with a cry. He groped for the keys, but couldn't close stiffened fingers around them. As he struggled, he felt the gentle touch return to his ears and start on the back of his neck. Shaking them off, he scrambled out of the car and slammed the door, trapping them inside. At least, some of them. The sun was going down, and it was much easier to see the telltale glow in the corner of his eye. Spinning, he swatted them again and ran for the office. His fingers hit the handle with a dull thud, and he had to use his other hand to grab the knob. Once inside, he slammed the door and ran for the bathroom to check for any passengers.

By now it was too dark to see much, but the darkness was actually reassuring. The sparkles would give themselves away if they came in here. Scott shivered as he felt the hard lump of his hand. An automatic glance down startled him, for the once-similar lump of his foot had become an almost fully-formed hoof. It hadn't split yet, but he knew what to expect. A familiar pressure started to build, and he pulled apart his almost ruined pants. This was what had started the trouble. At least there was a toilet here.

Not that it would do him any good. Scott stared at his crotch as a thick, black organ pounded out of what seemed to be an animal sheath. The shaft dropped down, proving to be mottled pink and black as a foreskin slid off the tip and drew back slightly. How had they gotten down there? He'd never seen them around his pants at all! He frowned. Sure, a buck was big. But this didn't look like anything he'd seen in pictures. He felt his back. The coarse hair had spread around to his sides and down his rump, and he discovered a thin projection of hairy flesh at the base of his spine. A tail?

Overwhelmed by morbid curiosity, he searched the shelves for some kind of light. Two flashlights both proved dead, but he finally found some candles and matches in a desk drawer. Fumbling awkwardly with stiff fingers, he managed to get one lit and carried it into the bathroom. The flickering light added a surrealistic touch to the already fantastic reflection.

How could he have missed this? Scott stared at himself, horrified and fascinated at the same time. He'd watched them alter his ears, and managed to ignore the changes to everything in between. A coarse thatch of black hair hung over a broad, flat forehead. His eyes had enlarged, and spread apart to make room for a much wider nose. Where the boy had retained his face until the end, Scott's head and features were probably more transformed than anything else, save his swollen genitals. At least he didn't have to worry about being mated with the boy, for it was already obvious that Scott was becoming some sort of donkey or mule.

What could he do? Even if nothing else happened, he had lost the use of his right hand and left foot. And his head was more deformed beast than human. Was there a way to change back? He thought frantically, trying to remember some of the books he'd read. They'd been entertainment, not something he'd taken seriously. Wilson had believed, though. He had damn good reason. Scott stared at the small bookcase, and shook his head. Of course! All the notes. The answer was probably scribbled on one of these books.

It was hard to read. He wanted to blame the candlelight, but knew it was at least partly due to his changed eyes. Even so, he managed to come up with a list of possible cures and protections. Most were useless. He didn't have any silver, and anything that lived in a junkyard had no problem with steel or iron. Latin phrases sounded promising, assuming he could remember anything in that language. Ironically, a scene from Disney's ancient 'The Shaggy Dog' came to mind, with the boy trying to figure out a Latin phrase that eventually turned him into a dog. En Canis Corpore Transmuto. Or in this case, En Donkey Corpore Transmuto. Whatever the Latin word for Donkey was.

A couple of the stories mentioned daybreak as a turning point. If the transformation had not been completed by sunrise, the victim returned to his or her natural form. That sounded more like vampire stories, but he was desperate. Vision blurred a bit more, and he finally gave up reading. It didn't matter. If he didn't avoid the creatures, he'd be finished regardless. At least he had a chance as long as he stayed away.

Scott blew out the candle, blinking in the sudden darkness. The wick faded, leaving only a single spark which drifted up into the air. Towards him. Backing up, he almost tripped on his pants, kicking them off over the fully-formed equine hoof on his left leg. The spark followed, avoiding the frantic waving of his hands, only to vanish in front of his nose. A pleasant pulsing expanded his face outward, his mouth and nose slowly forming into a snout.

Batting at his nose was painful and ineffective. The damn thing had actually flown up inside his nostrils! The solution was simple, if accidental. His hoof-like hand bruised the tender flesh of his nose, and it started running. He blew his nose.  The sparkle got trapped in his snot, and wrapped up in a paper towel. At this rate, he wouldn't last another hour, much less all night. At least they hadn't attacked him in mass, like they had the boy.

Which was curious. Why this one-on-one bit? Or for that matter, why had they attacked Charlie at all? He'd just been standing there. A pang of remorse hit him. Of course. They had simply gone after the first human they found, thinking it was him. Scott should have become the doe, been the one who was swallowed up by animal instincts. Would the boy be happy as a doe? Charlie might find contentment in grazing, bearing young. More likely, he would end up as venison on the table of someone he knew.

Another flicker caught his eye, and he struggled to focus. Damn this blurred vision! Now it was getting hard to tell reflections in the glass from glimmers that could be coming to change him further. The building wasn't going to keep them out. He saw a couple of sparkles explore the window, and felt his stomach clench as one found a gap between the panels and floated in. Reluctantly, he moved to the front windows and looked off to the side.

The far end of the junkyard was bathed in a soft glow, with brighter flashes close to the ground. A faerie conference? Probably a report on him. So far, the main troops didn't seem to be very bright. They'd attacked the wrong human, and not even checked Scott out. A few seemed stubborn, doing their best to finish up what the big ugly bug in the woods had started. Their queen, he guessed. Literally pissed off at him. If she figured out the mistake, she'd send the troops after him. And a few knew where to look.

He twitched his tail nervously, and then grabbed suddenly at the new appendage. It was almost fully formed, thanks to a sparkle clinging tenaciously to the tuft of black hair on the tip. He dislodged it, and ran for the door. There were still only a few of the creatures around the office, and they didn't seem to move suddenly even when he stepped outside. Instead, they flickered into the building.

A closed car would be perfect. Charlie's Ford already had some of the creatures in it, and his own car was locked. Nothing else was intact enough to provide protection. The Lincoln! He turned suddenly and made his way towards a side path. There was a 1959 sedan in the back part of the yard that was weather tight enough to keep its upholstery clean and dry a decade after it was junked. Maybe it could protect him from the sparkles.

Reaching the car was harder than he expected. His right hand was a hoof now, and the equine left leg gave him a lopsided gait that was difficult to manage. Despite some rattling of old hubcaps and crackling of branches underfoot, none of the creatures followed him. When he finally spied the car, his heart sank. The rear window was gone, probably sold to a collector. Still, the sparkles hadn't found him so far. Maybe he could just stay back here.

He slumped to the ground, perversely grateful for the furred hide than now covered his buttocks. Leaning back against the car, he shut his eyes and tried to relax a little. Even sitting still, the sensations from his body were strange and different. The hoof on his leg, for example. It wasn't really numb, not completely. He could feel the coolness of the ground, even some of the texture. It was more like wearing really thick shoes. And the scents and sounds of the world around him had gotten more intense. This whole experience was terrifying, but he could almost enjoy it. If he could only shake the memory of Charlie's eyes.

A noise startled Scott awake, and he fought against the urge to break and run. How long had he been asleep? Quite a while, judging from the stiffness in his joints. There were no obvious changes to his body, so he'd remained undiscovered. So far. More noise from the woods. And then he saw the lights. Two, three, four bright blurs of light floated in the distance. Oh, God! Not the little ones, with their pleasant oblivion. Four like the first monster, all lightning bolts and pain.

He got up and tried to move quietly, but his deformed body betrayed him. A glass bottle shattered under the weight of his hoof, and the lights swung suddenly in his direction. He could hear faint shouting, deeper than the original. Kings instead of queens, maybe. There was no comfort in that, only memory of pain. He had a head start, but knew they would catch him quickly. There was only a moment of indecision, and then he struck out for the far corner of the yard.

It looked like he wouldn't make it at first, for the lights moved faster than he expected. But they faltered as he got closer to the fire trucks and actually vanished before he reached the clearing. He was surprised to see only a few of the sparkles floating around the trees. Where was the great swarm? One landed on his left hand, and he felt the touch of transformation begin. Better this exquisite pleasure than the brutal attacks. He could only hope they finished before the four big ones came back.

More tiny lights floated out of the tree, until a brilliant swarm formed around him. They seemed to flit about in an agitated state, and then clumped over his body with a sudden force that was terrifying and almost orgasmic at the same time. Scott fell forward as his body twisted and gained mass, catching himself on arms that were almost instantly forelegs. He felt huge and awkward, muscles pulling under unfamiliar skin.

They flew around his head now, finishing up the coarse muzzle, and turning his last soft moan into a coarse braying. Almost done now. He twisted around and looked at his massive, dark body. Some sort of monster jack mule, the kind they used to pull logs and wagons. He felt wonderful and terrible at the same time, enjoying the sensations of mass and strength while he struggled with a mind that couldn't quite decipher the equine body's signals.

This was why Charlie had grinned. He'd felt the battle between animal form and human mind, and reveled in the promise of fulfillment that the doe's soul had brought with it. A moment of confusion, and then a new life.

Why weren't they finishing? Scott looked around, but saw only a few sparkles around his head. The others were vanishing into the leaves, hiding from the dull orange glow of dawn. Dawn? His thoughts thickened as the stragglers did their best to complete the change, but he realized that the large lights hadn't come back to the clearing. If the little ones had to go back to the trees, why didn't the big ones?

He stood there, mentally stuck between mule and human, until the sun was peeking over the horizon. All of the creatures had vanished, except for one large and familiar bug that seemed to peer at him with beady eyes. Scott called out for it to finish him, to make him truly a mule. But all that came out was a low wheeze that echoed across the woods.

It vanished suddenly as shapes appeared in the trees. Scott tried to focus distorted eyesight, and finally made out four humans. As they got closer, he recognized the Wilsons. Another couple, not so old, looked at him hopefully. The woman, dark haired with bad teeth, came over to him. "Charlie?"

Wilson shook his head. "Sorry, Harriett. This is that fool what started everything. He was already part mule when he came back to the office."

"Maybe Charlie got away…?" Her voice trailed off as the older man shook his head.

"You saw the clothes. He's something big, probably a buck or a doe. Best we can do is spread the word, and hope he lasts a few seasons. Hell, four or five years might seem like a real full life to him."

The woman started sobbing, and fell against her grim husband. Scott felt sick. The boy's parent's obviously. He wanted to say he was sorry, to find some way to make up for the terrible mistake. There was no way, of course. The last touches of the sparkles had stripped away even the basic concepts of writing and speech, though he could understand the humans around him.

"Damn, I can't figure why he came back here." Wilson snorted in disgust. "When I saw him over by the car, I thought we'd be able to save at least one of them. It's like he wanted to be a damn mule."

Unable to respond, Scott looked around in confusion, and then felt a cold chill when he saw the large flashlight hanging from Wilson's waist. The others had them as well. Four people. Four lights in the darkness. Not the monster fae he had feared, but a last sliver of hope.  He wanted to scream and cry, but could do neither. Salvation as a human or a mule had been minutes away. Now both would elude him forever. The great shaggy beast dropped its head and longed for the blissful emptiness of Charlie's eyes.

The End

Surrogate

The service road was rough enough that Devin didn’t feel anything unusual in the old 4x4’s steering until a sudden metallic squeal and snap came from the front end.  He jammed on the brakes instinctively, only to have the right front slam and catch on the ground, causing the borrowed pickup to flip neatly over the edge and tumble end-over-end down the mountainside.  He screamed as the world did somersaults around him, throwing up his arms as the windshield exploded.  The truck closed in around him, each impact crushing the cab down a little more.  He threw himself sideways across the bench seat just before a final, bone-jarring thud sent him spinning into darkness.

Something was grunting close to Devin’s ear.  He struggled awake, trying to make sense of confused memories and strange surroundings.  As eyes focused, he found himself staring at a dark blue plastic panel with a chromed nameplate proclaiming ‘Cheyenne.’  Right.  Andy’s truck.  Oh, shit.  He’d gone off the road!  It was hard to move, but he did a quick test of limbs and was relieved to find everything seemingly operational.  Was he bleeding?  In shock?  And what the hell was grunting?  He twisted his head back to look for the source, and then screamed as something soft and rubbery pulled at his face.

Squirming back in a panic, he discovered the driver’s door was either open or gone.  He had to fumble with the old seatbelt latch a moment to get free, and slid out of the cab onto mossy, damp ground.  Taking a deep, shuddery breath, Devin gaped at the crumpled vehicle.  Unrecognizable except for the color, the old Chevy was less than half its original size.  The roof was crushed down to the level of the dashboard, and both the camper shell and cargo bed were missing.  After staring a moment, he threw up violently on the ground.

Oddly, he felt better afterwards.  Maybe because there was no blood in the bile.  In fact, he seemed to be mostly unhurt except for some dull aches that promised impressive bruising later on.  He brushed bits of glass from his blond hair and shoulders, then stood up shakily.  The camper shell was dangling from tree branches about a hundred feet up the steep slope, with the road probably another couple of hundred feet above that.  It would be a tough climb, but he was lean, fit and young.

He’d almost forgotten about the strange contact when he heard a louder, deeper grunt from the other side of the wreckage.  The noise was vaguely familiar, not quite the sound of a pig, but close.  As he moved around the front for a look, something large and dark thrashed violently on the ground.  “Shit!”  He jumped back, heart pounding.  A large caribou was caught under the front of the truck.  From the short antlers, it was probably a female.  It was also dying.

The animal flailed its forelegs weakly, blowing bloody froth from its mouth with each panting breath.  Its hindquarters were pinned under the wreckage, apparently crushed by the impact.  Devin clenched his fists, hating to see her suffer.  Caribou were beautiful animals.  They were common throughout Alberta, and popular targets for hunters.  However, this one should have been safe, for they were in the fringes of Jasper National Park.  Safe from bullets, but not falling trucks.  Just when he thought he couldn’t feel any worse, another, much smaller shape stumbled awkwardly into view.

A calf, newborn or hours old, with remnants of the umbilical dangling from its belly.

“Aw, crap.”  Devin felt his eyes burn and tear up as his gut tightened.  The calf must have been lipping him before.  It stared up at him, obviously confused, and grunted plaintively.  Then it dropped its head to sniff and then nosed its mother’s side.  She lifted her head a few inches, eyes showing white, and then fell back.  Scratch two caribou, for the calf didn’t have a prayer out here on its own.

Did the Park have any kind of rescue service?  If he could get the calf someplace it could be bottle fed… that thought died as he remembered where he was.  Dammit!  Just getting himself out of this ravine would be difficult enough.  And he was miles from anywhere.  The Service Road had seemed like a good idea, since it cut directly over from 16 to 103.  Andy had told him about the shortcut when he’d handed over keys to his truck.  “Nobody uses it this time of year, and you’ll save an hour getting through Jasper.”

Just how far was he from any kind of help?  At least 30 miles from Jasper.  And he’d been on this service road a good ten or fifteen miles.  Naturally, the truck had picked the halfway point to break.  Devin looked back up the rugged mountainside and frowned.  He was in good shape, but trying to scale that and also hike long distance without proper gear was going to a problem.  And it would be dark soon.  Just perfect.

Another soft grunt drew his attention back to the calf, who was snuffling the mother’s belly where it disappeared under the mangled metal.  Unable to comprehend what had happened, it was trying to reach the teats that it knew meant food.  Devin moved cautiously around the mother.  She was barely breathing now, but might still manage to snap or kick at him to protect her young.  The calf twisted around and sniffed at him, and then resumed trying to reach the elusive udder.

“Hello, little guy.”  Devin spoke softly, and reached out to gently stroke the soft fur on the baby’s flank.  It flinched a little, but did not even look up from its quest.  It must have already decided he was no threat.  Devin squatted down and peered under the wreckage.  The female’s odor was strong and acrid, her hide mated with sweat.  Her udder was swollen with milk, but it was too far back for the struggling calf’s lips to reach.  An experimental push against the truck failed to budge it.  The calf grunted and snuffled at him, then nosed his chest.

Tears ran down Devin’s cheeks.  Dammit, this was all so unfair!  The mother should have been safe down here in the ravine, her baby should have had a life that could measured in years, not hours.  Now it would starve to death with the food it needed just inches away.  There had to be something he could do.  He placed a trembling hand on the mother’s side.  “I’m so sorry.  I know you’re scared and hurting.  And me being here is probably making it worse.  But I want to try to help your baby here, even if it’s just for a little while.”  He spoke soothingly, stroking the dense fur a little longer before pulling the calf away from the gap.  “Let me try something, little guy.”

Lying on his belly, Devin had no problem reaching the teats.  How did these things work?  Farmers milked cows.  He struggled to remember old TV shows or biology textbooks.  The first touch of his hand caused the mother to quiver, and he jerked it away.  “I’m trying to help your baby.”  He whispered more to himself than anything, building up the courage to try again.  This time he wrapped fingers around a teat and pulled down.  A squirt of liquid hit the ground.

After a few more tries, Devin manages to fill one cupped palm with milk and slid out carefully.  The calf sniffed and almost instantly had licked up the still-warm nourishment.  By the time the mother’s udder was empty, Devin’s hand and arms were screaming in agony.  However, the calf appeared to be satisfied for now, and contented itself with snuffling and nuzzling him.

The mother gave a wheezing grunt.  Her eyes no longer showed white, but that could be due to impending death.  Still, he slid up and gently lifted her head into his lap.  Her nostrils quivered, probably catching a mix of her own milk-scent and the calf, who came over to touch its nose to hers.  It was enough to get Devin’s tears flowing again.  “It’s all I can do.  I’m sorry.”

He could see himself reflected in her liquid brown orb.  There were impressions of curiosity, confusion, sadness, concern for the baby.  Devin blinked, feeling a little confused himself.  Where was that coming from?  Yet the longer he stared at her, the stronger those feelings got.  The calf lipping at his neck seemed more important, both creating and filling a need that had never existed before.

Devin blinked.  The calf was lying down beside him, sleeping.  How had it moved so quickly?  He must have dozed off.  A glance down told him that the caribou mother was dead.  He slid out from under her and gently lowered her head to the ground.  Nature would not be so kind – predators would rip her carcass to shreds.  His gut clenched suddenly.  Damn!  Predators!  Here he was with a newborn calf and a dead adult, both prime targets for wolves, bears, and whatever other carnivores might be wandering the woods.  He looked around, alert for sounds or movement.  He needed to get away from here, to get the calf someplace safe.

The calf struggled up as soon as Devin stood, and stayed close as he moved around the wreckage to make a quick search.  Here was nothing useful he could see – everything loose must have been scattered down the side of the mountain.  The smart thing to do was to climb back up to the road.  Someone was bound to come along.  But that meant abandoning the calf.  He couldn’t do that.  It took a moment before he realized it was more than just lingering guilt.  The thought of leaving the calf was as abhorrent as chewing off his own arm.  If a pack of wolves attacked right now, he was quite certain he would die to protect it.

Although he was disturbed by that, Devin focused on getting out of here.  He needed to find a path back to the road that the calf could follow.  The service road had dipped down a few miles back.  There would be less to climb, anyway.  He sighed, then started walking in what he hoped was the right direction.  The calf grunted and scampered to follow.  It might have been Devin’s imagination, but as the wreckage was lost from view he thought he could see dark shapes already slinking towards it.

Night fell quickly, and after being unable to find any sign of the road above, Devin decided to stop and rest.  The calf butted against his leg and nosed his belly, grunting insistently.  “Sorry, little guy.  I don’t have anything for you.”  There was no shelter around, and he silently cursed himself for not at least trying to find his jacket.  Even mid-May, it still got cool at night.  He’d be pretty chilly.  And hungry.  Devin looked at the calf sadly.  It was already hungry.  How far could they get before lack of nourishment made it too weak to follow?

Scouting around, Devin located a hollow filled with decaying leaves.  It would make a good place to rest.  The strong odor of the natural mulch would help hide their scents from predators, and he had a clear view of the area.  How did he know that?  He shrugged to himself.  Well, it made sense, anyway.  Though it wouldn’t be much help if they did get attacked, he also located a stout length of an old branch to use as a club.  Then he settled into the leaves with the calf huddled next to him, and tried to rest.

He came awake sometime during the night.  Although it was uncomfortably cool, what had disturbed his sleep was prodding and licking on his stomach.  The calf had pulled up his shirt and was searching for dinner.  “Wish I could help, little guy.”  He tried to push his shirt back into his pants, but the calf pulled it out and resumed nosing.  Sighing, Devin decided to let the calf satisfy itself that nothing was there.  He lay back in the leaves, staring up at the dark silhouettes of branches overhead.

It seemed less cold when he opened his eyes again, though it was still dark.  The calf hadn’t given up, or was trying again.  He felt the lips tug and pull, and then a strange sensation almost like urinating.  Huh?  Pushing up to his elbows, Devin stared groggily down at his stomach.  The calf was busy lipping and pulling at dark protrusions that seemed to be attached to Devin’s belly.  The odd urinating sensation came back, pulsing in time with the calf’s efforts.  There was something wrong with that, but the activity relieved pressure in his gut and also satisfied a curious need that he couldn’t quite identify.  Fatigue won out over curiosity, and after detecting no threat, he lay back and slept again.

The reddish glow of sunrise was visible through the trees when he woke next.  .He felt surprisingly comfortable.  The leaves must have made a good blanket, and the calf was pressed against him.  He sniffed at it, finding comfort in the familiar scent, then stood up and shook himself.  Still not quite awake, he realized he really needed to take a piss. Moving away from the still-sleeping calf, he undid his jeans and faced one of the pine trees.  Then yelped as hot liquid sprayed down into the seat of his pants.

Bewildered, he stumbled back from the tree, yanking his soaked jeans and underpants down.  The organ he expected to see was no longer protruding from his crotch.  Instead, there were two protrusions from a dark swelling a bit higher up. An udder and teats.  Just like the ones on the mother caribou.  As his head cleared, Devin remembered some strange dreams during the night.  The calf lipping and pulling, nursing.  Reaching back, he slid his fingers over his buttocks.  There were several things wrong.  He felt dense hair covering the skin, and after identifying the one familiar opening, discovered a new one below.  He was a she.

Devin grunted out a laugh.  Oh, right.  He was a female.  A female caribou, if the udder was any indication.  At least this was a really interesting dream.  There was movement behind as the calf lurched up and stumbled over.  It found the imaginary teats and began nursing hungrily.  Devin grunted again at the curious feelings, pressure and release.  He felt relaxed, satisfied.  Nice dream.  His nostrils quivered, and he flicked his ears.

Huh?  Suddenly fully awake, Devin reached up to feel her face.  Her mouth and nose were pushed out, not quite a muzzle, but not far from it.  Ears had migrated higher on her had, and when she checked her forehead she discovered large bumps that grew out noticeably as she stood there in shock.  Grunting in fear, she pulled away from the calf, who protested and tried to find her teat again.

What was going on here?  Devin stared at herself.  Thick brown fur was spreading up her chest, which had barreled slightly.  Her hands throbbed, and the four fingers on each slowly merged into two digits that became dark and hard.  Something in-between hooves and hands.  The weight of her antlers increased, as did the intensity of her senses.  That included her awareness of the calf, who had resumed nursing, and of the presence of...  others.

Blinking, Devin stared as a dozen caribou emerged from the trees.  Part of a larger herd, no doubt, perhaps investigating the scent of the calf.  A magnificent stag ambled close and sniffed at the calf, then at her.  Devin remained still as he inspected her, afraid and excited.  If she was going to save the calf, she had to be accepted, be part of a herd.  She tried to resist that mindset, but the calf’s needs were dominant.

Teeth closed on the fabric of her shirt, and the male yanked hard enough to make her stagger.  The garment ripped free with surprising ease, leaving her naked.  Devin trembled, her mind whirling.  This couldn’t be real.  The male plodded around her, snuffling and licking her sex, then continuing around and facing her again.  He grunted loudly, then nosed her muzzle.  His breath, his scent filled her nostrils, and she felt yet another connection reach out and bind her.

When the male turned and ambled into the woods, Devin followed with the other females.  She could see more of the herd now, with young calves scampering nearby.  Other animals snuffled and lipped at her in greeting, reinforcing the sense of belonging.  And thought Devin was scared out of her mind, she was also fascinated by the possibilities.  She wasn’t an animal – she still had hands of a sort and walked on two legs.  And despite the strong instincts that were still growing, she had not lost any of herself.

Her calf trotted alongside, stopping occasionally to sniff at some leaves or a strange plant.  Devin knew that it truly was her calf now, her responsibility.  Somehow, she’d become a surrogate mother.  But for how long?  Once the calf was weaned, she might change back.  Assuming she didn’t follow any of the other urges that had surged when the male was near her.   She flicked her ears, finding those urges more interesting as she thought about them.

There was no point in bemoaning her fate, or worrying about the future.  For now, Devin decided to accept her lot and enjoy the maternal pleasures granted her by whatever power had reshaped her.  Somehow, she had the feeling that the outcome would be up to her.  Movement and grunting alerted her, and she nosed the calf away from its investigations.  Her herd was on the move.

The End

Knight on the Town

“Look, it’s Sir Dungheap!  All hail the valiant Knight on his noble steed.”  The gate guards laughed and made exaggerated bows as Peren plodded out of the castle on his shaggy, Percheron who had the unlikely name of Thunder.  While the stable boy ignored the oft repeated insults, the mottled gray stallion lifted his tail and dropped some fragrant replies without breaking his shuffling gait.  Fortunately, the guards were used to such events, and did nothing more than grumble as ‘Sir Dungheap’ continued down the road into town.

As soon as they were out of view, the animal’s posture and bearing underwent a dramatic change.  His distended belly sucked back in, the drooping head came up, and his shuffling gait turned into the prancing of a noble’s steed.  Thunder whickered with such obvious amusement that Peren chuckled.  “If they knew you did that on purpose, they’d have probably cut your balls off.”

Thunder snorted and shook his head.

“You don’t think so?”  Peren patted the thickly-muscled neck.  “Well, you don’t know those guys as well as I do.  And then what would you do?  A gelded plow horse isn’t a big deal, but it might be hard to explain when the time came for you to take a Queen.”

This time, the horse squealed and shook his head violently, causing Peren to pale slightly.  “I’m sorry, sire.  I meant no offense.”

Thunder, or more accurately, Prince Baylor, heir to the crown, snorted and picked up his pace.  As much as he enjoyed this equine disguise, he was much more interested in getting into town and changing back so he could meet Gwynn.  And spend several pleasurable hours making use of the very body parts Peren had been joking about.

He wondered how his father might react to this charade.   While the land was at peace and the peasants were mostly happy with the King’s rule, there were always enemies for those in power.  Enemies who would love to seize the heir to the throne for blackmail, ransom, or worse.  As a result, Baylor was forbidden to leave the castle without a formal escort.  The gate guards actually had standing orders to detain him forcibly if necessary.

OK, he didn’t have to wonder.  His father would have a royal purple-faced conniption.  Not so much for defying orders, though that was certainly bad enough.  No, it was his disguise that would send his father into an apoplectic rage. Baylor was playing with forces that many brave knights would run from.  And not without good reason.  The halter that turned him from Prince to plow horse might have been cursed to be permanent.

Baylor slowed suddenly, realizing they were on a different road than the one Peren usually took into town.  He’d slipped into the equine personality that came with this form and followed signals from his rider’s legs without thinking.

The stable boy patted his neck reassuringly.   “The town is going to be crammed with people today – it’s Festival, remember?  This old path is too narrow for wagons further in, so almost nobody uses it any more.  Probably save us an hour getting to the Lamb’s Eye.”

Where Gwynn would be waiting.  Although the serving girl wasn’t as pretty as some of the pampered ladies he was normally surrounded with, she was quite shapely, and more importantly, willing to romp.  He picked up his pace again, eager to get to the Tavern.  It had been almost a week since he could slip away long enough for a tryst, and not a single girl in the castle would dally with him since a chambermaid’s bragging had reached his father’s ears.

The resulting tirade had left him a social untouchable.  Baylor was expected to ‘save’ himself for the Princess Alexia – the barely-pubescent daughter of a long-time ally.  She was a gawky-looking kid who would probably be passably attractive by the time they were married.  Two years from now.

Forced celibacy was frustrating to say the very least.   He had tried sneaking out, only to be caught by the guards.  Rather ironically, the resulting punishment had been the key to his eventual success.   His father had ordered him to spend time in the stable, learning the proper care of horses.  Common labor, ill befitting a noble!  Granted, he wasn’t expected to muck stalls, but why should he have to pick hooves, or brush and curry some dumb animal’s coat?

Sudden movement made him jerk his head around.  Cursed squirrels.  Even though he knew it was safe, Baylor couldn’t quite suppress animal instincts.  This path was unfamiliar territory, and the equine personality was nervous.  It was a good thing he had Peren to guide him.

The stable boy was uncharacteristically silent today.  Perhaps he was picking up Baylor’s nervousness.  While Peren wasn’t the brightest candle in the stable, he did have a good rapport with his charges.  That included Baylor when he was in equine form – something about the youth instilled a sense of trust and comfort.  Which was one reason why he tolerated Peren’s occasional lapses of propriety.

In any other circumstances, they would have never spoken to each other.   Even disregarding the enormous gulf between social standings, the two were as opposite as they could get.  Baylor was classically handsome, with white-blonde hair and deep blue eyes.  Quick witted and somewhat rebellious, the Prince was always testing his limits, as well as the patience of others.

Peren had coarse features and a tangle of nearly black hair that looked as if it had never seen a brush.  His heavily freckled skin bore scars and bruises from equine teeth, and his nose had been reshaped by more than one hoof.  Given Peren’s dirty and somewhat dim appearance, it was just as well that he seemed to have no ambitions beyond his mucking fork.

The impression of slow-wittedness was reinforced by the boy’s cheerful enthusiasm for menial labor and an almost puppy-like eagerness to please.  Baylor had been quick to seize on that trait when the boy showed up during his second week of enforced stable training.  Feigned ignorance and intentional mistakes quickly lured Peren into helping the Prince with his duties, to the point that all Baylor had to do was sit back and maintain an illusion of friendship.

He could smell the Festival now, a mix of sweat, burning coals, and filth.  On the bright side, his equine nostrils found the odors interesting rather than offensive.  That would change when Peren removed the halter and he reverted to human form.  After the Castle’s perfumed elegance, the stench of the Lamb’s Eye was enough to make his eyes water.  Hopefully, Gwynn would be able to slip away quickly.

A faint babble of sounds drifted through the trees.  Baylor was almost sorry they hadn’t gone through the Festival.   Entertainment at court tended to be wailing bards or traveling acting groups.  He rather fancied watching a good bear-baiting, or some of the other activities that his father deemed too undignified for the Castle.  Perhaps there would be time after his tryst with Gwynn… but no, he couldn’t risk being seen.

Not that any of his subjects would recognize him in the wretched clothing Peren provided as a disguise.  Most had never seen him up close, and none would expect the Prince of the Realm to be dressed as a stable hand.   However, he still stood out in any crowd like a pearl among pebbles.  Admiring eyes followed him wherever he went.  It was no wonder that he had become such a magnificent horse.

He wondered what the halter would have made of Peren.  A common mule, perhaps.  He wasn’t likely to find out.  The stable boy was terrified of magic – it was lucky that Baylor had been close by when Peren discovered the artifact in the old section.

There was no telling how long the magic tack had been buried in old straw – that part of the stable hadn’t been used in years.   It had most likely been used by someone who needed a disguise to get into the castle, rather than out of it.  Peren had recognized the halter’s nature only because of the perfect condition of the leather.  Any normal harness would have been ruined by the musty old fodder.

For once, Baylor had been thankful for the tedious studies his father insisted on.  With help from a few tomes pilfered from the Court Wizard’s library, he had deciphered the magic runes embossed into the straps.  Using the harness was simple – put it on and you turned into a horse – take it off and you changed back.  Still, he might never have actually tried it if the King had not forced him to apologize for being rude to a visiting Count.  Furious at the public humiliation, Baylor had decided he would get revenge by sneaking out of the castle.  Using the harness.

Funny to think how terrified he had been just a few weeks ago.  Still, he had been determined to punish his father – in the back of his mind, he had even thought how anguished the King would be if the transformation had been permanent.   That first time had been painful due to an error on his part – the magic affected the body, not anything on it – and he had not stripped first.   Other than that, however, turning into an animal had turned out to be no more dangerous and far easier than changing a suit of clothing.

The road branched off ahead, and he responded to Peren’s guidance towards the left.  Unless Baylor concentrated on maintaining control, his equine personality tended to come to the forefront whenever he was Thunder.  The sudden and drastic changes in perception had been scary at first.  Not just the animal senses, or even the mass and size of being a draft horse.   He found himself reacting to strange noises and movements, the most trivial nonsense creating a momentary flash of fear.  And there was an underlying sense of subservience that he found quite distasteful.

However, once he got used to it, Thunder’s mindset wasn’t all bad.  The closest comparison he had come up with was being pleasantly drunk.  Aside from the occasional squirrel or other small distraction, he tended to find the world a very relaxing, comfortable place.  Like now.  Plodding along the road with Peren on his back, it was easy to enjoy warm sun and rich scents.

Speaking of which – his nostrils quivered, sorting out the mix of odors drifting with the breeze.  Several humans and a horse were ahead, either stopped or moving slowly towards them.  Baylor was fascinated by the amount of information his nostrils provided.  Both humans were male, one an older man with an underlying smell of expensive tobacco, the other much younger and wearing some of the perfume popular with the nobles.  However, it was the equine scent that proved most interesting.  A mare, obviously, but her odor was different from any he had encountered before.  There was warmth to it that touched his thoughts and sent tendrils of heat into his loins.

The source appeared on the trail ahead of them in a few minutes.  A wagon loaded down with casks and barrels blocked the path ahead.  It was facing away from them – the driver must have tried squeezing between the oaks and gotten the rear wheels wedged.  A mousey-looking young man in a traveling cloak was shoving at the back as they approached, and turned to wave with a relieved smile.

“Oh, am I glad to see you!”  The traveler looked up as they approached.  “We were heading into town and took a wrong turn.  Now we’re jammed between the trees.  Can you give us a hand?”

A balding, slightly pudgy fellow with the rumpled brown robes of a friar had stood up from the driver’s seat.  “We’ll pay, of course.  Poor Buttercup just can’t get enough leverage by herself.  I’m sure that handsome fellow of yours can pluck us out without breaking a sweat.”

Baylor snorted, indignation making him forget the still-unseen mare for the time being.  As if . . .

“We’d be glad to help!”

He jerked his head around to stare at Peren, who flushed suddenly and then looked flustered.  After a moment, the boy leaned close and whispered in his ear.  “I’m sorry, Sire.  I wasn’t thinking.  But he is a man of the cloth, and it would only take a moment.  Anyway, aren’t you curious about your strength?”

“I’ll pay you a silver.”  The Friar held up a coin purse and shook it, jingling what he obviously thought was an impressive amount of wealth.

“Oh, I couldn’t take money from the Church, sir!”  Peren’s refusal was surprising – while a silver was less than nothing to a member of the royal family, it was a week’s wages for the stable boy.

Baylor flicked his ears back and forth.  By all rights he should snatch the impudent servant from his back with his teeth and trample him on the spot for even suggesting that the heir to the crown demean himself with common labor.  On the other hand, the Friar had called him handsome, and it might be fun to see just how powerful this stallion’s form was.  He whuffled, and tossed his head in a nodding gesture.

Judging from his bemused expression, the Friar found the exchange curious, but motioned to the right without commenting.  “There is a gap in the trees over here.  If you will work your way around front, I’ll lay out the harness.”

By the time they eased through the close-set trunks, the rotund man had hefted a roll of leather straps from under his seat and jumped down to the ground.  “We usually have a team pull the wagon when it is loaded down, but Buttercup’s sister wasn’t feeling well this morning.”

The mare in question was almost as big as Baylor, though the heavy feathering around her hooves marked her as a Clydesdale.  She was most likely golden brown and white to human eyes.  As they approached, she twisted her head to look at Baylor and whickered, her ears perked forward in curiosity.  He arched his neck and pranced slightly, pleased by her open admiration.  It seemed that he was quite the rake in any form.

Intent on showing off, Baylor stepped smartly into position without any guidance from his rider.  Peren patted his neck and slid off so the heavy tack could be draped in position.  The two travelers buckled up the straps with the ease of long practice, and even Baylor found the routine oddly familiar.  Part of Thunder’s personality, he supposed, though his attention was focused more on Buttercup than the humans.

The mare found him equally interesting, and they snuffled and lipped each other’s muzzles until the mousey youth moved in front of them and took hold of their halters.  He clucked his tongue and pulled forward gently.  “Come on Buttercup, Thunder.  Just a nice, easy pull.”

All business now, the Clyde leaned into her straps.  Baylor followed suit, and after a barely perceptible resistance, the wagon rolled forward.   The sensation of power was intoxicating.  Up to now, the most he had done was carry the stable boy on his back.   In contrast, the wagon was fully loaded with casks, the wooden wheels creaking under their weight.  He could sense the mass, and was surprised they were using a lone mare to pull.

When they didn’t stop after clearing the obstruction, he realized the Friar was hoping to extend the extra pulling power a bit.  Unfortunately, the royal heir to the throne had never been instructed in pulling a wagon, and after clipping Buttercup a couple of times with his hooves, the mare snapped at him.  Baylor was annoyed and also a little flustered – a future King should be able to master something so simple.

The answer came unexpectedly – as he groused to himself about his failure, his rhythm smoothed out and his legs began working in concert with his teammate.  As long as he didn’t actively think about what he was doing, Thunder’s personality took over.

Though he would never admit it, Baylor found the exercise satisfying in a way he couldn’t quite identify.  It was easy to settle into a dull contentment that was enhanced by the warm scent of the mare beside him.  The equine identity had never felt so complete before, but then, this was what a horse like Thunder was bred to do.

As expected, they had to make a number of turns and detours around rough or narrow portions of the old path.  Curiously, he began to anticipate each change of direction, nostrils following a trace of something familiar.  Buttercup.  No wonder the mare could lead them so easily – they were backtracking the way she had come.  Something about that was mildly puzzling, but Baylor couldn’t quite work up enough interest to follow the thought through.

They finally emerged on the main road, moving against a steady flow of travelers, animals, and wagons.  However, he and Buttercup presented a formidable presence and the congestion parted before them.  Baylor caught many admiring looks and brought his head up proudly.  Although Buttercup was leading the team, she picked up his posture and bearing as they continued.

Traffic began to thin after a while, until they were almost alone on the road again.  Buttercup’s scent had been lost amid the mass of odors earlier, but he caught it again as they turned off onto another side road.  The Clydesdale’s ears perked, and she increased the pace.  Obviously, the mare was eager to reach their destination.

Anticipation built within him as well, especially when the new path opened up to an expanse of rolling fields.  The Friar guided them towards a cluster of buildings, stopping next to a large pasture.  Peren came up to hold his halter while the mousey fellow undid the straps of the wagon harness.  By this time, Buttercup was practically prancing in place, and Baylor couldn’t help pick up her excitement.  He nearly pulled loose from Peren when she bolted through the open gate, charging after her as soon as he was released.

While pulling the wagon had been satisfying, it was wonderful to be free of the harness’s confinement.  He galloped across the grass, stopping occasionally to kick up his heels like a foal.  A small, clear pool slaked his thirst, and he found that the lush grass was quite tasty.  As he pulled up a mouthful, he saw Buttercup flop down on her side, and then twist on her back with all four legs flailing in the air.  Curious, he watched as she rolled back to her side, then repeated the action a few times, finally pushing back up to her hooves and shaking herself.

The mare’s scent had been teasing him all day, and now that they were able to move freely, he found himself drifting closer to her.  She watched him warily as she grazed, snorting and trotting a bit further away, then shuffling a step or two closer.   While the exact circumstances were new, he had no trouble recognizing his own reaction.

Baylor had urinated as a horse several times in the past, and had experienced the odd sense of his maleness dropping into public view.  He was a little surprised to discover that Buttercup was the only audience this time, for all three humans had gone into one of the buildings.  Although he did feel a little annoyed that Peren would leave him out in the pasture, it did present him with an opportunity to try out the one part of being a stallion that he had thus far been denied.

The mare proved to be considerably more difficult to entice than Gwynn – he was increasingly frustrated by Buttercup’s unpredictable responses to his advances.  She laid her ears back and snapped at him the first time he nudged her rump, and seemingly presented herself to him a few minutes later only to kick at his approach.  This went on quite a while, his stubborn persistence fueled by Thunder’s lust and Baylor’s determination not to be bested by an animal.

Acceptance came abruptly.  She dropped her head and twisted her tail out of the way, front legs stretched out slightly.  Baylor’s equine personality needed no further prompting, taking control with such force that human perception was obliterated.  He mounted her as a stallion, driven by Thunder’s needs and instincts.

Gwynn was nibbling at his ear.  Baylor came awake, but didn’t respond at first.   He wanted to hang onto the afterglow of incredible sex, but the girl had a habit of babbling on about herself as soon as she had his attention.  It was his fault, he supposed, but feigning interest in her was what kept her legs spread.  Happily, she did not seem to be in a talkative mood for once.  Her lips drifted down to pull gently at his brow, then slid back down his neck to tug on his… mane?

Jerking his head up, Baylor realized he was lying on his side in the fenced pasture, not the dark and dirty confines of the Lamb’s Eye.  More importantly, the amorous attentions were coming from Buttercup.  Rolling to his belly, he pushed up to all fours and shook himself.   The mare snuffled at him, her breath warm and sweet with clover.  He stared at her, trying to resolve ingrained revulsion at coupling with an animal with an almost primal sense of satisfaction.

Even though Thunder had been in control, memories of the afternoon’s activities were vivid.  He found himself feeling curiously pleased with his conquest.  Buttercup had been infinitively more difficult to bed than any human female he had been with, which might explain his sense of accomplishment.  However, that line of thought also reminded him of Gwynn.  The sun was already on its way down now - there would be no time to tryst with her now.  He snorted indignantly.  Peren had left him out in the pasture all afternoon!

Trotting to the gate, Baylor whinnied loudly and pawed at the ground impatiently.  Where were they, anyway?  He tried to focus equine eyes on the buildings.  This did not look like any kind of monastery.  The structures he could make out were more in keeping with a small estate or working farm, solid and new-looking, but lacking the size and ornamentation common to a noble’s manor.  The home of a merchant?

What had that fool Peren gotten them into?  He neighed and trotted back and forth along the fence anxiously.  There were no signs of life.  Even the wagon had been left by the gate, still loaded down with casks and barrels.  Shouldn’t there be servants around?   He struggled to remember the trip here.  Most of the journey was a blur – literally and figuratively.   Detail was lost at any distance, and while he wasn’t quite totally color-blind, most everything appeared to be tinted over brown canvas.

They had left the castle mid-morning.  Even allowing for a short delay to free the wagon, they must have been on the road for hours!  Damn!  It would take just as long to get back, and time was running out.  Baylor had told various lies to parents, instructors, and servants in order to cover his absence today – as long as he was back in the castle by breakfast, no one would be the wiser.  However, his absence would trigger a panicked search.  And discovery.  He stomped his hoof angrily.  It was all Peren’s fault!  They should never have...

Baylor was startled by teeth closing on his side, and he jerked around to see Buttercup standing next to him.  The mare rubbed her muzzle across his back, and then swung her rump around and bumped against him in obvious invitation.  His upper lip curled, trapping her delicious scent in his nostrils.  No conversation, no demands, no complications.  Buttercup definitely had some advantages over her human counterpart.

And so did Thunder.  His loins stirred in response to the Clydesdale’s overtures, though instinct was not so overpowering this time.  He could resist if he wanted to, but why?  Sure, she was a horse.  But so was he, at least for the rest of the afternoon.  If he had to miss out on Gwynn, why not make the most of what he had here?  As he turned to position himself, Buttercup whickered and bolted suddenly, running across the pasture with her tail flagging.  He gave chase with a squeal of protest, encouraged by the promise of pleasures to come.

The sun was a dim glow on the horizon when Baylor finally shook off the pleasant stupor of sated lust.  He almost hated to leave – life as Thunder was certainly relaxed, and for all her teasing, the mare made a pleasant companion.  Well, at least for now.  Her interest in sex would fade pretty quickly now that she had been covered.  Would there be a foal?  He snorted.  Yet another advantage over Gwynn – he had no worries of some bastard brat causing trouble later.  Such problems were not all that hard to have removed, but it was nice to avoid the complications.

It was time to go.  Traveling at night would take longer, and was considerably riskier.  However, Peren was most likely safe from highwaymen.  Not that Baylor was concerned for the boy, but getting into the castle without a rider might be difficult.  At the very least, it would draw unwelcome attention.   He returned to the gate and whinnied loudly.

“What’s the matter, fellah?”  A familiar voice came from the shadows where the fence butted up to a large barn.  The mousey-looking young man stepped out of the darkness and leaned against the top rail.  He must have been watching them for a while, or Baylor would have seen him approaching.  “Only two times?  I’d think you were good for more than that.”

Snorting, Baylor pointedly turned away from the impudent peasant and whinnied again.  Where was Peren?  He would have the stable boy whipped for this negligence.  Stretching his head over the fence, he neighed another demand for his keeper.  If the boy didn’t come soon…

“I’m the only one here.”  The young man shook his head.  “The others left while you were making use of the royal jewels.  Relax and enjoy yourself.  This is your home now.”

His home?  Baylor stared at the human, not wanting to believe what his mind suddenly knew was the truth.  The stable hand had abandoned him here!  Even worse, sold him as common livestock.  Peren would be flayed alive when he was caught!  When the King found out. . .  Baylor’s thoughts did an abrupt about-face as something the young man had said suddenly registered.  ‘Royal jewels’?

As if reading his thoughts, the mousey fellow gave him a sad smile.  “That’s right, your highness.  Your disguise worked so well we’ve decided to let you keep wearing it.  Say, twenty or so years.”  It took a moment for Baylor to recover, but then he reared back in fury and charged the fence, intent on smashing through.

The frail-looking wooden rails should have snapped like twigs.  Instead, it was as if he had slammed into the stone wall of a castle.  Baylor staggered back, his chest burning.  The pain was so intense that he couldn’t breathe at first, his massive body shuddering.

“Peren said you were stubborn.”  The young man had jerked back at his approach, but leaned back on the rail.  “Still, I hate to see an animal suffer needlessly.  The entire fence is spelled against breakage.  You can lean on it, or even stick your head over for a scritch.  But if you try to break through anywhere, it will bite back.  Hard.”

Baylor did not need a second lesson.  It took several minutes to recover from the stunning force, and even then his chest ached dully.  However, even the pain was forgotten as the young man’s words sank in.  He had been kidnapped!  Tricked and betrayed by a common stable hand.  But why?  If the scoundrel here was to be believed, they were going to keep him a horse for the rest of his life!

Ransom.  That was the only answer.  No political threat or favor would hold if he wasn’t returned unharmed and human.  Curse Peren!  The boy had pretended to be his friend, and played the fool to earn Baylor’s trust.  How could he have been so blind?  An item of power like the bridle would have been like a fiery beacon to the court wizards.   There was no way it could have remained undiscovered for any length of time.  Peren must have smuggled it in somehow, and then ‘found’ it at just the right moment.

However, there was a problem with their plan.  Baylor spun and galloped to the far side of the pasture, wanting to put as much distance between him and the young man as possible.  All he had to do was get the halter off and he would change back.  Granted, he’d be naked, but even without a weapon he was more than a match for the scrawny kidnapper.  Then he could get back to the castle and take care of the traitorous Peren and his conspirators

The mousey fellow obviously didn’t have a clue, for he was stroking Buttercup.  All the better.  Baylor found a post end that jutted above the railings and hooked the chin strap on it.  Then he tugged backwards to yank the enchanted straps off.  Except that they didn’t budge.  Bracing his forelegs, he jerked back harder this time – and was almost knocked senseless by the resulting jolt from the fence.

Baylor struggled to remain on his hooves, shaking his head to clear a haze of pain.  Lines of fire seared his head and muzzle where the halter had cut into his hide.  Bewildered, he realized that he had actually snapped the top of the post off, yet the seemingly loose straps were still in place.

“Only the person who put the halter on you can take it off.”  The young man had come around the pasture while Baylor was recovering, and stood just beyond the fence with his arms folded.  “At least, until the change is completed.”  He sighed.  “By this time tomorrow, you’ll be Thunder.”

This last was stated with such certainty that Baylor knew it was the truth.  Cold fear clutched his gut.  Once the magic had run its course, even a mage wouldn’t be able to tell him from a normal animal.  The kidnappers would get a huge ransom, and use him as a beast of burden for the rest of his life.

He cried out in despair, the sound emerging as an equine squeal.  There had to be a way to fight this!  Searching his mind provided little encouragement.  What little he had retained from his forced study of magic was fuzzy.  But then, so was his knowledge of history, a favorite subject.  Alarmed, he began casting about for bits of knowledge and skills.

It wasn’t so much what was missing that frightened him as much as the memories he found that didn’t belong:  a fleeting image of a mare’s teat and the lingering sweetness of apples tasted by an equine tongue.   His ability to work in harness, and God help him, his eager mounting of the mare, had all been Thunder.

The young man approached the fence slowly, apparently mistaking Baylor’s confusion as acceptance.  “You’ll have a good life.  They made sure that you became the very best animal possible.  You are young and healthy, and a prime stud.  And there will be a lot more mares, not just Buttercup.”

Sensations from the mating were still fresh enough to make that promise almost enticing.  Except that he also remembered falling into the equine identity when he was pulling in harness.  Content to drag a wagon, plodding along with no thoughts in his head.  Even sex, as intense as it had been, was more a blind response to need than any intentional desire for pleasure.

No!  He would not give in!  Baylor backed up shaking his head violently.  There was hope as long as he remained aware of the changes.  Perhaps he could not remove the halter.  But there were master wizards at court who could unravel any curse!  All he had to do was get to the castle, let them see him.  First, however, he had to escape this pasture.

He lunged forward and began galloping around the pasture, looking for any possible weakness in the barrier.  The gate latch, perhaps?  No, that was sure to have protection.  Buttercup whickered as he passed her, trotting after as he started a second pass around.  It was good to run like this, to feel the solid impact of hoof against soil, his mane and tail streaming like banners.

For a moment, Baylor forgot why he was running around the pasture.  Only seeing the concerned look on the young kidnapper’s face reminded him of his intent, and at that moment the solution presented itself.  Baylor put every bit of strength he had into a hard gallop directly at the fence, grunting with each powerful thrust of his legs.  At the last moment before impact, he let Thunder take over.  He heard the young man shout and his own triumphant whinny as he launched himself up and over the top rail of the fence.

Hitting the ground with enough force to make buildings shake, both Baylor and Thunder felt the rush of adrenaline and a sense of freedom.  It was easy to work with the stallion part of his mind now, for they both wanted to keep running.  For now, Baylor simply had to get as far from the farm as possible.  Then he could figure out the best way home.

Darkness proved to be both a blessing and a curse.  While the roads were free of travelers, the few landmarks he might have recognized were lost in shadows.  At first, he was able to follow Buttercup’s scent, which was disturbingly imprinted in his mind.   However, even that ended up lost among the fading odors of the day’s traffic.

He had to stop at the next intersection.  There were three branches to follow, each looking equally valid.  Damn! He was hours away from the castle, and had no idea where the farm was in relation.  They had gone past the town, but in which direction?  Frustrated, he chewed absently on a wooden board that sticking up from the ground.

A board?  Something clicked in Baylor’s head and he backed up for a better look.  There were obvious arrows pointing in each direction – a road sign!  Elated, he shifted around to focus one eye on the crude letters that spelled out town names.  That one was an ‘A’.  An ‘M’ there, and what might be an ‘F’.   He felt increasing frustration – who had written this out?  Almost half the shapes were unidentifiable.  Then he realized the trouble wasn’t the sign painter.  He was losing the ability to read.

Sick dread filled him – what if the loss was permanent?    Forcing back despair, he concentrated on the symbols that did register.  The Lamb’s Eye was in Calio.  Kahahleeoohh..  Short, with an ‘ah’ sound.  Two of the names were short, but only one had an ‘A’.  There was no time for indecision.  He made his best guess and started down the indicated path.  A few hours would tell if he had foiled the kidnappers, or simply denied them a free work animal.

Nothing looked familiar, and as he trotted along, he began to fear he had made the wrong choice.  But then a faint odor tickled his nostrils.  The source was old dung mashed into the road by passing wheels and hooves.  Not Buttercup’s, but still familiar.  Male.  Baylor jerked his nose away from the excrement with a snort.  It was his own manure, dropped without thought as he plodded along next to the mare.  He felt a touch of embarrassment, then realized he was on the right path after all!

Without the sun as a guide, he had no idea what time it was, or even how long he had been on the road.  Fatigue was starting to wear him down, and his belly was rumbling in protest despite his earlier grazing.  The day had started early and been more active than usual, with a lot of unexpected excitement thrown into the mix.  It was tempting to find a nice grassy field and graze for a while, but every moment he delayed allowed Thunder that much more control.

How long had the change been going?  He had worn the halter five times before, though never more than an hour at a time.  Though he hadn’t considered it before, Baylor realized that his fear of magic had evaporated after the first transformation.  In truth, becoming Thunder had become a welcome escape from the increasingly frustrating pressure of endless classes and demeaning social responsibilities.

Baylor had never understood his father’s familiarity with the lower classes.  Grandfather had been known as The Iron Hand, a man who had a personality as hard and cold as the metal he was named for.  No one questioned his authority, and he certainly never apologized to some upstart noble for an offhand comment.  It had given Baylor great pleasure to see the traitorous servant responsible for poisoning him slowly tortured to death, for the old man had doted on his grandson.

The current King was a different matter.  Instead of scourging the land in reprisal, he started a series of open councils with the various Lords.   In effect, he was usurping his own power, giving underlings a voice in ruling the land.  And it didn’t stop with nobility – his father treated servants with the respect that Grandfather would have reserved for a visiting Count!

True, there was prosperity and peace these days, but at what cost?  Dukes and Earls seemed to regard themselves as social equals, and common stable boys actually thought they could be friends with the crown prince.  Baylor snorted.  It was a good thing Mother had died before Grandfather.  She would have been mortified to see the shame his father had brought to the throne.  All that would change when Baylor assumed the crown.

If he assumed the crown.  That thought brought him up short.  Of course!  Some of his father’s advisors had openly criticized Baylor’s attitudes.  And the King had not only allowed such gross disrespect, but attempted to council him in social responsibilities!   Everyone had grown used to the permissive atmosphere and were justifiably afraid of being forced back into the proper social structure of a monarchy.  Grandfather had always said that fear was the only real tool a monarch had.  His father had ignored that advice, and now Baylor was paying the price.

He picked up his pace again, anger helping him forget his weariness.  This was all beginning to make sense now.  Treachery and treason within the castle.  At least one of the royal wizards had to be in on the plot – perhaps all of them.  That not only explained where Peren might have gotten the halter, but why its presence had been ignored.  How many others were involved?  Some of the power-mad Dukes, no doubt.  And the stable master – how else would Peren have been positioned so conveniently?

Why bother with this transformation?  While Baylor appreciated the option of life as a stallion, it would have been far simpler to simply kill him.  A draft horse had no value as a hostage, and dead or transformed, he was still just as missing.  Assuming anyone had noticed his absence at all.  Given the strained relationship with his father, they often didn’t see each other for days.  With the cooperation of a few key servants, as much as a week might go by before anyone started asking questions.  But what could the traitors accomplish in a week?

Nothing.  At least, if he could get to the castle in time.  All Baylor had to do was find his father.  And then what?  He wasn’t exactly going to be able to request an audience with the King.  Besides, anyone who could actually tell his father the stallion was really his own son was likely to be in on the plot.  This wasn’t going to be easy, but he still had a few hours to work things out.

Unfortunately, the energy gained from anger faded rather quickly and Baylor’s brisk trot slowed to a canter, and then finally to a plodding shuffle.  His muscles were sore, his stomach was empty, and fatigue dragged at his eyelids.  As desperately as he needed to reach the castle, it was becoming obvious that he would need to rest and eat first.

With no points of reference available, he had no idea how far Calio was.  Ten miles?  Twenty?  Although he could remember the sensations of pulling the wagon clearly, the actual length of the journey was a blur.  Had there been any farms or pastures along the way?  This section of road appeared to be cut through dense forest, hardly a good place to stop and graze.

His ears twitched, picking up sounds of movement.  Predators?  Nostrils quivered, unable to identify a specific threat within the mix of odors.  It could be another squirrel.  But then again, a pack of wolves might be stalking him.  Perhaps even a dragon, though they were usually found in remote mountains.

Baylor came to an abrupt stop, his heart pounding and ears back.  It was all he could do to resist the urge to turn and run back the way he came.  There was food there, companionship and a sense of safety.  Not all that different from what he had back at the Castle.    If anything, this equine life offered more of what he had craved as a human – escape from the pressures of court, no social responsibilities or political intrigues.  Why was he so anxious to give all that up?

Because he was more than a horse.  Or should be, at least.  That line of thought was suddenly uncomfortable as he reviewed the situations that had brought him to this point.  Yes, he had been tricked, but his own disobedience and stupidity had allowed the kidnappers the opportunity.  What was even more irksome was that his foolishness could be so predictable.

Baylor began moving again.  Assuming he could reach his father, there would be some serious reckoning to deal with.  Defying a direct royal order was considered treason even for a Prince of the realm – the King’s word was law.  It didn’t help that his disobedience came on the heels of a verbal reprimand for insulting behavior in front of the entire court.  And he had thought that humiliating?  Wait until the wagging tongues heard of his adventures as an equine.  The plow horse prince.

Water.  He picked up the scent even before the clearing appeared.  There were ruins off to the side, probably a Tavern too far out to attract customers.  Little was left except the foundation, the wood and stone long scavenged for other structures.  However, the open land extended back a fair distance, possibly old pasture or even garden space.  He followed his nose to a brackish pond nearly choked with vegetation.  Still, the water was cool and slaked his thirst, and enough grass and clover could be found amid the encroaching brush to fill his belly.

Although he still felt pressured, Baylor knew he needed rest.  Finding a relatively clear area, he eased down on the ground, and after a moment, tried rolling like Buttercup.  It did feel good – like have a giant hand scratching his back.  Instead of getting back up, he decided to lie in the grass for a while.  Just a short rest…

Baylor came fully awake without really knowing why – he had been almost sleeping, yet still aware of things around him.  After a moment, he realized that it was something he felt, not heard.  Vibration, steady and getting more noticeable.  Then his ears picked up a dull pounding that was approaching rapidly.  He started to roll up, then fought the instinct to stand and run.  Better to stay hidden in the grass and ruins.

In less than a minute, a dark shape thundered by on the road, a single figure galloping past on a large horse.  They were swallowed up by darkness before he caught the too-familiar scent of the animal.  Buttercup!  Baylor lurched up quickly, cursing himself.  What had he been thinking?  Of course the mousey kidnapper would be coming after him!

He took off after the already-vanished pair, following the mare’s odor.  There was a heavy saltiness mixed in – she must be lathered from being ridden hard and fast.  Damn!  He was going to have to push even harder to either get to the castle first or find a way to stop them.  It seemed impossible.  He was still tired and they were moving so fast.

Baylor felt a sudden flush of shame.  The mare had done more work than he today and was now being pushed far harder with the added weight of a rider.  Yet he was bigger, younger, and stronger.  Why had he faltered so soon?  Several combat skills instructors had expressed concern about his lack of stamina.  Then there was Count Tindel, who thought his rank allowed him to call the heir to the throne lazy!  Baylor’s outraged response had perhaps been a little overboard, but he still resented being forced to apologize.

As much as he hated to admit even to himself, a good part of his anger had been caused by the sting of truth.   Baylor hated to exert himself – it made him flushed and sweaty, messed his hair, and he ached for hours afterwards.  Besides, he was going to be King, not some common soldier.  It was his job to think, not fight.  Ironically, his peace-loving father still spent hours every day in combat practice.  Baylor had always thought it to be a waste of time.  Still, his father was in remarkable shape – in fact, some wags at the court had commented that Baylor would be plucking gray hairs before he ascended the throne.

Well, that much had come true.  He was covered in gray hair now, though probably three or four years old instead of sixteen.  Had the kidnappers planned this result?  If so, he supposed he should be grateful that he wasn’t an old mule.   Actually, it would have made more sense for them to turn him into a more common animal.

Buttercup’s scent had an added tang now that his nostrils identified as blood.  Damn!  Was that bastard using the whip on her?  Or the hard gallop causing some injury to her hooves?  Anger surged, followed by confusion.  What did he care about some dumb animal?  She was nothing more than source of quick pleasure, right?  So why couldn’t he shake a feeling of responsibility for the mare?    It was Thunder!  His alter ego saw the big Clyde as the first member of his herd.  After bedding dozens of girls from chambermaids to ladies-in-waiting, his first sense of a commitment was to a horse. So much for sex without responsibility.

That troubled him more than it should.  After all, the transformation was affecting his mind – why shouldn’t he be feeling attraction and even affection for Buttercup?  Thinking on it, he realized it wasn’t so much what he felt for the horse as much as what he did not feel for any of the humans in his life.  They were all flattering fools who were only after his favor as a way to power.  Grandfather had taught him that lesson early on – trust no one who is not blood.  And his own son had ended up betraying everything he stood for.

The odor trail was stronger – he was catching up.  That surprised him a little.  Of course, he had the benefit of food, drink, and rest.  Although the sense of fatigue was still present, he did not actually feel any worse.  Perhaps he should have pushed harder in his combat classes.  After his exertions the past day, a few hours waving a staff or sword around might be pure recreation.  He hoped he would have the opportunity to find out.

Baylor was running so fast he almost missed his quarry’s change of direction.  The mare’s scent vanished suddenly, and he had to backtrack to a turnoff he had missed.  This was the path around town!  He was able to pick up traces of his own scent now, though it was overlaid by Buttercup’s fresh trail.  He had to slow as the path became rough and narrower, but knew that the kidnapper would have an even rougher time.

Just beyond the point where they had first encountered the ‘stuck’ wagon, Baylor heard a squeal that cut to his bones.  He stopped dead, ears back and eyes wide, trembling as the horrible screaming continued.  It was a sound of agony and terror, and the breeze suddenly carried a stronger metal stink of fresh blood.    Thunder was afraid, ready to bolt back the way he had come.  But Baylor forced himself forward, picking his way carefully through the trees.

Buttercup was on her side, thrashing and whinnying.  Even before he got close enough to see clearly, it was obvious she had gone down hard.  It was worse close up.  Ragged bone jutted through the hide of her right foreleg, already soaked with blood.  At least the bastard who had brought this on her had fared little better.  He was dragging himself towards her, one leg twisted and his face badly cut.  There was something in his hand.  A knife?  He was going to kill Buttercup!

Enraged, Baylor charged forward, rearing up over the fallen kidnapper.  The murdering traitor screamed and threw his arms over his head in a futile gesture as massive equine hooves came down with enough force to make ground shake - but the young man’s head ended up between them, not underneath.  Baylor had spread his legs at the last moment, sparing the kidnapper’s life.  He stood over the youth, trembling, frustrated and angry.

His intended victim had slowly raised his head and stared first at the hooves on either side, then up at Baylor.  The young man’s eyes were wide and frightened, face pale and taught with pain.  He remained motionless, justifiably afraid to move or speak.

A groan from Buttercup distracted Baylor from his fury, and he shuffled over to the fallen mare and nosed her gently.  His presence seemed to calm her somewhat, and though she was obviously in great pain, she lifted her head up to touch her muzzle to his.  Baylor’s gut clenched, her distress filling him with helpless despair.  Part of him was confused by his reaction – even Grandfather’s death had not touched him this deeply.

“Prince Baylor?”  The kidnapper stared up at him, a puzzled look on his face.  “Can you still understand me?”

Baylor flicked his ears back and snorted, then nodded his head up and down.

“I can help her.  If you will allow me close.”

Although he did not trust this fellow, there seemed little choice.  Baylor shifted to clear the way, remaining close enough to nuzzle the Clyde.  She was trembling, and her scent was clouded with bad smells.  He knew he should leave, forget this animal and make best speed for the castle.  Yet his being there was making a difference to her, and there was time.  Perhaps it was Thunder who felt this compassion, but Baylor could not find it in his heart to override the emotion.

The kidnapper dragged himself to the mare, and unbuckled the girth.  Then he tried to pull the saddle towards him, but the strap was pinned under Buttercup’s weight.  Panting from the effort, the young man looked back at Baylor.  “I have to get to the saddlebag.  And I need the blanket.  Please.”

Grabbing the edge of the seat with his teeth, Baylor tugged as gently as he could to get the saddle clear, and then dragged it around to the kidnapper.  The blanket was soaked with sweat and tasted terrible, but he delivered that as well.  The young man pulled out some small leather pouches, looking in several before finding what he wanted.  Then he grabbed the blanket and pulled himself to the horse’s shattered leg.  “I’m sorry, girl.  This is going to hurt.”

Buttercup jerked once as dark powder was poured over her gaping wound.  Feeling helpless, Baylor nuzzled her again, lipping at her cheek.  The young man used his knife to gut strips from the blanket and used them to cover the area.  “It’s a medicinal herb that will stop the bleeding and keep the wound from getting infected.  If we were in town or at the castle, I could do more.”  He shifted, wincing as he worked up to a sitting position.  “But she’ll die without better treatment.  We both will.”

What did the bastard expect him to do about it?  Not that Baylor cared all that much about the kidnapper’s life.  He was one of those responsible for Baylor’s inability to communicate.  Still, he had cared for Buttercup’s wounds.

The youth fumbled with the bag, and pulled out a roll of parchment and unrolled it to reveal some sort of official document.  He chuckled once, then coughed and spit blood.  Although the symbols were unreadable, the wax seal at the bottom was immediately recognizable.  Someone high up in the royal court was definitely involved.

Searching around the ground, the kidnapper picked up a stick and flipped the parchment over.  Then he scraped his hand across the mare’s leg just below the wound, gathering a palm full of blood.  Dipping the twig in, he began writing out something in crude letters, having to refresh his gruesome ink supply with every stroke.  When he was done, he sprinkled a handful of dirt over the page and blew it off, then rolled it up and retied it with the original document facing out.

He stared at the parchment a moment with a twisted smile, then held it out.  “Let me slip this between your halter straps.  Show it to the gate guard.  It will get you inside.  If you can, make sure he looks at the back.”   When Baylor hesitated, the young man sighed and smiled sadly.  “I guess you don’t have any reason to trust me, do you?  If it means anything, I wish I hadn’t been part of this.  They said you were a total bastard, but here you are helping a hurt animal.  And you could have killed me, but you didn’t.”

There was sincerity behind those words that convinced Baylor to drop his head so the document could be slipped under the strap on his left cheek.  More to the point, he wondered is he –had- been a total bastard.  The life of a peasant would have meant nothing to him, much less that of a farm animal.  In any case, whatever the document was, any guard would be so befuddled to have it delivered by a horse that getting inside should be easier.

“I hope to see you again, Prince Baylor.”  It was the first time the kidnapper had spoken his name.  “Whatever happens, know that your life and happiness were never in danger.  And… I think you might have been a good King after all.”

Such reassurance was puzzling, but there was no time to ponder.  Baylor nuzzled the disturbingly still mare one more time, then turned and headed for the castle.

A reddish glow was just creeping over the tops of the mountains when he reached the main road.  Despite the early hour, there were wagons and animals already moving along it.  Most were heading the other direction into town, and Baylor got more than a few stares from bleary-eyed peasants as he galloped past.  He almost trampled one adventurous boy who must have thought he could garner a reward for catching a runaway horse.  However, his size and speed prompted everyone else to clear the way.

Although his muscles burned with real pain now, Baylor did not ease his pace until the tops of the castle towers came into view.  He had been so focused on reaching this point that it took the discomfort of parchment rubbing under his eye to remind him why he was here.  Cold fear accompanied that rush of memory – how much more of his mind had been lost to Thunder?  He didn’t really feel any different – and he remembered being human.  It was strange to think that he had lost that frail, nearly-hairless shape not even a day ago.

There were wagons and peasants on foot clustered at the main gate, delivering wares or perhaps petitioning the King for some favor.  Security was usually tighter there, and the crowd would make it harder to bolt through.   He and Peren normally went out the side gate, which was closer to the stables.  The guards would probably recognize ‘Sir Dungheap’s horse – though his missing rider could spark concerns.

If he got in, he was pretty sure he could make his way to the central palace, perhaps into the throne room.  He’d have to be fast and bold – size was against him in a lot of ways, but surprise was on his side.  It helped that his father was normally in closed court session this time of the morning – dealing with visiting nobles before he opened the chambers to petitioners. There would be fewer people, and not as many guards.

Trotting around the moat, Baylor made his way to the side and stopped just out of sight of the guards.  After making sure the road was clear of other traffic, he took a deep breath and then assumed the sagging posture they were used to.  It was not much of an act this time, given his fatigue.  Shuffling towards the opening, he was dismayed to see the heavy iron grate closed.  This was normally done only when there was an expected threat of some kind – had his enemies thought to bar access to strange horses?

The guards were still at their post.  One of them moved to the grate and peered through as Baylor approached.  “Hey!  Isn’t that the stable kid’s nag?  What’s he doing out there by himself?”

The other guard joined his partner.  “Yeah, where’s Sir Dungheap?  Damn!  Lookit him!  What’s happened to you, fella?”  He started to swing the grate open.  “And what’s that you got stuck in your halter?”

“We’re not supposed to let anyone in here!”  The first guard scowled, but didn’t actually interfere.  “All entry through the front gate until tonight.”

“He’s a horse, stupid.  And it looks like he is in bad shape.  Wonder if something happened to the kid?  That might be a note of some kind.”

“Could be.”  A sly smile flickered over the second guard’s face.  “Well, if he got waylaid by highwaymen, then this horse wouldn’t belong to anyone any more, right?”

“Except us.”  The first guard swung the barrier wide open and clucked his tongue.  “Come on, fella.  Let’s get you into the stable before anyone… hey!”

Baylor bolted past the first guard and through the gate before his startled partner could try closing it up.  Shouts and curses rang out behind him, and he knew it would not take long before the alarm was raised.  As a human, Baylor could have lost them easily in the maze of hallways he had grown up in.  However, as a ton of horse he was limited to direct, open passages.

He was in luck – the kitchen staff was offloading the day’s food supplies, and the main doors were wide open.  Cooks and kitchen boys dove out of the way and he crashed through the baskets of vegetables and grain.  The doors to the great dining hall were shut, but he burst through them without slowing.  His hooves slipped on the stone floor as he turned to avoid slamming into the heavy table, and he almost went down when his hind legs splayed out.  Recovering quickly, he bolted for the opening to the main hall.

His luck ran out there.  A half-dozen guards were scrambling into position in front of the throne room doors, alerted by the shouts of the kitchen staff and Baylor’s own noisy arrival.  Their swords were drawn and ready, and even though they looked confused, he knew they would not let him pass.  Could he make it through so many blades?  Grim resolve filled him, and he charged the doors with his ears back and tail streaming.  Only to see a pair of archers step out and ready their bows.

“HOLD!”

The voice that echoed down the hall had such authority that every guard turned towards the now-opened throne room doors, and even Baylor skidded to a stop.  He had heard that voice before, speaking in anger.  Count Tindel.  The swordsman stared at Baylor, then approached cautiously.  “What’s that stuck in his halter?”  Reaching up, he pulled the parchment free and glanced at the official wording.  When the man started to roll it back up, Baylor nudged his hand and grabbed the document with his teeth to reveal the plea for help.

Tindel frowned, then stared back at Baylor a moment before nodding.  “Send a healer and a squad of soldiers to the old Calio road.  There is a fallen rider and horse.  Do what you can for them and bring them back here.”

Although Baylor felt a surge of relief for Buttercup, his primary goal lay directly ahead.  Weapons were being sheathed, and the archers had already returned arrows to quivers.  It was now or never.  Bunching his leg muscles, he launched himself through the opening as Tindel yelled again, knowing that he was likely to be sliced by at least a few blades.  Amazingly, none struck his hide, though he saw the weapons flash.

Most of the court was present, but the only person he cared to see was his father.   The King stood up, raising a hand to stay the guards Baylor had forgotten would be just inside.  Mind racing, he forced himself to stop and then bowed as low as he could on four legs.  He had to show he was more than a panicked animal, find a way to let...

“Baylor.” His father’s voice was tight and sad, the word a statement not a question. A momentary flash of joy turned to confusion. How could he know? Then a figure stepped up beside the throne, a figure that he knew all too well from a lifetime of looking in mirrors.

“Yes, father?” The imposter was even wearing Baylor’s favorite outfit.

“This is a most unusual animal. Tend to it.” The King remained standing, still staring at him. “Please clear the room.”  There was a brief silence as the spectators stared in bewilderment.   His father spoke again, his voice sharp and commanding.  “Now!  Everyone leave, including the guards.  I wish to consult privately with my... son. And send for Mage Warrel.”

Too stunned to react, Baylor raised his head and stared as the false Prince approached. This was the plan! To replace him with an imposter! Perhaps even to murder his father and assume the throne. He laid his ears back, but held steady. A mage was coming, one who would be able to see more than a horse. His father must suspect something.

Baylor’s nostril’s quivered as his double came close. Although the face and clothing were his, the imposter’s scent belonged to someone else. Someone he knew very well. Peren!

“It’s OK, fella. Take it easy. No one is going to hurt you.” The former stable boy reached for the halter cautiously, his expression both curious and sad. “You are stronger than we thought.”

Who was he really? Some noble’s son who had play-acted his way into Baylor’s trust?

“He is full of surprises.” Tindel spoke from the door. “There was a note stuck in his halter. Warrel’s apprentice and horse were badly injured. I would assume giving chase.”

“A note? But how?” Peren reached up and took hold of a side strap, using his free hand to stroke Baylor’s chin.

Although he intended to snap at the traitorous stable boy, Baylor found himself unable to attack. His mind was sluggish, flickers of anger turning to bewilderment.

“Written in blood on the back of Thunder’s official registry.” The Count moved to stand next to Peren. “I might have missed it, but he flipped it over with his teeth.”

“He made sure you got the note?” This time, it was the King speaking. “That is not the action of a horse. Or…” His father’s voice trailed off.

Baylor felt a chill of fear behind his confusion. It was taking too much time for him to pull things together. Tindel had identified the fallen kidnapper as Warrel’s apprentice. And his father had sent for Mage Warrel.

Chamber doors opened and he knew who it was even before his nose picked up another familiar scent. Other than changing his plain robe for one slightly more ornate, the Friar looked the same as he had yesterday.

The King gestured at Baylor. “Tell me what has happened with him.”

No! This mage was part of plot! He needed someone else, someone who would tell his father what had really happened!

“His transformation is almost complete.” Warrel walked around him slowly, eyes flicking about as he traced out patterns of magic only a mage could see. “A few hours at most. His essence is already that of a stallion – yet his mind retains a strong sense of identity.”

Hearing the truth was a surprise, though the mage had not actually said who the strong identity belonged to. Baylor trembled as his father walked towards him. Peren released the halter and stepped back, but there seemed no way to communicate. They were in the midst of treacherous dogs obviously bent on seizing power. Even if he could speak, what could he say that would not trigger an attack on his father? Why had the guards been sent away?

“Can you understand me?” The King stared up at him, eyes red and brimming.

Although his father was always a compassionate man, Baylor had rarely seen him so emotional. Since Warrel had already specified a changed human, there was no harm in nodding his head.

“I’m sorry.” The King’s voice cracked, and tears began to trickle down his cheeks.

Why would his father say that? Unless – Baylor shuddered as the real truth finally dawned. Of course. Everything fell into place for, and surprisingly, he felt far more sadness than anger. The King would not surround himself with traitors.

“I tried to teach you the value of our people, the need for alliances instead of enemies. But you are too much like your grandfather.”  His father reached up to brush his fingers across Baylor’s furred cheek. “You would have destroyed the alliance and plunged the kingdom into war.  Sacrificed thousands of lives in a blind pursuit of power.”

Baylor felt a flash of bitter resentment that faded almost as quickly as it had appeared.  Perhaps it was the fatigue, or the ever-thickening blanket of fog that blurred thoughts.   Or maybe, he realized, there was more truth to his father’s words than he wanted to admit.

“The blame is largely mine, for I allowed him to influence you far too much. And now you must pay the price.”

The mage spoke softly. “Sire, I saw for myself how easily he adjusted to harness, and the joy with which he mounted a mare. His mind is troubled now, but I swear he will have contentment and pleasure in this form. And while his span may be foreshortened, those years will all be healthy and full.”

“Is it true, Baylor?” The king whispered softly. “I cannot be forgiven for this, but it would ease my pain to know you are not suffering.”

How to answer? Some small part of Baylor still seethed with bitter resentment, yet he realized his father had done what was best for everyone. For once, and maybe the last time, it was his turn to do what was right for the kingdom. He turned his head to stare into the King’s eyes, and then lipped gently at his cheek before stepping back and bowing his head.

Count Tindel smiled and bowed towards him, then approached to slip his fingers around a side strap. “I would be honored to take him to the stables. I expect he will want food and grooming before his companion arrives.”

The King took a long last look, then nodded. “Very good. Tell the guards to resume their posts. It is time the Prince and I received petitions.”

Tindel led him out into the main hall, which was already filling with those seeking royal audience. No small number stared as they pushed past, and he overheard more than a few speculating on the presence of dirty, sweaty plow horse in the throne room. Though his companion ignored the somewhat insulting comments, Thunder lifted his tail and dropped some fragrant replies without breaking his shuffling gait.

The End

Payback

God, it stinks in here.  Wherever ‘here’ is.  Piss, dead fish, diesel fumes, and dust – not the Waldorf, for sure, even if the twin gorillas who grabbed me tonight are wearing some fancy monkey suits.  Heh.  Gorillas in monkey suits.  That would make a great punch line.

Speaking of punch lines, the bastard who hit me packs a good wallop.  Not so much as a how-do you do – I had a fist in my gut before the door was all the way open.  Still hurts like a son-of-a-bitch.  I guess I knew what was going to happen anyway.  If I’d made them bust the door down they’d have just been pissed off.  Better to keep things strictly business, especially when you’re dealing with 7-foot-tall Neanderthals.

What was that?  A fog horn?  Dead fish and fog horns.  Gotta be some sort of shipping or fishing operation close by.  We did drive for a long time.  Closest place with any kind of docks is Houston.  Why move me so far from home?  If they were planning to kill me I’d be lying in a pool of blood in my living room.  These guys aren’t exactly known for finesse.  Shit, I’m only into them for what?  Twenty thousand?  Well, maybe thirty, after today.  Still, I know guys who owe more than that on credit cards and they aren’t even getting nasty phone calls.

Of course, it’s not so much what’s in my wallet, as who’s in it.  After that big win at the track last week, I was sure my system couldn’t lose.  So I max out credit with my bookie only to have the ‘sure thing’ I bet on get a cramp coming out of the starting gate.  What kind of race horse gets cramps?  The kind that gets guys like me bound and blindfolded in some stinking broom closet.

At least I think it’s a broom closet. Small enough that I can’t stretch out my legs, that’s for sure.   None too clean, either.  Mental note - make sure to at least throw on a bathrobe when I answer the door.  Boxers and a sleeveless T-shirt don’t provide much protection from grit and other stuff I’d rather not think about.

Voices!  Sounds like the gorillas again.  Oh, crap.  I’m happy in my broom closet, really.  Just leave me…dammit!  I’m jerked to my feet so hard I think my shoulder joint is going to pop out.

One of the gorillas talks.  His voice is low and guttural, almost like grunting, but I can make it out.  “Time to meet the boss, kid.”  I wonder if it’s the one who punched me.  Not that I could tell the difference between them even with the blindfold off.  “Mind your manners, or we’ll have to mind ‘em for you.”

I wince as I am guided down a fairly long and hallway or passage that smells no cleaner than the closet.  I just hope there isn’t any broken glass or other sharp stuff in the way.  I don’t think these guys care much that I am barefoot.  Then again, a few cuts is probably the best I can hope for.  My gut clenches, but I hold on tight to the faint hope that I’m not gonna get hurt too bad.  Maybe some humor will help.  “Look, guys.  I’m really not dressed to meet someone important.  Why don’t you let me run home and change into something more appropriate?”

That at least gets a chuckle from the Ugly Twin on my right.  “Not a worry, kid.  In fact, I think you are overdressed for the occasion.”

Being in my underwear is overdressed?  This is definitely getting weird, and not in a good way.  So much for humor.  I swallow hard to clear the lump in my throat.  “Uh, am I going to be able to walk away from this meeting?”

This gets another laugh from both gorillas.  I’m thinking that means ‘no’ until Ugly Twin number two pipes up.  They sound the same, but he’s on my other side.  “Oh, don’t worry, kid.  You’ll be walking out of here fine.  Just maybe not the way you’re used to.”

What the Hell does that mean?  Before I can ask any more questions, I hear a creak of hinges ahead – sounds like they need oil.  The rope around my wrists loosens and falls away, and then the blindfold is jerked off.  Damn!  My eyes burn at the sudden glare of bright light, but before I can raise a hand to shield them the gorillas grab my arms and drag me through some sort of big opening.  As soon as we get inside, I’m hoisted up high and something stabs my butt.

“Hey!”  Someone just jammed a hypodermic in my ass!  I can’t see the bastard with the Ugly Twins holding me tight, and I’m not stupid enough to try struggling with a needle in me.  Whoever it is slams the whole load into me in two seconds flat and jerks the hypo out.  Then the bastards drop me, stepping back so I land on the spot that was just jabbed.  “You assholes!  What was that for?” The door thuds closed behind me.

“Something very special.”  A new voice, coming through a speaker.  Pretty mellow-sounding guy, especially after the two gorillas, but there’s something behind the words that makes the hair on the back of my neck prickle.  As my eyes clear, prospects begin to look even bleaker.  This is a big room, maybe 40 feet square, with concrete walls covered in peeling, institutional puke-green paint.  The ceiling is a good 30 feet high, all open steel girders and flickering fluorescent lights.  The only ways out look to be the door I was just dragged though and a big sliding panel opposite.  Some new-looking mirrors are set about halfway up the wall on my left – probably one-way glass, like they use in police stations and stuff.   I guess Mr. Mellow is behind them.  He continues. “I assume you know why you are here?”

Swallowing hard, I look up at the glass.  No point in playing dumb with this guy.  “I missed a payment.  Uh, two payments.”  Whatever they shot me up with burns, and my side is already starting to swell.  Some kind of poison?

“That’s part of it.  I know times are tough, Tony.  And I hear you’re a smart kid.  That’s why I didn’t send the boys ‘round to remind you the first time.  But then what happens?  You win pretty big at the track, and instead of taking care of your financial responsibilities you blew it all on toys.  That was a real slap in the face, especially with you losing big again on my money today.”

Oh, shit. How did he know about the iPad?  I’m sweating like crazy and the burning is spreading.  This is way bad.  Yeah, guys like him do kill guys like me over thirty thousand.  I was an idiot.  But this can’t be the end of it, not over something as stupid as a new laptop.  “Uh, sir?  I know I messed up bad.  I was so sure I had a winner!  Look, I can take the iPad back!  That’s almost the two payments right there!”

“Almost.”  Mr. Mellow sighs.  “Do you know how many times I have heard that word, Tony?  You agreed to certain terms and conditions when you accepted my money.  An agreement that you have not honored.  While I am not a vindictive man, I cannot allow my customers to take advantage of me.”

“Advantage!?”  The word explodes out of me, but I don’t bother to check my anger.  What’s the point?  Whatever he’s injected me with is spreading fast – the slow burn is already working its way up my chest.  I stand up, fists clenched, and glare at the mirrors.  “You bastard!  I got no warning, no nothing!  You never even gave me a chance to make good!  Just two goons who drag me here in the middle of the night to…”  My throat tightens up and I can’t finish.

“To what?”  Mr. Mellow actually chuckles.  “To kill you?  Certainly not!  This is strictly business.  A process that will convert you from a financial liability to a very marketable commodity.   Enough to pay your original debts, plus all interest and penalties.  A clean slate.  There’s even a chance you’ll find the arrangements to your liking.  Several of your predecessors have ended up quite happy in their new lives.”

Huh?  I almost forget the burning at that.  My brief flicker of hope turns into confusion.  New lives?  What the Hell is he talking about?  Before I can ask, my whole body suddenly cramps up so badly I can only cringe and grunt in agony.  My arms feel like they are being twisted out of their sockets, and an invisible vise clamps down on my skull.

It’s more than just pain.  I can feel pulling in my muscles, and there’s a throbbing in my face and jaw.  My underwear and shorts stretch tight and my belly is spilling over.  What the Hell is this crap doing to me?  I’ve heard of people reacting to bee stings like this, swelling up all over.  And what’s with my hair?  It’s hanging low, almost over my eyes.  I haven’t had long hair since I was a little kid.  Even weirder, there seems to be yellow-brown fuzz all over my body, with thicker patches on my arms.

So much is hitting m all at once it is hard to concentrate on anything.  Every muscle is on fire, and I’d swear even my bones are throbbing.  It has to be some sort of poison.  All that talk about a clean slate must be his sick idea of a joke – build up hope and then watch me swell up and die.  Or maybe end up crippled or deformed.  Most people would start screaming and crying now, I guess.  Me?  I’m royally pissed.

“Asshole!”  The word hisses out between clenched teeth.  “It’s not enough just to kill me?  You want to watch me suffer?  Maybe beg for mercy?  Well, fuck you!   I’m not playin’ your…” I gasp as a fresh wave of spasms rock my body, and grab at my head as the unseen vise closes a little tighter.  As the haze of pain eases a little, I realize that there’s a lot more wrong with my head than just the pressure.

I have a beard.  Not the faint chin stubble I’ve had since I was 16 – this is a real mountain-man thing, so thick and full I can barely feel my jaw.  I try looking down but can’t see past my… oh, crap.  Is that my nose?  Broad, flat, and…hairy?  What is happening to me?  The mirrors are useless, set so high up that all I can see is the reflection of the ceiling.

“I have watched men die here, Tony.  Some even younger than you.  But that was never the intent.”  Mr. Mellow sighs audibly.  “The hazards of progress, I fear.  Be happy that you are benefitting from their sacrifices.”

Another wave of white-hot pain burns bone and muscle so intensely that vision blurs and I think I might pass out.  The bastard is still talking, but he might as well have been singing nursery rhymes for all I can understand through the haze of agony.  Something about animals and genetics.  Then the base of my spine decides to explode.

Whatever Mr. Mellow is saying is lost as I get the most bizarre wedgie ever – my boxers suddenly push away from my ass so violently I both hear and feel the fabric rip.  At the same time I get hit by some really freaky sensations.  Muscles pull in weird places and I can feel a new weight pulling and twisting behind me like some kind of snake grafted onto my butt.

I’m shaking so bad I can barely keep from falling over, but I’ll be damned if I’ll let this bastard break me.  On the plus side, either I’m getting used to this torture or the pain is not so bad.  That weird snake is hanging on, though, and as I slowly look down it clamps itself into my butt-crack and flicks up in front of my belly.

The ‘snake’ has golden fur and ends with a tuft of brown fur.  And when I pick it up I can feel it.  Not just what my fingers tell me, either.  I can feel my fingers touching me someplace I never had before.  A tail. I have a tail?  No.  Fuckin’.  Way.  I sit down hard, which I immediately realize is a bad idea when you have something growing out of your spine.

As I stare at what seems to be a new addition to my body, I realize my hands look weird, too.  Swollen up, with tawny hair cover the backs and dark, coarse-looking palms.  There are patches of gold all over me, even my face.  Poison doesn’t grow hair.  Shit, nothing grows tails!  And my body isn’t just swelling, it’s changing.  At least, it looks and feels like it’s changing.  But this can’t be real, so it has to be a hallucination.  A really, really intense hallucination.  “What did you do to me, you bastard?  Shoot me up with Dope?  You gonna screw up my mind with drugs?”

“You are not seeing things. Tony.”  Mr. Mellow talks like he is chatting with me over beers.  “You have a full beard and a nice coat of fur developing, and I’m afraid even your mother would not recognize your face.  Not to mention the fact you are holding your own tail.  It is quite fascinating to watch.”

Some of it he might guess, but the tail part catches my attention.  At least what part of it can be pried away from growing fear that he is telling the truth.  “But...  that’s impossible!”

“Not impossible – just very expensive.  You would be amazed at what it cost to come up with this process.  However, I am sure you know my business is highly profitable.  And like any good businessman, I try to invest some of my profits into new ways of making money.”

What’s...” My voice catches in my throat, a little raspy as if I had a cold or something.  “What’s happening to me?”

“It should be obvious.  You are becoming an animal.”

The covering of hair on my skin is thicker now; a golden tan covering that is starting to look like fur. Combined with the dark tuft of fur on the end of the... my tail, and the reddish-brown growth around my face, I make the connection.  “You’re turning me into some kind of lion freak!”

“No. not a freak.”  A cell phone rings.  A friggin cell phone!  “Excuse me a moment.”  His voice is muffled as he talks to whoever it is, but I can make out his side of the conversation.  “Yes, he is forming up well.  You’ll be quite pleased.  Lots of spirit.”  I get a chill realizing they are talking about me.  “No, you have to remember the process can’t add mass.  Don’t worry.  As long as you feed him up according to directions, he’ll hit 500 pounds by the end of the week.”

Me?  A quarter-ton?  I’d be screaming ‘Bullshit’ if I didn’t have a firm grip on my tail.  Even putting the fact this stuff exists aside, why would the Syndicate have it?  Shouldn’t this be some Government thing, or at least a big research foundation or something?  Except – what was that he said?  They’d poured millions into developing it?  And I bet they didn’t follow any legal drug testing process.  Yeah, once you think about it, they’re the only ones who could pull it off.  They have the cash and no Government controls.  And no problem with the necessary ‘sacrifices.’

“Sorry for the interruption.”  Mr. Mellow must have finished his phone call.  “Your soon-to-be owner was anxious about your progress.  We have had some… failures… in the past.  Happily, you are proceeding perfectly.”

Owner?  I’m going to be somebody’s property?  Well, not yet.  This guy says he has some new life all planned out for me, but I like what I got.  Maybe there is still a chance.  “Look, if I can pay back double, triple?  Can you change me back?  I swear I won’t ever tell anyone.  Nobody would believe me anyway.”

“Sorry.  It’s a one-way trip.”  Mr. Mellow doesn’t sound sorry at all.  “Not that they didn’t try – took several really messy failures before they figured out you could only rewrite the body once.”

“Then just leave me like this!”  Even as I say it I know that’s not an option, so it’s no surprise when Mr. Mellow gives a short laugh.

“Come on, Tony!  Look at yourself.  Even if I could stop the process, which I can’t, you are currently what you quite accurately described as a ‘lion-freak.’  Would you really want to spend the rest of your life like this?  I can assure you that you look considerably less human than the associates who collected you.”

“You mean that those guys…?” I don’t even finish my question.  Like that should be a surprise.

“One of our side projects.  Jobs for the homeless.  Two abandoned kids who are no longer cold and hungry.  I consider it a public service.”

The Ugly twins were kids?  That explains a lot – they are probably part gorilla for real.  So much for any chance of appealing to his better nature.

Oh, God.  It’s all gone, isn’t it?  Friends, family, my job, my apartment… sure, I screwed up some things, but for the most part life has been pretty good.  My throat gets tight, and my eyes burn.  Shit! I am not gonna cry in front of this bastard!  But I can’t even feel angry now.  Just sick.  He could have broken my arms, cut me up, done almost anything short of killing me, and I could have worked my way back.  But this?

I clench my fist, fingers aching as I force them to fold.  The joints are real stiff, and won’t bend all the way no matter how hard I try.  But the pain helps me get angry again.  This time at myself for getting into this spot to start with.  I knew who I was dealing with when I made those bets.  This is payback for being stupid.  So what am I gonna do?  Curl up in a ball and die?  Fuck that.  Whatever he does to me, I’m not about to throw in the towel.  No matter how bad things get, I can find a…

Huh?  My tail slips out of my grip suddenly and hits the floor with a dull thud.  I stare at the empty hand a couple of seconds before the reason comes clear.  The stuff is still working on me.  My thumbs are shrinking.  Hell, all of my fingers are shrinking, but the thumbs are going so fast I can actually see them move.  Oh, shit!  I was thinking that things were almost done because I didn’t hurt as bad.

Mr. Mellow must be watching pretty close, because he jumps right in.  “Looks like the secondary stage is kicking in.  Won’t be long now.”

“Sehh…”  I have to clear my throat twice before I can get words out, and even then it sounds more like I am grunting than talking.  “Sheh-cun-dery?  How muhh...  muuch am I gonna change.”

“All the way, of course.  The only difference between you and a born lion will be whatever memories you keep.  Even some of the instinctual stuff kicks in.  Pretty amazing, really, how much is controlled by the genetic pattern.”

I work what is left of my fingers desperately, trying to deny what the bastard is telling me.  They agree with him, though, and a glance down shows that my feet are also going along for the ride.  My fingernails thicken and pull back into what used to be my fingertips.  Pretty much paws now, broad and covered with yellow-brown fur, instead of hands and feet.  Like the tail, they include some new muscles that extend dangerous-looking talons when I flex them.  Great for ripping and shredding, but not so good for working a game controller.  Weird thing is I am fascinated by the transformation almost as much as it terrifies me.

Mr. Mellow sounds rather pleased with himself.  “That’s the beauty of Splicer.  I can provide any animal someone desires – endangered species, animals you can’t import, even clones of pets and valuable domestic animals.”

“Do you remember the assistant DA who went missing a couple of months ago?  He was investigating an associate of mine.  The police didn’t find anything when they checked out my associate, but they did confiscate his new pet Boa Constrictor and take it to the zoo.”  Mr. Mellow chuckles.  “I love it.  And the best part is it isn’t even illegal!  In the very unlikely event we got caught, what could we be charged with?  There is no law against transformation.”

A muscle spasm pulls at me again, and I have to catch myself with my hands… paws… to keep from doing a face-plant.  My arms bend the wrong way.  I guess it’s not the wrong way for animal forelegs.  Shit.  My humanity is fading faster with each heartbeat.

I force myself to stand, struggling against muscles and joints that don’t want to work that way anymore.  Dammit, I’m not an animal!  Not yet, anyway.  I have to walk myself up the wall, and balance is wavering, but I finally manage to get myself mostly upright.  It’s a strain on my neck and back, but I not going to give in.

My nose wrinkles at a growing odor.  Sorta musky and warm, like when I go into the bathroom after I forgot to flush.  Funny thing, that isn’t so bad.  But there’s something a little rancid mixed in with the smell of piss and sweat.  Then I realize it’s not so much the smell that is growing as my nose.  Not to mention the rest of my face.  Oh, damn!  The worst root canal in history kicks in as my mouth pushes out.  Vision blurs from the pain as my jaw reforms into an animal muzzle, expanding before my eyes to block more of the forward view.

The stink gets to be almost overwhelming.  Problem is, the only thing in this room is me.  What is all that?  Body odor?  Do lions sweat?  The rancidness is probably fear – I’ve heard animals can smell that, even their own.  My nostrils flare, drinking in the heavy musk.  Was this what regular cats smell like?  I’ve never been a cat person. I never had any pets.  Too much work and responsibility.  I have a crazy mental image of a giant litter box – it’s nice to know my sense of humor isn’t completely lost.

As the pain from the Splicer eases up, I start to become aware of other sensations.  My clothes are stretched to the breaking point, the shirt riding high up on my chest and my shorts… well, let’s just say that they’ve gone from being loose boxers to ‘tighty whities.’  It’s pretty clear that my new lion’s equipment is substantially larger, especially the bulges that must be my testicles.  I might even be happy about that if they weren’t being crushed into my crotch.

Looking down was a mistake.  I can’t straighten up!  Even worse, I can tell that my center of balance is shifting fast.  Lifting my tail up behind me helps a little, but I won’t be on two legs much longer.

“You are doing quite nicely, Tony.”  Mr. Mellow’s voice sounds a little different now, the electronic source slightly buzzy.  My sense of hearing is changing, becoming more sensitive.  “You are going to be a magnificent animal.”

Rage explodes and I spin and leap at the mirrors.  “Bastarrrararrarrraaah!”  My voice breaks into a creditable roar and I hit high enough that my claws scrape at the glass and leave gouges in the faded green paint.  Dropping to the floor with a heavy thud, I stagger and fall back against the wall.  My heart is pounding from the absolute need to rip Mr. Mellow into little pieces.  Something I could do easily now, given the gouges I left in the concrete wall.

As satisfying as that thought is, it drives home the fact that I don’t have hands any more.  Even the nubs of my fingers are gone.  I can flex my paws, and the heavy claws extend and retract.  That’s it.  I can’t pick anything up, dial a phone, or open a door.  Shit, I can’t even touch someone, at least in any way they’d want to have contact.

“…surprised me, that’s all.  Get this cleaned up.”

“Yes sir.  Do you want another glass?”

The voices coming over the speaker are not directed at me, and I take a little satisfaction in realizing I must have scared Mr. Mellow with my attack.  At least enough that he dropped whatever he was drinking.  I mutter ‘Got you’ to myself – or try to.  The sounds that come out of my muzzle are rumbles and growls - definitely not human.  Crap.  I try again, but the result is the same.  I can’t talk any more.

No voice, no hands.  No clothes, either.  That sudden jump must have been too much for my T-shirt and boxers – they are just tatters of cloth hanging off my back and butt now.  Not that I need clothing.  The thick gold-brown pelt I can see on my arms… forelegs… and chest must be everywhere now.  I can actually feel it if I think about it.  That is some weird shit.  Being aware of my skin, my whole body.  I can move my ears – they are way higher on my head now.

I am leaning heavily against the concrete - too heavily.  Lions are four-legged animals.  Even knowing that, I twist around to face the wall and push myself away, trying to stand on my own one last time.  It’s a useless effort.  I flail at the air to stay upright, but fall forward, catching myself on what are now fully-formed forelegs.  There’s no ‘catlike grace’ either.  I hit with a jarring thud and nearly go sprawling as a violent shudder ripples though me from head to tail.  The movement is enough to dislodge the remnants of my clothing, and I feel them slide off onto the floor.  I drop my head, panting, lungs drawing in huge amounts of air.

The pain is gone.  That’s the first good news I’ve come up with since the gorillas knocked on my door.  God, I’m wiped, though.  Exhausted doesn’t even come close.  I feel like I’ve been buried in cement, and my legs tremble with the effort of just standing here.

“It looks like you are finished.  Do you still understand me?”

I nod slowly, my head still hanging low.

“Excellent!”  Mr. Mellow is very happy.  I can hear it in his voice.  “That’s why I chose you for this, Tony.  I knew you could be something special.  Not just a magnificent animal, but a predator of unique intelligence.  My clients will be delighted.”

I don’t feel magnificent right now.  In fact, I feel like shit.  I take an experimental step and nearly fall.  Shit.  How do you walk on all fours?  I’m a full grown lion who was never a cub.  I guess it’s a little like crawling.  That’s appropriate enough.

There’s a loud clunk, followed by scrapes and creaks as the sliding door rises up.  “OK, Tony.  There is a large container with food, water, and some padding on the other side of that door.  You can either enter it on your own, or be shot with a tranquilizer and be dragged into it.”

If there was even the slightest chance I could get one of these bastards before they tranq’ed me I’d fight every step of the way.  As it is, I’m not sure I can make it out of here without help.  I stare at the opening.  What do his clients want with an intelligent lion?  Improve the breed?  I’ve heard that lions are major sex machines.  Even that doesn’t appeal to me right now, though it is way better than the more likely possibility that comes to mind.

I bet it’s pretty hard to find a place where you can still hunt a lion.  Unless you stock your own.  And the kind of sick bastard who’d pay to have a human transformed into an animal is likely to get an even bigger thrill when his prey knows it used to be human.  How many of the other poor saps who’ve gone through this door before me ended up stuffed and mounted?

Screw ‘em!  Taking a deep breath, I fix the dark opening with a fierce glare and let loose with another roar.  It’s the real thing this time, a thundering sound that rattles the mirrors and gives me the strength to stride in with my head held high.  Whoever set this up might be getting a bit more of a challenge than expected.  ‘Cause I’m not just prey - they made me a hunter, too.  And payback’s a bitch.

The End

Finishing Touch

Alex almost walked right by the gallery.  That was surprising, in a way.  The elegant woodwork and antique gold lettering of the windows provided a stark contrast to the run-down pawn shops and specialty stores that filled the rest of the block.  He’d been heading for the Sunbeam Parts center when it seemed to pop into view.

‘Finishing Touch.’  Interesting name.  He had enough time left in his lunch hour for a quick look.  The new wheels for his grille could wait ten minutes.  A small bell tinkled cheerfully over his head as he entered, and a pleasant, matronly voice called out from somewhere in the back.  “I’ll be with you in a few minutes.  Look around.”

At first glance, the place looked more like a junk shop than an art gallery.  Narrow aisles wound between shelves packed with sculptures and figurines, and framed paintings were stacked on edge against every wall and piece of furniture.  At least half of the paintings and prints hanging on the walls were partly covered by other artwork.  Despite the clutter, however, there was an impression of tremendous age and respectability.   Maybe that was just the smell of dust and old wood.

Though he was no art connoisseur, Alex recognized several of the figurines on the first shelf.  Porcelain children in various poses.  His girlfriend’s collection of reproductions had cost him a small fortune.  These were obviously originals.  He immediately clasped his hands behind his back.  No point in losing a week’s salary to a moment of clumsiness.

He wandered around a bit more before realizing that none of the objects were priced.  Not that it mattered.  The frames on the artwork probably cost more than he could afford.  Still, he couldn’t help admiring the quality of the collection.  Most were original oils, and even the prints were obviously of the highest quality.  None of that modern junk, either.  All of the art was done realistically, though the styles varied from soft, dreamlike scenes to nearly photographic images.

A few of the paintings demanded more than a casual glance.  One showed some kids splashing around in a large pond.  Dirty coveralls and a straw hat hanging from some bushes gave the piece an old-fashioned look.  Farm boys skinny-dipping on a hot summer day.   The detail was incredible.  His imagination supplied the faint sound of splashing water and laughter.

In contrast, the next picture to catch his eye was a scene of dark horror.  A deformed man crouched against the wall of a deeply shadowed room, staring at his outstretched hand.   Fur covered both arms, and was visible through tears in his shirt and pants.  The window behind him showed an empty night sky, though Alex was sure a full moon glowed just out of sight.  He’d never been much a werewolf fan, but something about the image appealed to him.  The artist had caught the moment just before the monster crossed the threshold between man and animal.  He couldn’t tell if the expression on the distorted features was joy or terror.

No one had come from the back yet, even though he’d been there quite a while.  He was a little surprised there wasn’t better security.  Half the stores on this block had iron grates on the windows and security cameras over the doors.  He couldn’t hang around much longer, anyway.  If he was going to pick up those wheels, he’d have to…  Alex frowned and tapped his watch.  It seemed to be working, but if the time shown was correct, he’d been in the shop less than five minutes.  Maybe he’d left work earlier than he thought.

“Sorry to keep you waiting.”

Alex nearly jumped out of his skin as a voice came from directly behind him.  Spinning around, he found a portly, white-haired woman smiling up at him.   She’d somehow managed to maneuver through the aisles without him noticing.  Flustered, he backed away a step.  “Um, hello.”

The lady chuckled.  “Sorry to startle you like that, young man.  I suppose I do move quietly.  Can I help you with anything?”

“No, thanks.”  Now he was feeling a little embarrassed.  No way he could afford either of the paintings.  “I just noticed this place for the first time.  Just looking right now.”

“That’s a fine piece, isn’t it?”  The woman indicated the werewolf artwork.  “If you stare at it long enough, you can feel your own muscles start to tense up.”  She raised an eyebrow.  “Quite different from the serenity of a swimming hole.”

How long had she been watching him?  He’d been too quick to question their security.  Maybe they just had their cameras hidden better.  Alex shrugged.  “I’m not sure why those two stood out.  All of your stuff here is wonderful.”

“Stuff?”  The woman snorted.  “You buy ‘stuff’ at Wal-Mart.”  Although her tone was scornful, she seemed amused.  “Come on, young man.  I have some more wonderful ‘stuff’ in the back.  Besides, I’m wrapping some items for shipping, and you can keep me company.”

About the only difference between the back of the store and the front was that it contained a small, open table covered with scraps of brown paper and string.  As promised, the walls were covered with additional artwork.  He started looking at the paintings as she returned to wrapping some sort of wooden statue.

“So, do you have some sort of catalog?”  Alex asked casually, hoping he might get an idea of the pricing without giving away his lack of funds.  “I didn’t see any stickers or numbers anywhere.”

“Oh, it’s all up here.”  The woman tapped her head and then finished tying up the figurine.  “Not as hard as you might think, though.  Most everything comes back to me sooner or later.”

“Comes back?”

She put the package aside and picked up a wood-framed painting.  “Artwork is very personal.  Sometimes you have to live with it a while before you know for sure that it’s right for you.  When someone is finished with my artwork, I always take it back.  Even if it is no longer saleable.”

Alex felt his hopes dim even further.  If she could afford to swap stuff out like that, she must charge a fortune.  Dispirited, he glanced at his watch and frowned.  Hadn’t it been ten after the last time he looked?  The second hand was sweeping around, and as he watched, the minute hand shifted slightly.  Must have misread it earlier.

After looking around the rest of the artwork, he wandered over to the table where she was working.  Glancing down, he caught sight of a large painting that made his breath catch in his throat.

It was a rural scene depicting horses under a huge oak tree.  Not the usual racing horses or ponies, but massive draft animals.  A mare and her foal.  She was unbelievably beautiful, the power and grace of her body combining with a magnetic sensuality.   His reaction didn’t make sense.  He’d never had much to do with horses.  Crouching down, he reached out tentatively, wanting to touch the golden-haired mare with his finger.

“Ah!”  The painting was suddenly whisked up.  “Sorry.  This one is already sold.”

Alex almost fell backwards, startled.  He felt a flush of anger, and had to struggle against an unreasonable urge to snatch the painting and run.   His throat constricted, and he broke out into a cold sweat.  “Please!  I….”  He broke off, aware of how ridiculous this was.  God, he was practically salivating!  Yet he couldn’t tear his eyes off the artwork.  “Do you have any… anything else like that?”

He knew the answer even before she shook her head.  “I’m very sorry.  This is rather unique.”  She smiled sadly.  “If it is any consolation, the man buying it was just as taken with it as you seem to be.”

The urge to steal the painting wouldn’t quite go away.  Alex scrambled up, feeling a bit dizzy.  He drank in the scene, memorizing every detail, every brush stroke.  He’d never wanted anything more in his life.  The raw desire was almost overpowering.  Spinning suddenly, he stumbled blindly out of the shop and almost ran back to his car.  His hands shook too badly to get the key in the door lock, and he ended up slumping against the fender for a few minutes until he calmed down.

What the Hell had come over him? He felt like one of those ridiculous villains on a bad TV show, obsessed with some obscure treasure.   Those characters had always seemed like fools to him, throwing away everything to get one rare jewel, or a particular spot of land.   Yet here he was, shaking and sweaty-palmed over some stupid painting of two horses!

Embarrassment finally overcame desire, and he got into the car.  Then a glance at the dashboard clock shocked him back to real life.  It was almost two!   Memories of the painting were pushed aside as he screeched off for the office, trying to work up a plausible excuse for his two-hour lunch.

The distraction of work and errands kept his mind occupied the rest of the day, but the artwork resurfaced in his dreams that night.  He was in the pasture, drinking in the rich, warm scent of the mare. A breeze was blowing across the grass, and he could hear birds and insects all around him.  She was nearing the time of mating, and he felt his maleness stir in anticipation.  He approached her, snuffling at her hindquarters.  The filly at her side moved away, and he nipped gently on her flank.  The mare swung away from him, her ears back.  Not ready.  Still, he pressed forward, not willing to give up yet.  This time, she kicked at him.

Alex jerked awake and grabbed at his side.  The reality of the dream disturbed and frightened him.  Thinking back, it was obvious that he had been a stallion.  That didn’t make the desire he still felt any easier to accept.   A sick feeling settled in his stomach.  Was he going crazy?  Work had been frantic the past few weeks.  Could be he was just suffering from stress.  He felt a little better with that idea, but it still took a long time to go back to sleep.

It was more than 3 weeks before he returned to the store.  Fear kept him away at first, for the dreams had intensified to the point that he had trouble telling them from reality.  He would wake in the echo of pain, still frustrated and anxious by the mare’s refusal.   Friends and coworkers started to comment on his haggard appearance, and he was considering seeing a psychiatrist.  Then the dreams abruptly changed.

Some nights Alex would find himself splashing around in a pond, a little boy playing with other kids on a warm summer day.  Other times, he would be locked in a dark room, feeling his flesh and bones pull into new shapes.  Dreams of the pasture had become filled with contentment, for the stallion was now a separate presence.  He experienced the dream from the viewpoint of a foal, though the original filly was always there with him.

Meanwhile the right wheel finally broke off his grille, and he’d never gotten to Sunbeam that day to pick up the new ones.   It was as good excuse as any.   Despite his nervousness, he was actually worried when he didn’t see the gallery from the street.  Parking the car, he hurried back and found it this time.   He hesitated a moment with his hand on the door.  What would the woman think?  When it came down to it, all he had done was leave quickly.  He could always tell her he’d suddenly realized he was late for work.  That much had turned out to be true.

This time, the woman was hanging a picture on the side wall.  She glanced over and smiled broadly.  “Oh, good.  I was so hoping that you would find your way back here.”

Alex was relieved at the cheerful greeting.  “I’m sorry about last time.  I, uh, was running late for work.”

“I’m sure.”  She raised an eyebrow, but then turned back to finish getting the painting up.  “I’ll be with you in just a moment.  Actually, I have something you might be interested in.”

He already knew what he wanted to look at.  Moving down the back wall, he located the spot where the painting of the pond had been.  A print of ballerinas practicing had replaced it.  Well, there was always the werewolf painting.  Or was there?  The dark image was gone, the space filled by a Norman Rockwell-type painting of a small-town street scene.  He scanned the walls quickly, feeling bitter disappointment.

“I’m sorry.  Both of them are gone.”  Once again, the woman had managed to appear behind him.  “I have a high turnover rate.”

“Well, thanks anyway.”  Alex sighed, mentally kicking himself for waiting so long.  Even though there were obviously a lot of new paintings, he couldn’t bring himself to look at any others.  Those three had been special, somehow.

She touched his arm as he turned to leave.  “Don’t go yet.  I want to show you a painting in the back.”  Grabbing his hand, she started leading him through the aisles.  Still depressed, Alex followed without enthusiasm.  He’d look at whatever it was she had and then leave.

There were two open packages on the table.  The smaller held a highly detailed carving of a lion and lioness, passionately entwined.  She lifted torn paper off the large item, and Alex’s mouth fell open.  It was the pasture painting!  Except… there were three horses.  A stallion had joined the mare and filly, dark and powerful.

Alex blinked in confusion.  Every detail was just as he remembered.  The position of the filly, the ruffle of feathering on the mare’s legs.  Even the delicate dandelions clumped around the tree’s roots.  It had to be the same painting.  Yet the stallion’s presence made that impossible.

“I know it is somewhat different.”  The woman pulled off the rest of the paper and turned it to face him fully.  “Most things change before they come back.  Still, you felt so strongly about it…”

The painting did attract him still, though not with the feverish passion of the first encounter.  Now it filled him with a contentment that was almost tangible.  The mare seemed to be looking out at him, welcoming him to her side.  Even the massive stallion came across as a protector, not a threat.   He felt his throat constrict, eyes watering in longing.  Unable to speak, he nodded his head and pulled out his wallet.

The woman smiled as he left with the painting under his arm.  That one would be back in a day or two.  She’d take it home and put it over the mantle.  Rural scenes were a favorite of hers, and adding a colt to the painting would be the perfect finishing touch.

The End

The Lamb

James checked his tie in the car's rear-view mirror, and gave a sigh of exasperation as another pimple became apparent.  Damn!  Between the peach fuzz on his cheeks and persistent acne, he still looked like a teenager at twenty-six.  While some might envy his boyish features, they kept him from being taken seriously by anyone.  And that was a problem for corporate lawyer with ambition.

This assignment was a chance to change his image from lamb to lion.  The immaculate Victorian house he was parked in front of occupied a critical plot of land that one of his firm's client's wanted very badly.  The woman who owned it was adamant about not selling, despite some extremely generous offers and eventually, harassment and threats.

Not that he approved of such tactics, of course.  James considered himself to be a decent person, and the idea of using intimidation against an old lady made him uneasy.   However, looking like a kid did have a couple of advantages - most people tended to underestimate him, and he still had that aura of innocence that generated trust.  He would try charm first.

Climbing out of his BMW, he looked around the property.  Fifty acres of woods and pastures, mostly left in natural state.  Although the lawn around the house itself was manicured like a golf course, the surrounding fields were overgrown with weeds, brush, and wildflowers.  A thin white fog of dandelions covered the ground, dotted with blooms of yellow, red, and purple.  It was the stereotypical rural paradise, complete with a scattering of grazing cows and sheep.  So serene, so beautiful.

He squashed those feelings with sudden disgust.  Damn, he hadn't even made it to the front door yet!    Those cows and flowers were blocking construction of a two hundred million-dollar industrial complex that would provide thousands of jobs and more than quadruple the financial base of three surrounding counties.  Not to mention a five million-dollar commission to the law firm if he was successful, a commission that would almost guarantee him a full partnership.

The reward was worth the risk.  Rather ominously, neither of the two lawyers who had preceded James here was still with the firm.  The first had quit the next day, and the second had eventually been fired for 'inability to perform.'  Had the pastoral scenery taken them in?  James was made of stronger stuff than that - a document in his briefcase was proof of that, though he honestly hoped he wouldn't have to use it.

A huge old chocolate Lab came bounding up as he walked towards the house, tail wagging and tongue lolling out.  He resisted the urge to pat it, not wanting to get hair on his $800 suit.  The dog had no such reservations, however, and he had to sidestep to avoid having the beast jump up on him.

"Rascal!"  A sharp voice interrupted the Lab's attempts to show affection, and he loped happily up the stairs to greet the newcomer.  Mrs. Harriet Perkins, no doubt.   Like her farm, the woman was a living Norman Rockwell painting, the kindly midwestern Grandmother who only existed in nostalgic movies.  He caught himself this time, seeing the smiling, gray-haired old woman for what she really was.  His opponent.

He smiled brightly, and switched on the eager, cheerful tone that usually worked well with his appearance.  "Mrs. Perkins?  Hi!  I'm Jimmy Ledsome."  She frowned slightly.  "From the Silverstone Group?  I called yesterday for an appointment?"

"I remember, Mr. Ledsome.  You just don't look like what I expected.  I suppose your firm is hoping charm will work where bullying failed."

James' smile faltered, but he recovered quickly by switching to a look of concern.  "Bullying?  Gosh, that's awful!"  He winced mentally at the cornball expletive, but continued.  "I do know that both the people who came here before are gone.  Please, I really would appreciate a chance to talk to you."

Perkins' eyes narrowed.  "I am not selling my home, young man, and nothing you say is going to change my mind."  Then her face crinkled into a warm smile.  "But if you want to join me for some fresh lemonade and homemade cookies, I'll listen."

The inside of the house was as he expected, a cheerful collection of antiques and bric-a-brac that was both attractive and comfortable.  She led the way back to a surprisingly modern kitchen.  "One of my few concessions to progress.  As much as I hate to admit it, I love the microwave."

He sat down at the small kitchen table, carefully moving a vase of daisies aside to make room for his briefcase.  The old woman scurried around the kitchen, gathering glasses, a large ceramic pitcher from the refrigerator, and a pan of cookies that smelled freshly baked.  After pouring him a glass of lemonade that had pulp and seeds floating in it, she sat down and looked at him expectantly.

He took a cookie and tried it - peanut butter, crunchy and still slightly warm.  The lemonade was just as wonderful, providing just the right amount of tartness.  They created a warmth of childhood memories that brought a wistful smile to his lips.  Then he realized that his childhood had never had home-baked anything.  Both of his parents had worked from the time he was still in diapers, and most of his youth had been spent in daycare or home alone.

"These are wonderful!"  He grinned as he popped the last bit into his mouth.  "You are a terrific cook."

Perkins pushed the pan towards him.  "They are all yours.  I was in a baking mood, and knew you were coming.  I'll put the leftovers in a bag when you leave."

God, she was good.  No wonder the other men had faltered.  James felt his resolve slipping a little, and stomped out flickerings of remorse.  He took a deep breath, and began his attack.

"Mrs. Perkins, you know why I am here.  My firm represents a client who wishes to buy your property.  They are offering a substantial amount of money, quite a bit more than the estimated value."  The old woman's expression began to harden, but he continued.  "But when I look around this place, I can understand why you don't want to sell.  What use is money to you?  You have a beautiful home, and a comfortable life."

She looked surprised - it was obviously not an approach she had expected.  It was time to dangle the bait.

"The reason I want to talk to you is that I don't think you realize what the project you are blocking could mean to your friends and neighbors."  He leaned forward, adopting a practiced look of earnest enthusiasm.  "You are obviously a caring person, Mrs. Jenkins.  Think of the benefits a major industrial enterprise could bring to the town.  I'm not just talking about jobs, I am talking about money for schools, modern hospitals, art and culture."

Her brow furrowed slightly.  A good sign - she was considering his comments.  James plunged ahead, emphasizing the different county's antiquated school systems and the lack of advanced health care.  He had researched the area carefully, and was able to show her a chart that illustrated a nearly stagnant economy with little potential for growth.  Police and Fire services were minimal, making do with ancient equipment and under-trained volunteers.

The thirty-minute critique was followed by an equally detailed description of how all that would change if his client was allowed to build the complex.  Thousands of new jobs, immediate growth in all areas, a population explosion that would make this backwoods community a major force in the State.  There would be money for new schools, professional emergency services, the best medical facilities.  The children growing up here would have opportunities their parents never dreamed of, chances to grow and excel without having to move away to some cold, soulless city.

Jenkins gave him her complete attention, looking at his charts and figures with interest.  He had counted on her being compassionate, someone who wouldn't sell for riches, but might make way for the betterment of her neighbors.  That compassion made her vulnerable.

When he finished with the last graph outlining the vastly improved tax base, she leaned back in her chair.  "You make an excellent case, Mr. Ledsome.  Education, medicine, a brighter future for our children.  It is a compelling argument."

His heart leaped, and the taste of impending victory was even sweeter than her cookies.

Raising an eyebrow, she added, "It is also a load of horseshit."

The taste in his mouth suddenly wasn't so sweet.  Startled, he blinked and straightened up.  "I beg your pardon?"

The old woman's expression was amused, but there was a hardness behind the pale blue eyes that made him uneasy.  "I'll admit that you came up with a fresh approach.  And you certainly did your homework on my community.  To a point."

She picked up one of his charts.  "Your client is Extner Corporation."

James tried not to betray his surprise.  The deal was being worked using a dummy company named American Industries.  No one outside his firm and a few executives of Extner was supposed to know the truth.  One of his predecessors must have told her.  There was no point in denying it.  He nodded.

Standing, Jenkins went over to the kitchen counter and pulled a stack of paper from a drawer.  She dropped them on the table in front of him.  The top sheet was a printed web site page from the Extner Corporation web site.  "I did some research on these people when the first offer came.  You might be amazed at how much information you can get if you spend some time cruising the web.  Environmental impact studies, state and federal committee reports, economic and population statistics."

A cold lump began to form in his stomach.  Plan A was in a tailspin.  Did he have the guts to use Plan B?

The old woman continued.  "Extner has one of the worst track records of any major manufacturer in the country.  Every single community that has allowed them in has seen skyrocketing problems with pollution, crime, and illness.  They strong-arm local government into overlooking safety and environmental violations, and those that resist too much have been known to suffer 'accidents'.  Their workers are the lowest-paid in the industry, and the standard of living in affected towns has actually dropped substantially."

"But look at the growth opportunities!  The schools, the hospitals…"  James struggled to salvage something, even though he knew it was too late.

The problem is, you didn't look at what really matters here."  Jenkins shuffled through his papers, picking out the one on existing schools.  "Yes, the educational facilities are old, and the teaching methods are antiquated.   Our kids still rank second in the State in almost every academic area.  As far as hospitals go, the life span and mortality rate are the best in this part of the country.  And the economy may not show much growth, but we have a near-zero unemployment rate and not a single person who could be considered living in poverty."  She let the paper slip from her fingers.  "I'm sorry, Mr. Ledsome.  No sale."

James closed his eyes and took a moment to collect himself.  He had made the mistake he had counted on her making - underestimating his opponent.  She was intelligent, clever, and very well informed.  Everything she said was the truth, giving him no argument.  Bitter disappointment was made even worse by the knowledge of what had to come next.

She was looking at him with concern when he opened his eyes.  "Are you all right, Mr. Ledsome?  I am sure you were quite unprepared, and I imagine your superiors will not be happy.  I am sorry for that."

Instead of replying, James reached into the top of his briefcase and pulled out a sealed manila envelope.  He tore it open and pulled out the single of sheet of paper inside, which he held out to her.

"What is that?"  Jenkins squinted at the dark, handwritten text.

"A photocopy of the original title to this land."  He laid it down and looked her straight in the eye.  "Issued by the county to one Elizabeth Bromley Fielding on March 3, 1837."

She frowned.  "I don't understand.  What has that got to do with anything?"

Standing, James walked to the counter and then turned back to face her.  "That title specifically grants use of the property to Elizabeth Fielding for the extent of her life, with ownership reverting to the county upon her death.  It was apparently some sort of long-term lease in payment for an unspecified service."

"So?"  Jenkins looked worried now.  She had good reason.

"Your ownership of this land is based on a series of deeds and titles that began in 1893, when Mrs. Fielding willed the property to a cousin, Linda Elizabeth Parker."  He took a deep breath.  "Mrs. Jenkins, that original title was illegal.  Mrs. Fielding did not own the property, and therefore could not will it to anyone.  Technically, this land has belonged to the county for more than a century!  And I have no doubt that Extner will provide the legal force needed to reclaim it."

The old woman grabbed at her chair, sitting down hard.  Her eyes were wide, shock evident on her face.  "How could this have happened?  Why didn't anyone find out before?"  Tears welled up in her eyes.

James squelched the pity in his heart, keeping his voice level and cold.  "Research.  Hard work.  Even some generous bribes.  You are highly regarded around here, and it was quite difficult to get anyone to help me.  Lucky for me, one of the county clerks just moved into the area and didn't know you from Adam."

She looked up at him and shook her head sadly.  "And you will use this against me if I don't sell."  It was a statement, but he nodded in reply.  She slumped in the chair, and then sighed heavily.  "This was very hard for you, wasn't it?"

James was surprised at the question, but maintained his coolness.  "I am doing what has to be done, Mrs. Jenkins.  One person can't stand in the way of progress."

"Progress?"  She snorted derisively.  "Let me show you something."  Jenkins stood, suddenly looking much older and frailer.  She went to the back door and started outside.  "Are you so intent on the kill that you can't spare five minutes?"

As much as he wanted to get her signature on the paperwork, to get this painful ordeal over for both of them, James followed.  She led him down the stairs and out into a field that stretched out behind the house.  If anything, this was even more beautiful than the front, for there was no glistening red BMW to destroy the nostalgic scenery.  There was movement in the tall grass - a spring lamb, frolicking among the wildflowers.  He almost laughed aloud.  Surely this had to be some elaborate setup.    Did she think he would fall for such blatant sentimentality?

If she noticed his cold sneer, she gave no sign.  "Look at this, Mr. Ledsome.  This kind of peace, the natural beauty of the land is being erased.  You claim to represent progress.  Yet you know that your success here will mean ruining this beauty, and bring an end to a happy and healthy community.  All you are really concerned with is satisfying your hunger."

He blinked, but did not respond.  She was trying to appeal to a sense of decency, doing her best to pry a spark of compassion from him.

"Look at the lamb, Mr. Ledsome."  She pointed at the gangly creature that was nibbling on a flower.  "It can take time to enjoy life.  Instead of destroying the beauty, it is part of it.  You are trying to follow the path of the lion, a creature that must kill to survive.  That life is nothing but hunger and death."  She turned to look back at him.  "I can sense the lamb in you, Jimmy.  Please, for your sake, please don't turn your back on the gentle soul I know is there."

It was the wrong thing to say.  Maybe there was a lamb buried inside him, but James had been fighting it too long and hard to give up now.  In the end, the lion ate the lamb.  He could not waver now.  It was time to prove he was the predator.

Looking directly at her, he wiped all expression from his face.  "You have to decide now, Mrs. Jenkins.  Either I take back the signed contract for the property, or the county will end up taking it from you and selling it to us anyway.  One way you end up a rich woman, the other you are evicted with nothing because you have no legal claim to the land."

She looked at him with terrible sadness.  "Such strong ambition to be the predator.  Congratulations, Mr. Ledsome.  You have your wish."

Victory was not as sweet this time, but he seized it nonetheless.  "If you will come back inside, we can take care of the paperwork in a few minutes."

The old woman shook her head.  "Oh, I am not selling."

James froze.  "But you said...  What about the title?  You will be evicted from the land anyway!"

"No, I won't."  She straightened suddenly, her eyes filled with blue fire.  "You see, the original deed is still in effect."

A hot wind whipped around him, stirring up a miniature tornado of dandelion fuzz.  He waved the delicate seeds away from his face, confused by her statement.  "That's not possible.  The title expired when Mrs. Fielding died."  White fluff was covering his suit now, and clinging to his face and hands.  He brushed at his coat sleeves, but the floating seeds were embedded in the fabric.

"Poor Jimmy."  Jenkins stepped back from him, partially obscured by a thickening cloud.  "You never thought to wonder why this community is so healthy, why we don't need fancy hospitals and smoke-belching factories to be happy.  It's part of the deal I made in 1837."

"You?"  James shook his head, and tried to wipe fuzz away from his eyes.  "That's impossible!"   Fear welled up suddenly, and he staggered back waving his arms wildly to escape the dense dandelion fog.  His hands were completely hidden under a thick layer of white down.  "What's happening!  Make it stop!"  The wind blew hotter, and he twisted and ran for his car in a vain effort to escape.

Hot, so hot.  He fumbled with the door handle, then froze as he looked down to see why it wouldn't open.  Thick black nails were leaving scratches in the sparkling red paint, nails that were part of a massive, white-furred paw already darkening to a deep golden-brown.

James screamed and tore at his clothes, trying to pull off the heavy blanket of fuzz that was closing in around his face, his arms, his body.  Instead of falling off, the thick coat hugged him even tighter, turning into furred hide that rippled over expanding muscles.  Jenkins!  She could make it stop!   Turning suddenly, he saw her watching him from the field.  He took a step towards her, then overbalanced and fell heavily onto strong, muscular forelegs.

The hot wind carried a strong, unfamiliar odor now, and suddenly engulfed him in a whirl of fluff that clogged his nose and mouth, and blinded his eyes with burning pain.  He screamed, but the sound that emerged from his muzzle was a deafening roar.  Which was answered almost immediately by another.

Startled, he shook his head.  Sight, sound, and smell were suddenly restored.  A sleek, golden-furred lioness was crouched in the tall, dry brush ahead of him.  He could identify the scent now.  Wildebeest, though thoughts flickered to a picture rather than the word.  The image caused saliva to run from his lips, and he felt the deep stirring of hunger in his belly.   Existence focused on the hunt, but as the last shards of James Ledsome fell away from the predator's consciousness, the lion felt a last flicker of grief for the death of a lamb.

The End

Unicorn Dance

“Can you see him?” Katy peered around the stone wall of the castle ballroom in a most unladylike manner, pushing Jennifer aside in her eagerness to check out the huge crowd. Any other member of the royal family would have been outraged at her handmaiden’s familiarity, but the two girls were more best friends than princess and servant.

“Not yet.” Princess Jennifer pulled the girl back. “Don’t stick your head out like that! Do you want us to get caught? Anyway, I need some help with this costume.”

“Wait a minute. I think – ohhhhhhh.” Katy sighed. “That has to be him. The tall, wild-looking boy with the black horse mask. Look at those legs! And I’ll bet that codpiece isn’t all stuffing!”

“Katy!” Jennifer felt herself blush. “Prince Justinian is a gentleman! And future king of the next province. He isn’t some muscle-bound stable boy for you to bed in an empty stall!”

“More like a stallion, I’d say.” Her handmaiden’s eyes twinkled mischievously. “Looking for the perfect filly.”

“Hush! You can’t be heard talking like that about royalty. It isn’t, well, proper.”

“Oh, we’re supposed to be proper, are we?” Katy smoothed her gown and assumed an exaggerated air of formality. “I so humbly beg your pardon, Princess! Being an ignorant peasant girl, I thought you were wearing this elaborate unicorn costume to catch that stallion’s eye. Against the wishes of your father, the King, I might add.”

“He did not forbid me to attend the ball! And I happen to like this costume.” Jennifer was grateful that her costume’s full headpiece hid her red cheeks. Her father had made it quite plain that her two older sisters were to have the prince to themselves. And while he had not actually forbidden her to attend, he had made it clear that Jennifer was not to approach Prince Justinian at all.

“And you look beautiful in it.” Katy grinned at her. “I’m sure it is just coincidence that you chose the same kind of costume the Prince always wears. Here. Your tail is slipping.” She reached around and adjusted the fluff-tipped appendage so that it was centered again. “There. Let me take a look at you now.”

Jennifer tried to assume a ladylike pose as her handmaiden walked around her. At sixteen, she still had a touch of adolescent awkwardness that made her feel clumsy around her more cultured siblings. And though she knew she was pretty, it would be another year or two before she matured enough to lose her boyish figure.

“It’s perfect!” Even as she said that, Katy adjusted the mask’s forelock and tugged at one sleeve of her white silk gown. “You are a creature of light and magic. You are mysterious and elegant.” She raised an eyebrow. “Try not to trip and fall flat on your face.”

“Oh, that is just what I needed to hear.” Jennifer took a cautious step. Her slippers were made to look like golden, cloven hooves – quite beautiful, but also difficult to walk in. She had been practicing for hours in her chambers, trying to develop a smooth, gliding motion. “Where is my father?”

Katy peered around the corner again. “He’s over there swapping lies with the Dukes. Oh, bother! Lillith is talking to Prince Justinian! The cow! She’s too old for him!”

“You are speaking about my oldest sister, the Princess!” Jennifer tried to sound indignant, but felt growing despair. Lillith was only three years older than the prince’s reported age of twenty, and her buxom figure was the envy of almost every woman in the court. What chance did she have against that? “Oh, this is all wrong. I can’t go out there.”

“Nonsense!” Her friend pushed her towards the main ballroom. “You just have to walk across the floor. No one will know who you are, not even your father! Don’t even look at him! Remember, he has to be the one who approaches you.”

“He probably won’t even notice me.” Jennifer suddenly felt silly, like a child playing dress-up. Venturing a peek, she saw the young man kiss her sister’s hand. A hot flash of jealousy joined with tremendous longing. She had fallen in love with Justinian the moment she first saw him more than two months ago. He had joined in a hunt with her father and some of the nobles, looking like a wild, magnificent stag himself among the tired old men.

However, she had adored him from afar, never having the courage to introduce herself on one of his infrequent visits to the castle. The young man might not even know she existed. Or perhaps he saw her as her own family did, as a child not quite ready to assume an adult role in the royal court.

“If he doesn’t notice you, I’ll eat your costume!” Katy reached out and grabbed her hands. “You can do this, Jennifer! You are a Princess of the realm, and just as beautiful as any girl here. If he doesn’t see that, even underneath this costume, then he doesn’t deserve you anyway!”

Jennifer squeezed the girl’s hands, then took a deep breath. Forcing herself to be calm, she stepped out into the ballroom. No one paid her any attention at first. There were far more elaborate costumes here. However, she began to feel admiring eyes as she glided across the floor, carefully avoiding the clusters that might test her ability to maneuver on the dainty hooves.

Fortune smiled on her, for the area in front of Prince Justinian was clear. She made a slight adjustment of direction to pass within a few yards of the young man. Although she was careful not to look in his direction, she managed a sideways glance as she passed. The incredible blue eyes that had captured her heart were clearly visible behind his equine mask, but they were focused on Lillith.

She was sick with disappointment, but continued without missing a step. Once she reached the far side, she could slip out of the ballroom and run back to her chambers. And then she heard a faint gasp from behind, followed by the lightest touch on her arm. Turning, her heart pounding, Jennifer found herself looking up into Prince Justinian’s smiling face.

“Good evening, my lady.” He bowed low, then took her hand and brushed it lightly with his lips. “I do not believe I have had the honor of meeting you. I am Justinian of Aramus.”

Jennifer struggled to remember court decorum. “An honor for me, Prince Justinian. I am Princess Jennifer, daughter of your host.”

“My BABY sister.” Lillith came up behind Justinian, angry eyes betraying a honey-smooth voice. “She is not really supposed to be here – court functions are not the place for CHILDREN.” She brushed by Justinian and took Jennifer’s arm in a none-too-gentle grip. “Such a cute costume. Come, father will enjoy seeing you in it. I am sure the Prince will excuse us.”

Justinian nodded and bowed again. “Perhaps we can speak later, Princess Jennifer.”

“If it isn’t past her bedtime.” Lillith yanked her arm hard enough that she stumbled slightly. As soon as they were far enough away, her sister hissed, “And what do you think you are up to? I was having a nice conversation with Justinian when you came traipsing by in this clever little costume. Do you think he would really want anything to do with a child?”

“I am NOT a child!” Jennifer fought back tears. “I am a princess of the realm, and I have every right to be here!”

“Fine. I am sure father will be interested in knowing you deliberately disobeyed him. You were told not to say anything to the Prince.”

“Father told me I was not to approach him.” Jennifer stopped suddenly and yanked her arm free of Lillith’s hand. “I simply walked past the two of you. What was I supposed to do? Ignore him when he spoke to me?”

“Of course he spoke to you!” Lillith was beginning to boil now. “His interest in unicorns is well known. He would have spoken to a court page wearing this costume! I wouldn’t be surprised if he thought you WERE a boy under all that!”

“You great cow!” Jennifer shouted her handmaiden’s assessment in anger, then realized that the whole room had fallen silent. Horrified, she spun and ran for the exit as chuckles began to ripple across the room. Halfway there, the dainty hooves slipped out from under her and she fell backwards to land on her rump. Her mask flew off, exposing her tear-streaked face and messing her hair in the process.

The chuckles fell silent for a moment, only to explode into outright laughter when it was obvious she wasn’t hurt. Mortified beyond belief, she kicked off the cursed slippers and scrambled up. Even Prince Justinian was laughing! She spun suddenly and ran from the ballroom, not stopping until she reached her own chambers.

She was still sobbing across the bed when Katy came in, lugging the lost headpiece. The girl dropped the mask and rushed over to hug her. “It’s all right! Half the old farts will be falling on their own asses by the end of the ball, too drunk to stand! You just got an early start.”

“I made a fool of myself! And in front of Prince Justinian!”

“Aye.” Katy patted her arm. “But you need to be a bit more concerned about your father’s reaction. He looked more than a little peeved when you called Lillith a cow.”

“In front of all the guests!” Jennifer slumped. Her attempt to look like a lady had ended with a performance befitting a miserable, bratty child. “He’ll never let me attend another ball again!”

“I doubt if it is that bad. Most of the guests will forget it before the night is out, and anyway, Justinian was dancing with Lillith when I left. So there was no harm done.”

Jennifer was not cheered by that last bit of news, but sniffed and sat up. “Do you really think they will forget about me falling like that?”

“Certainly.” Katy grinned. “Though I wouldn’t be surprised if one or two of the drunken Dukes don’t Moo at Lillith a few times before the night is out.” The thought was enough to make Jennifer giggle, and once she started, the two girls ended up rolling on the bed in a fit of laughter that brought tears to both their eyes.

The King was somewhat less amused when she was summoned to see him the next morning. It probably didn't help that he was obviously nursing a hangover. After a long lecture on proper decorum and the impropriety of calling any member of the royal family an animal, she was ordered to spend the next week in her chambers. Further, she would not be allowed to attend any court function until she could demonstrate an ability to behave as an adult.

However, the worst punishment of all was being forced to apologize to Lillith in front of the entire court at dinner that night. Her two older sisters smirked as she had to proclaim her own childish failings, and then ask forgiveness for her ‘tantrum.’ After that, spending seven days in her own rooms was actually a blessing, for she did not have to face anyone except for Katy.

They spent the isolation coming up with all sorts of horrible fates for her sisters, and burning most of the unicorn costume in the fireplace. It was ruined anyway. The gold horn had snapped off the headpiece, and one of the fancy slippers had been lost. Katy also discovered a new stable boy who she claimed was hung like one of his charges, and provided graphic details of their sordid romps that left Jennifer blushing fiercely.

Not that she had any basis for comparison. Her knowledge of sexual matters was strictly second-hand, mostly from Katy’s recounting of her own exploits. If her handmaiden was as promiscuous as she seemed, it was a wonder she hadn’t found herself with child.

Despite her fascination with Katy’s love life, Jennifer had a much more conservative view of sex. Part of this was her upbringing – a member of the royal family had to be careful to avoid scandal. In truth, even her beloved handmaiden might be sent away if she ended up pregnant. However, Jennifer wanted more than an animal rut. She longed for romance, for the true, pure love of fairy tales. The kind of feelings she had for Prince Justinian.

By the time her exile ended, the incident seemed to have been forgiven, if not forgotten. Her father even hinted that she might be allowed to take part in some minor court activities - following some concentrated schooling on etiquette and royal protocols, of course. Her sisters rather too eagerly volunteered to be her teachers. Lillith would no doubt use them as a form of further revenge, and Marian, the middle sister, enjoyed tormenting her anyway.

Jennifer celebrated her first day of freedom with a long walk in the woods just outside the castle. There was a small, peaceful grotto she had been going to for years. It was a refreshing change from the stagnant atmosphere of the court, and perfectly safe for her to be alone in. Katy would normally have come along, but her stable boy sent word he had some time off. Jennifer shooed her friend off after getting a promise of details that night.

The grotto was beautiful as always, old trees and wildflowers surrounding a clear pond. A fallen tree provided a convenient bench where she could sit with her feet dangling in the cool water. She would often stay here for hours, immersing herself in the sounds of the forest. So it came as a rather sudden shock to have a familiar voice speak directly behind her.

“Good morning, Princess Jennifer.” It was Prince Justinian.

Flustered, she scrambled up, getting the bottom of her gown wet as she curtsied awkwardly still standing in the shallow edge of the pond. “Prince Justinian! I did not know you were visiting the castle.” She flushed and stepped out of the water, cursing herself for looking even more the fool. “I hope that you will forgive my behavior at the ball.”

“There is nothing to forgive.” The young man’s face lit up in a smile. “Except for your rushing off without giving me even one dance.”

Jennifer blushed again, this time with pleasure. “You are too kind, sir. And if I missed a dance with you, I am truly punished.”

Grinning, Justinian offered his arm. “Would milady settle for a walk? If it is not presumptuous of me to intrude on your meditation?”

“I am honored, sir.” She looped her arm through his, thrilled and terrified. “To what do we owe the honor of this visit? Does my father have another hunt planned?”

“Actually, your father is not aware that I am here.” Justinian flashed a guilty smile. “I trust you will not have your guards imprison me for trespassing.”

Jennifer shook her head. “You are always welcome, of course. If not a hunt, then what? Surely your own province has forests to walk in.”

“I came to visit with a very dear friend, a lady who lives nearby.”

She felt a quick thrill. Could he mean her? “And would I know this lady friend?”

“No, I think not. And I probably should not be telling you about her, for she is living within your father’s estate without his knowledge.”

Jennifer stopped, disappointed and surprised. “She lives in these woods? How has she managed to avoid being discovered?”

“She is quite resourceful. And she has been here only a short time. I hope you will keep our secret.” Justinian took her hand. “I would like you to meet her.”

While she appreciated his trust, Jennifer did not want to meet whatever woman had stolen the man of her dreams. “I will tell no one. However, I should be returning to the castle soon. My handmaiden might become concerned if I tarry too long.”

“It is not far, Princess.” He squeezed her fingers gently. “Please, humor me. I have told Arleana about you, and she would like to make your acquaintance. It would mean a great deal to me. And I am sure your servant is well entertained this beautiful day, and will not seek you out any time soon.”

Thinking of Katy’s planned activities, Jennifer suspected the prince was right. And no matter how disappointed, she could not refuse Justinian anything he asked. Forcing a smile, she nodded. “If this Arleana is important to you, I would consider it a privilege to meet her.”

They followed a well-marked path through the woods, Justinian anxious and eager as he led the way. She was amazed when they emerged into a small clearing only a few hundred yards away. A small peasant cottage stood on one side, with well-established gardens and flowerbeds to either side. She had walked these woods many times – how could she have missed this?

“Wait here. I will get her.” Justinian went to the plain door and knocked softly. It was odd to have a royal showing such formality to commoner, and Jennifer felt a stab of jealousy. What kind of radiant beauty had captured the Prince’s love so fully? Then the door opened, and her mouth fell open even as her heart filled with happiness.

The woman who emerged and embraced Justinian was old and gray, and walked with a stiff-legged gait. They looked like grandmother and grandchild together. The old woman hobbled over to her and bowed awkwardly. “I am honored to meet you, Princess Jennifer. My name is Arleana. Justinian tells me you can be trusted not to speak of me to your father. I hope you will not see a poor old woman as a threat to your family’s safety.”

Relieved that she was not facing a competitor, Jennifer smiled. “Of course not. As a member of the royal family, I extend a welcome to you and grant you use of this land. If anyone questions your presence here, please tell them to consult me.” She was not all that certain that she had such powers, but seriously doubted her father would argue too much over one old woman. “Though I am curious how you have managed to remain undiscovered.”

Arleana’s face crinkled in a warm smile. “I am a witch!” When Jennifer stepped back in alarm, she raised a spotted, withered hand. “No, child. Not the black arts. I follow the path of nature, tending the growing things of the earth and the creatures of hoof, wing, and paw. As for my ability to hide, it is but a simple illusion.” She closed her eyes a moment, and the clearing suddenly changed appearance.

Jennifer gasped. A cave had replaced the cottage and the immaculate gardens were a tangle of brush and trees. “I have been here before! Even glanced in the cave. And all the time I was actually looking into your cottage?”

“A convincing image, don’t you think?” Arleana concentrated again, and the cottage reappeared. “It has been safer to remain unnoticed, though with your kind invitation, perhaps I will not need to hide any longer.” She gestured to a fallen log. “Please Princess. I have not spoken with another female in ages, and Justinian never pays attention to the court gossip. Would you humor and old woman and chat for a spell?”

It was obvious that the old woman and the Prince shared the same type of easy familiarity that Jennifer and Katy had. It made Justinian all the more wonderful in Jennifer’s eyes – far too many royals tended to be aloof and even haughty around peasants, and even her lifelong friendship with Katy was more tolerated than approved.

“If you will reciprocate with stories of the Prince. I know very little about him.” She glanced at Justinian. The young man had wandered to the edge of the clearing, and was staring into the thick woods with obvious longing. She took a step towards him, only to have Arleana touch her sleeve gently.

“Stay, child.” Speaking softly, she looked at him with obvious fondness. “His spirit is wild, more befitting a satyr than a prince. That is how we first met – he was your age, searching the woods for that which cannot be found. Instead, he found me. Our lives have been entwined ever since.” The old woman raised her voice. “Go, Justinian! You have no wish to hear two women prattling, and we have no need to watch you pacing when you want to run. Go!” Justinian bolted suddenly like a startled deer, vanishing into forest without even looking back.

Staring incredulously, Jennifer finally noticed that Arleana was looking at her expectantly. Of course. The woman was waiting for her to be seated first. She lowered herself on the log, still staring after the young man. “Where is he going?”

“Everywhere and nowhere, Princess.” Arleana chuckled as she eased herself down. “He will come back in an hour or so, sweaty and exhausted from his search. It has been thus since he was a boy.”

“What is he looking for?”

“A unicorn.”

Jennifer blinked. “A unicorn? There are no unicorns in this wood! I am sure I would know of such a thing!” Indeed, the horned equines were so rare as to almost be considered a myth. Like centaurs, satyrs, and minotaurs, unicorns were creatures of a magic that was fading from the world. She had seen a Minotaur once when she was very young, part of a travelling circus that had performed for the royal family. It was old, with mottled black hide and one horn broken off. The poor creature had looked almost like a normal bull that had simply reared up on its hind legs, and stank terribly. “Why would he think to find such a creature here?”

“You do not simply find a unicorn, my dear.” Arleana smiled. “However, if the soul is willing and the heart is pure, one can be summoned. I know the spell, but one as old as I no longer has purity required. Justinian knows he will not find what he seeks, but he still visits the forest each day. In truth, he takes pleasure in the running itself, for he is a buck at heart.” She snorted. “Enough of that! Tell me of the court, Princess! What are the ladies of fashion wearing? What news is there of other places?”

Jennifer felt awkward at first, but quickly warmed to the old woman and found herself chatting away as if she were alone with Katy. Arleana wanted to know about daily life, her family, even the boring and routine details of the court. She laughed at some of them, and seemed genuinely amazed at others. They were still at it when Justinian returned. The young man’s face was flushed and his clothes were damp and stained. A slightly dazed expression faded quickly when he saw Jennifer, and he brushed self-consciously at his soiled shirt. “My apologies, Princess. I should not have gone so long. Allow me to make myself more presentable, and I will escort you back to your grotto.”

She realized that the sun was indeed quite high – it had to be mid-day. The two of them had been talking for hours! As Justinian disappeared inside the cottage, Jennifer leaned close to the old woman. “Could you summon a unicorn for him? If you had the help of someone pure?”

Arleana chewed her bottom lip thoughtfully. “It would have to be a virgin, one who has never been with man or woman, who will freely offer her love without reservation.”

Jennifer looked down at the ground, her heart pounding, then reached out and took the old woman’s hands in hers. “If I am worthy, I will help you. I love him with all my heart – I have loved him from the moment I first saw him.”

“You are more than worthy, Princess.” The old woman smiled. “He has similar feelings for you. The purity and innocence that he has sought these many years reside in your heart. It is why he brought you here to me. He sought my approval, and I am pleased to give it.”

Jennifer’s head whirled, and she could barely refrain from an unladylike shout of joy. “How can you do the summoning? What do you want me to do?”

Glancing to make sure the prince was still inside, Arleana gazed into her eyes. “Come tonight, if you would make his dream come true. At midnight, when the moon is full and the world is balanced between light and darkness. Tell no one else, for the spell cannot work in the presence of unbelievers. That is why the creatures of magic are vanishing – too many humans have forgotten their dreams, or been forced to abandon them in the struggle to survive.”

“I’ll be here.” Jennifer stood as Justinian emerged, his clothes and hair arranged more properly, if still smudged. “Thank you for allowing me to be part of this.”

“It would not be possible without you.” Arleana leaned forward and gave her a delicate peck on the cheek. “Until tonight, my dear Princess.” Then she turned to the prince. “You are blessed with this one, Justinian. Make sure you do not lose her.”

Jennifer blushed, and curtsied as if to the queen. “You honor me too much, dear lady. And please, call me Jennifer. Formality is not for friends.”

The prince walked her back to the grotto in silence. Jennifer didn’t need to talk – just walking arm-in-arm with Justinian was enough. Even the thick, musky smell of his sweat was a rich perfume that she savored. When they finally reached the pond, he held her hands for a moment. Heat burned in her loins, her heart, and she suddenly knew that powerful desire that Katy had often described. She would lay with Justinian at a word, a gesture, a glance, mindless of the consequences.

However, the young man simply traced her cheek with one finger, then kissed her forehead lightly. "Until we meet again, Jennifer. Soon, I hope.” Then he turned and strode back down the path.

She watched him until he had vanished behind the trees, and then took off running for the castle. It had to be past the mid-day meal, and she might have been missed. Besides, she finally had a romance of her own that she could share with Katy.

As it turned out, missing the mid-day meal wasn’t a problem. Being late for her first lesson in courtly behavior, however, was a major transgression according to Lillith and Marian. Threatening to inform the King of her blatant disregard of his orders, they spent the rest of the afternoon and early evening drilling her mercilessly on the varying degrees of deference and regal posture. The first involved bowing to a precise angle, the head held just so. After hours of stooping over, Jennifer’s neck and back were in agony. So her sisters kindly allowed her to walk around - with a heavy book balanced on top of her head. When she finally achieved success with that, they added another, and another, until she thought she would be squashed under the weight.

They did not tire of their game until dinnertime, where they loudly bemoaned her lack of grace and poise. Such public humiliation would normally have gotten Jennifer stirred up to a screaming fit, but she held her tongue and simply nodded occasionally. Their taunts had little impact after her meeting with Prince Justinian. Her restraint was rewarded when their father cut Lillith off sharply in mid-tirade and noted that Jennifer might not be the one needing some training in manners and etiquette.

Katy was waiting for her in her chambers after dinner, looking a little peeved. “Where were you all morning? I checked the grotto, and searched the gardens and the castle! I almost alerted the guards, but then I heard you getting drilled by the Cow.”

Still a bit testy after a long day of harassment from her sisters, Jennifer bristled at her friend’s attitude. “Perhaps I should have gone to the stables to ask my handmaiden for permission to take a walk? Assuming I could pry you and your stable boy apart long enough!”

The girl looked as if she had been slapped in the face. “I did not mean…” She dropped her eyes suddenly. “I was worried about you. I meant no disrespect, Princess.”

Jennifer realized she had overreacted. “Katy, I am sorry. Please forgive a bad temper. You were right to worry, and I am grateful for your concern.” She stepped forward and hugged the girl warmly. “Oh, I have so much to tell you! It has been a wonderful, exciting day!”

Katy hugged her back, and then pushed away with a bemused grin on her face. “Wonderful and exciting? Somehow, those aren’t the words that come to my mind when I think of getting tortured by your sisters.” Then she sighed. “Apparently your day went better than mine.”

“Why? I thought you were going to have another romp with your young man. Did he have to work?”

“No, he had the day off. We went to the old stables, the ones that aren’t used anymore.” Katy frowned. “He was, well, different. I mean, I’ve only known him a few days, but he was always very sweet and gentle. Today he got sorta rough, and almost angry. He stank, too. And when we started…” She flushed. “It may sound strange, but he was bigger. A lot bigger.”

“Bigger?” Jennifer was puzzled for a moment, and then gasped. “Oh! You mean – there?”

The girl nodded. “I know I said he was hung like a horse before, but today it was too close to the truth. It scared me. He was enormous, and the skin down there was all black!” A guilty grin spread across her face. “I lay with him anyway. It was incredible! But afterwards, I was exhausted and sore, and he wanted to do it again right away. He kept pawing at me, even when I told him to stop. I ended up having to slap him, and come back here.”

“That’s awful! So you aren’t going to see him anymore?”

Katy sighed. “I don’t know. Maybe he’ll apologize. After all, he does have some endearing qualities.”

“Oh, right. Two big black ones, with a third between?” Jennifer grinned.

“Jennifer!” Her friend laughed. “So, what was so wonderful about YOUR day?”

“I had a walk in the woods – with Prince Justinian.”

“What!?” Katy’s eyes widened. “What was he doing there? I heard nothing of a visit!”

The whole story spilled out, starting with the surprise meeting, the old woman in the woods, and finally, the luring of a unicorn for Justinian. Jennifer’s eyes were shining as she recalled watching the young prince walk back into the woods.

Her friend listened in amazement, and then reached up and felt Jennifer’s forehead when the tale was done. “Are you sure you didn’t suffer some heat stroke out there in the woods? Or fall asleep in the grass? This sounds like a lovely dream. But witches and unicorns, and a prince running through the woods like an animal?” She frowned slightly. “If it is all true, don’t you think it could be dangerous? Perhaps you should tell your father about it.”

“No!” Jennifer grabbed Katy’s hand. “You mustn’t tell anyone! I shouldn’t have told you, even, but you have always shared your life with me. Please, promise me you won’t speak of this.” When the girl did not answer right away, she felt a stir of fear. “Oh, Katy! One word from you and all of will be ruined. If you value our friendship, do not betray my trust.”

“On one condition.” Katy gave her a worried look. “You cannot wander the woods alone. I will come with you. I know the old woman said to tell no one, and if you want, I will wait outside of her clearing. But I have to go.”

Jennifer nodded reluctantly. “All right. But you need to stay hidden. Arleana might refuse to summon the unicorn if she knows you are there.”

“A unicorn.” Katy breathed the word reverently. “Do you really think she can do it?”

Looking out the window, Jennifer saw the rising moon and felt a nervous flutter in her stomach. “We’ll know in a few hours.”

If Katy had not been with her, Jennifer would never have been able to leave the castle. Despite living there all her life, the princess had never before tried to sneak outside of its walls after dark. Most of the external gates were locked at sunset, and those that remained had guards posted. Peacetime or not, her father was not a fool.

However, the guards were charged with keeping unwelcome visitors out, not residents in. With an ease that was evidence of much practice, Katy took them through side passages and joining rooms without encountering a single person. They ended up in a large, mostly empty storage area that stank of mildew and rotting vegetables.

“This is where they stockpile provisions in times of war.” Katy put their single candle on a dusty table, and went to a large, heavy door on the far wall. “Come on! This opens into the exercise yard. If we stay close to the wall, we can slip through the stables and out to the pasture.”

The massive sliding beam that secured the door slid surprising easily and silently – thanks to generous applications of lard by her handmaiden on earlier visits. Jennifer suspected that the candle had been more for her benefit than any need on Katy’s part. The girl probably knew of ways in and out of the castle that the King himself - though it was probably no coincidence that this particular path led through the stables.

If her friend was hoping to see the boy, she was disappointed. Their passing was noted only by a couple of horses that watched in mild curiosity as the girls crept past their stalls. Once out in the pasture, they ran for the woods, stopping to gasp for breath only when they were well inside the trees.

“I can’t believe I am doing this!” Jennifer felt giddy. “I’ve never been outside at night before, never in my whole life!”

“And you may never get outside the castle again if your father finds out.” Katy grumbled. “Come on, then. It’s close to midnight now. You don’t want to be late.”

Jennifer headed for the grotto, her handmaiden close behind. Now that they were close, she began to worry. How would Arleana react to Katy? Was her friend an unbeliever? What if the girl’s presence prevented the summoning? In fairness, Jennifer would not be here now without her help.

As they approached the pond, she was suddenly afraid to go on. Summoning a unicorn was so important to Justinian. Her mind flashed back to this afternoon, and the image of him as he emerged from the forest. Clothes rumpled and stained, his hair tangled with twigs - somehow he had been more handsome, more sensual than when he was dressed in his finery at the ball. There was a look in his bottomless brown eyes - she frowned. Brown eyes?

Before she could puzzle that out a dark shape suddenly appeared on the path in front of her. She screamed and fell back, nearly knocking her friend over. The figure stepped closer, moving into a patch of moonlight. It was a young man, perhaps their age, with a tangle of black hair and coarse features. He stared past her with enormous dark eyes that seemed to have no whites. “Katy?” The voice was a boy’s, though it had a raspy quality. “Katy, is that you?”

“Liam?” Her friend moved to stand between them, her voice tense. “What are you doing here?”

“Looking for you! Please, Katy! I’m sorry. Can’t we go somewhere and talk?” The boy took a step closer, and Jennifer became aware of a strong stink of horse and manure. Of course! The stable boy! In this light he looked distinctly unusual, even ugly. Not that her friend had mentioned appearance as an attraction.

“You idiot!” Katy’s voice was seething. “You nearly sent us into fits! How dare you sneak up on a member of the royal family like that! This is Princess Jennifer!” Then she looked puzzled. “What’s happened to you? Are you ill?”

Liam bowed awkwardly, then stepped back into the shadows. “I am sorry, highness. It is really important for me to talk to Katy. Could you spare her for a few minutes?”

“Not now!” Her handmaiden suddenly adopted a formal attitude that was almost funny. “And what makes you think I want to talk to you anyway? Go back to your beasts in the stable. We have business here tonight.”

The lover’s spat reminded Jennifer of something else the old woman had mentioned. “Katy, why don’t you stay here and talk with him? It isn’t far, and it might be better if you do not accompany me.”

“What?!” Her friend sounded slightly hurt. “You don’t want me to come?”

“Well, it’s not exactly that.” She struggled for the words. “Arleana said that unicorns require purity and innocence.”

There was a short silence. Then Katy spoke in a whisper. “And you can’t have a common slut like me around, is that it?”

“No! I mean, not exactly.” Jennifer was getting frustrated and upset, not wanting to hurt her friend, yet anxious to leave her behind. “Katy, please! You said you would wait outside of her clearing. It’s just a short distance down this path. Stay here and talk to Liam. I’ll be fine, really!”

The girl did not answer, but dropped her gaze to the ground and made no move to follow when Jennifer took a few steps. Once again, it was clear that she was hurt. However, Jennifer had no time to make things right. The moon was full and bright, and she sensed that midnight was not far away. There would be time to make things up to Katy later.

Arleana was waiting for her, and beamed as soon as she spotted Jennifer hurrying up the path. “I knew you would not disappoint me, dear. Come, I have everything prepared.” She limped to the edge of the clearing. As Jennifer followed, she noticed a ring of wild flowers and leaves surrounding the area. At the old woman’s bidding, she started to step across, then recoiled from a sensation of touching into a cool pond.

“Do not fear, child.” Arleana patted her arm, a warm smile on her face. “You sense the force of nature.”

“It is like stepping into water!” Jennifer hesitated. This was the first real magic she had ever experienced, and she suddenly remembered that there were dark stories of enchantment as well as the pleasant fairy tales.

The old woman chuckled. “And are you afraid of water? You should be happy, for only those who are pure of soul and heart may pass.” She lifted a gnarled hand and seemed to hit a solid barrier. “See?”

Steeling herself, Jennifer cautiously stepped over the ring again, this time continuing across. The air was cooler inside as well, and carried delicate scents of lilac and cedar. She grinned, feeling a sudden surge of energy that made her want to shout and leap in the air. The aches and pains from her lessons had been washed away, and she felt more refreshed and alive than she had ever been before. Spinning happily, she looked back at Arleana. “What should I do now?”

“Remove your clothing.” When the old woman saw her troubled frown, she chuckled. “There is no shame in nakedness, child! And it is only you and I here. Have you not been unclothed before in the presence of other women?”

Although she was self-conscious about her undeveloped body and reluctant to bare herself to a relative stranger, Jennifer realized she had to make a decision. Either she was willing to do anything to grant Justinian’s fondest desire, or she wasn’t. Closing her eyes, she envisioned his face, wild and beautiful. The passion she had felt earlier roared into life again, and it was suddenly easy to strip. She pulled everything off in a happy daze, letting each item fall to the ground.

As her last undergarment slipped from her fingers, Arleana’s voice drifted softly in the air. “Focus on your love for Justinian. The summoning will only work if you freely offer your soul to that love, without reservation or regret.”

Jennifer nodded dreamily without opening her eyes. There was no need for her to concentrate – her soul was filled with love for the young man, her heart and mind completely open.

“Now envision the unicorn.” The old woman’s voice was a whisper in her ears, touching her thoughts like wisps of smoke. “Summon it with your love.”

Another image formed in her head, bright light that took on a vaguely equine shape. She tried to recall the unicorns embroidered on countless tapestries, and depicted in paintings throughout the castle. However, the shape in her head remained blurred. Then the music started.

Soft notes, felt more than heard, caressed her mind. She swayed as the sounds began to form a simple melody, growing in volume and intensity. Pipes of some sort, played with such skill as to shame the castle bard. Instead of distracting her, the soothing music seemed to aid her concentration, sharpening the indistinct glow into something that was similar to the artwork, yet so much more.

Delicate and graceful, the creature pranced lightly on golden hooves. While it bore a superficial resemblance to horses, it was no more related to that common animal than humans were to the fairy folk. Its mane floated almost weightless around a finely-sculptured head, with eyes like magnificent blue sapphires that reached out to swallow her. It was love and music and light, and she felt a sense of childish wonder as it began to move with the music.

No court lady, no visiting performer had ever danced with such elegance. Spinning and leaping, the enchanted creature performed an intricate pattern of movements that she found herself trying to duplicate. Aided by the flow of notes, she began to move with it, awkwardly at first, but finding the steps coming more naturally as the tempo increased.

The vision moved closer, brushing her lightly with silky fur, smelling of honeysuckle and sweet grass. They moved together in her mind, skin against hide. The heat of passion was joined by a throbbing warmth in her feet that flowed up her legs as they spun and leapt in the air. Her blood was pounding, eyes filled with the image of the imaginary beast.

Faster now, she and the unicorn were as one. She could feel its muscles, sense the heartbeat that matched its rhythm to her own. The creature surrounded her, immersing her in energy and warmth that flowed through her entire body. They were whirling madly to the rush of notes, two shapes for a single being. The unicorn in her mind reared up, enveloping her human image completely, and she felt herself flow outward like water filling an empty vessel.

“Jennifer!”

A scream cut through the music, startling her from the dream. Caught off balance, she twisted and fell heavily to the ground, her mind a mass of confusion. She was panting from exertion, and soaked with her own sweat.

“Jennifer! Get up! Run away!” It was Katy.

Unable to coordinate arms and legs, Jennifer looked blearily around the clearing and saw her friend throw herself against the magic barrier. The girl looked and sounded terrified, clawing frantically at the invisible barrier that separated them. But where was the unicorn? Sick fear twisted her gut – had they failed? She looked for Arleana, hoping that the spell was simply incomplete, that she could still bring Justinian the creature of light and magic that he so desperately sought.

But Arleana was not there. A strange and beautiful being had taken her place, vibrant young woman above the waist, and animal below - a faun. Her human half put even Lillith to shame, with full, firm breasts and slender frame. Shimmering golden hair framed a face that was sensual and timeless – she could be 18 or 38. She balanced on cloven hooves and thin legs that were part goat, part deer, yet neither. And behind her, the picturesque cottage and gardens had become the dark forest cave.

“Fool!” The faun shouted in Arleana’s voice, and stalked towards Katy with an odd, hopping gait that reminded her of the old woman’s hobble. “I told you to keep her away!” It was immediately obvious that she was talking to the dark shape that suddenly grabbed her friend from behind - Liam. His tunic was torn almost off, and his face bore scratches visible even from a distance.

“I tried, mistress!” The boy’s voice was strained and fearful. “She did not want me. All she could think of was her friend. I tried to keep her with me, but she fought too hard to get away.” He looked down at the struggling girl. “I could not hurt her, mistress.”

“Indeed?” Arleana’s voice was cold. Jennifer realized it was the old woman now, though her thoughts were too confused to make sense of that. The faun sneered at him. “You wished for the spirit and sexuality of a mighty war horse, yet you could not find the strength to restrain a common servant girl? Let her go, then. I have no further need of your bumbling assistance.”

Liam released Katy and stepped back. Her friend ran to the barrier to stare at her, then turned on the faun. “What have you done to her? Change her back! The King will hunt you to the ends of the earth. Prince Justinian will have you beheaded for this treachery!”

Surprisingly, Arleana laughed. “Such dreadful consequences! Then I must make sure I am not found out. Fortunately, there are only a few loose ends to tie up here.” She put the pipes to her lips and smiled darkly at the boy. “A gentle war horse? I think not. You are more suited to pulling plows than battle.”

Liam’s eyes widened and he turned to run, only to freeze as the first note of a new tune sounded. He seemed to waver, leaning forward but seemingly unable to make his legs obey. As the music floated around him, he slowly faced back towards Arleana. The boy’s cheeks glistened with tears, his face a mask of hopelessness. “Please…” He held out his hands beseechingly.

The faun responded with more of the melody, this one oddly coarse and plodding after the whirl of sounds for the unicorn. A peasant song, crude and simple, yet it hung in the air with an almost physical presence. Liam took a step towards her, then swayed. Another step, this one heavier than the first. He moved sideways, then back, each footfall more forceful than the last. A shadow passed over his face, his chest. And he began to get larger.

Liam turned clumsily, his movements a parody of dance that reminded Jennifer of a performing bear. The remains of his tunic split apart and fell to the ground, revealing a dark pelt that shone in the moonlight. His still-outstretched hands were swelling, becoming thick lumps that gained mass with each step. The ground shook as he moved now, his body more than tripled in size and still growing. Its shape altered, no longer human. His face pushed out, nostrils enlarging as they turned soft and thick, and his skull settled back into a lengthening neck.

Shaggy fur spread over dark hide, arms thickened into massive, rounded forelegs, and the heavy maleness that had thrilled Katy grew even larger as it found a new home between flat, deep thighs. The performing bear was a dancing horse now, a massive animal that struggled desperately to remain standing on two legs.

The music slowed. Plodding notes, lumbering melody. The pipes seemed to weigh Liam down further, for he flailed the air for a moment and then fell to all fours. Jennifer could see one white-rimmed eye fixed on Arleana. Each sound was like a physical blow that left the quivering animal a bit shaggier, more coarse of feature. Liam blinked, the white of his eyes disappearing as his fear seemed to drain away. Dropping his head, the plow horse snuffled at the ground as the final notes played, and began to pull at the thick grass with bristled lips.

Jennifer stared at the beast, dimly remembering a dance of her own. What had Arleana done to her? Her arms and legs felt stiff, and bent in ways that felt wrong. She tried to lift her head to look at herself, but found that she was still too exhausted from the dance. Then a new fear battered at the thickness around her mind. Katy! Her friend was still pressed against the barrier, her back to Jennifer. She appeared to be staring at the rough beast that had been Liam.

“And now for you.” The faun had moved towards the girl, the dark smile fading into smoldering anger. “You almost ruined everything with your interference. And after I went to so much trouble to please you with Liam.”

“Please me?” Katy spat the words. “I had no wish to see him become an animal! That was your doing, you vile witch!”

Arleana shook head, suddenly smiling again. “Did you never wonder how he always had time for you? How a boy his age might be so endowed? Or even at his endless curiosity about your life in the palace?”

Katy spun suddenly and stared at Jennifer. “No! He cared for me! He wasn’t a traitor!” The desperation in her voice betrayed her own doubts. “I told him nothing of importance!”

Another laugh. “Nothing of importance? My dear girl, you were instrumental in my luring the princess here! Bragging of your friendship, trying to impress a common stable boy with your lofty station? How else could I know about Jennifer’s special spot here in the woods? Or when she was likely to be here?”

From her friend’s expression, Jennifer knew the accusations were true. Katy looked at her miserably, both hands pressed against the barrier. Then her eyes hardened and she spun and launched herself at Arleana.

The move obviously caught the faun off-guard, and she barely escaped the girl’s lunge. However, she leaped nimbly aside as Katy sprawled on the ground and easily avoided her attempts to grab at the creature’s slender, bestial legs. Before her friend could scramble up for another try, she was caught by a few quick notes.

Arleana smirked from a safe distance. “Such fire! And loyalty to your friend, as well. You might have made a fine war horse yourself, except for that troublesome stubbornness.” She put the pipes to her lips and began to play. The tune was similar to Liam’s, but lacked the plodding beat.

Jennifer’s attempt to cry out emerged as a high, odd bleating sound. Katy was rising to hands and knees, already under the music’s influence, but she somehow managed to look back and even force a smile. Then she shivered and closed her eyes as the transformation began.

The change was faster than Liam’s had been, perhaps because she was already on all fours. Swaying at first, she rose at a sharp angle as her legs stretched out. Hands and feet seemed to change first, darkening into pale hooves far smaller than those of the plow horse. Her arms lengthened as they thickened, leveling her back off, and brownish fur rose up to cover her thickening hide.

Katy began stepping awkwardly to the simple rhythm, stiff movements turning to a more prancing motion as her legs assumed more equine structure. Clothing stretched, then split apart with a loud tearing sound. The ample breasts that Jennifer had long envied were already smaller, and shifted rearward as dark hair swept across her sides.

Sick with grief, Jennifer watched the ripple of change flow up her friend’s neck, pushing her head out and sending her face thrusting out into a coarse muzzle. Her ears shifted higher, and stretched skyward as the girl’s hair drew in to form a coarse mane. The melody was drawing to a close now, slowing suddenly to the plodding tempo only for the final phrase. As the last note faded away, the new jenny shook herself and then bucked suddenly with a loud bray.

“Do you wish the whole of your mind stripped away?” The animal stopped its tantrum as Arleana brought the pipes halfway to her lips. “I have left you your identity, even what little intelligence you had as a human. A few more notes and you can join Liam as a true beast.”

The shaggy brown donkey turned to look back at Jennifer and gave a sad-sounding wheeze. Her friend was still there, in mind if not in body. Jennifer felt a surge of irrational joy – being trapped in a beast’s body might be worse for Katy than losing herself to it. However, as long as she retained her identity, there was hope the girl might be restored.

“A wise choice.” Arleana gestured towards Liam. “Wait over there. Interfere, make a single sound to distract me, and your thoughts will be wiped away.”

Jennifer wanted to comfort her friend, to apologize, to say anything. However, her voice was gone. Attempts to speak created a variety of noises, ranging from a musical trill to a very goat-like bleating. Unable to make her body respond, she stared at the faun with as much hatred as she could muster.

“And now it is just the two of us again.” Arleana moved back to the edge of the ring and gave a disgusted sigh. “Another minute and you would have been complete.” She scowled at the grazing plow horse. “I should geld him with a dull knife.”

Struggling again, Jennifer squealed in anger and frustration. Arms and legs flailed uselessly, as if her mind no longer knew how to control them. However, this time one arm ended up thrown forward, and she was able to glimpse her hand. Or what had been her hand. Four fingers had merged into two pale, swollen lumps, and her thumb had shifted back and shrunk to a nub. It reminded her of her costume slippers. The cloven hoof of a unicorn.

She froze suddenly as the lilting melody of the unicorn dance filled the air once again. The notes seemed to nourish her exhausted body, giving her strength to lift her head and see what magic Arleana had wrought. Jennifer whimpered at the site of her twisted, deformed body.

Caught well past the halfway point between human and animal, her body was a gross distortion of the unicorn she had danced with in her vision. Most of her skin was covered by silky white fur, with bare patches that gave her a mangy appearance. Her legs were fully transformed, with glistening golden hooves and a fluff of feathering over each. However, the equine limbs were attached to a mostly human hind end that had the beginnings of a tail sprouting.

Her arms had shifted lower on a chest that was already barreled out and devoid of even a trace of her modest breasts. They must have already migrated down between her legs. Her hind legs. For the delicate, rounded limbs she was now pushing herself up on would never again function as human arms.

The flexibility of her neck was evidence that the rest of her had not been spared, though it did not seem that her face had pushed out yet into a muzzle. Aided by the music, she rose shakily to all fours, feeling energy increase as the tune picked up tempo again. The bare patches of skin were already filling in with fur, and she found herself swaying to the lilting notes. Jennifer looked at the two pack animals now standing together on the far side of the clearing. Katy was still watching her with drooped ears and her head hanging low.

Remembering the brave, if futile show of resistance that her friend had demonstrated, Jennifer locked her legs suddenly and tried to block out the sound of the pipes. Arleana increased the intensity of the music. Strength rushed into Jennifer’s muscles, and the need to leap, to run was almost too much to resist. Yet she remained braced, refusing the lure of the dance.

“Ungrateful child!” The faun stopped playing suddenly and stepped to the edge of the ring, her eyes blazing in anger. “I am trying to give you a gift beyond measure, and you fight me? Look at yourself! You are a freak, a thing to be pitied. Let the music finish shaping you!”

Jennifer squealed again in anger, but took sudden heart in the realization that she actually could resist. She pawed angrily at the ground with one fore hoof, dimly aware that it was a very equine thing to do.

“Jennifer.” Arleana visibly calmed herself, and adopted the warm, gentle smile she had used so successfully s the old woman. “Why do you fight me? Do you fear becoming a rough beast of burden like your friend? Or losing your mind? Can you not see the wonder of your fate? You were destined to become a unicorn. A creature of light and magic, beautiful and pure.”

Why was the faun trying to win her cooperation? Katy and Liam had both fought back, yet they were now common animals. Jennifer’s mind was clearing a bit. What was stopping Arleana from simply forcing the change on her?

“Time grows short, Jennifer.” The faun’s voice had an edge of anger again, but she maintained the smile. “Have you already forgotten your vow of love for Justinian? Is your feeling for him so shallow that you would remain a freak out of spite, rather than grant his life’s desire?”

Justinian! This vile creature had tricked him, taking advantage of his gentle nature by weaving her illusions. If only he was here now, to see what Arleana truly was.

“Allow yourself to feel the magic, child.” The faun placed a hand against the barrier. “Can you not sense it within you? You seem to fear my power, yet I am trying to give you access to a pure fae energy that knows no bounds. There is no limit to what can be accomplished with a unicorn. Famines ended, plagues cured. The good that could be worked through you might benefit thousands.”

It was true. Jennifer could feel something in the air, the ground beneath her hooves. It was much like the cool sensation of the barrier, a rippling of sensation that surrounded her, but did not quite touch. Everything the faun had said was the truth, she realized. It had been Jennifer’s own perceptions that had been manipulated. The illusion had been the cottage, not the cave.

Arleana began to play again, the melody softer and more soothing. The tune was vaguely familiar, evoking memories of chasing fireflies on a clear summer night, and the warm embrace of her mother’s arms. Jennifer could feel the music drawing off her fear, her body slimming and shrinking slightly under its caress. Becoming younger, more innocent, more trusting.

No! She fought of the transformation with a fierce burst of will, determined not to let the faun win. Surprisingly, it was easier to resist this time. Some part of her seemed to touch the essence of magic, allowing her to draw a small measure of strength from it on her own.

“Curse you!” Any pretense of warmth was gone now as Arleana snatched the pipes from her lips. “I will not have my plans thwarted by a willful child!” She glared at Jennifer a moment, and then narrowed her eyes with a cold smile. “How much do you value your friendship with the girl? Will you stand there while I strip away her memories, her dreams torn from her mind one by one, until only a donkey is left? Or something more final, perhaps? I can reduce her to a mound of clover for her former lover to devour.”

Jennifer shivered, having no doubt that the faun would do precisely what she said. Yet there was no way she could cooperate. While there was truth that a unicorn’s power could accomplish great good, it was clear that Arleana would make no such use of a unicorn. There was no way to know what plans the vile creature had, but Jennifer knew that she wanted no part of them. Regardless of the price.

The music played again, suddenly sounding shrill and empty to Jennifer’s ears. She was blocking the effect completely now, and realized that the faun could do nothing to her now.

Arleana seemed to sense it too, for she glared at Jennifer, and then turned to face the two animals. Before she could raise the pipes to her lips, however, a familiar form burst from the trees behind Liam. Justinian! He pushed past the huge horse and looked at Katy and the faun with obvious confusion. Then his eyes locked on Jennifer, and his face lit up. Obviously realizing what was going on, he grabbed the faun roughly and pressed his lips against hers in a wildly passionate kiss.

A sword through the heart would have been kinder. Jennifer nearly fainted from the shock. As cruel as the faun had been, Justinian’s apparent betrayal tore at her soul. How could such a dark and sinister monster have seemed so perfect, so pure?

Pulling free from the young man’s embrace, Arleana pushed him gently towards the circle. “Go to her, my love. Claim her as your own.” The faun’s eyes were bright and she followed Justinian with her pipes half-raised. He reached the border of flowers and leaves and stepped across without hesitation.

Dumbfounded, Jennifer stared as the prince approached her. His face was full of wonder, his eyes dark pools that reflected her distorted features. Animal eyes, she realized. What was it Arleana had said? ‘He is a buck at heart.’ More of the faun’s truth. Looking closer, Jennifer saw the delicate points of his ears, the shadow of dark fur that covered his arms. And almost hidden by the wild tangle of his hair, short protrusions on either side of his forehead.

Arleana began to play again, a tune similar to the unicorn dance, but this one more sensual. Bracing herself, Jennifer felt nothing. The music was for Justinian. The young man removed his clothing as he slowly approached her, oblivious to the darkening of his hands, the growing weight of budding antlers. By the time he reached her, he was no longer human.

His legs were furred and ended in cloven hooves, and his sex was the sheathed bulge of a deer. A male faun, a forest spirit like Arleana. He reached out and caressed her trembling neck with his hands, the music drawing fur from his chest and arms, pulling his face into a snout. More stag than human, his touch still sent a quiver of pleasure through her body, and his scent clouded her thoughts.

Phrases of the unicorn dance mixed with Justinian’s music, brushing at her mind gently. She tried to resist, but Justinian pressed up against her as he fell to all fours, and the contact was too much to fight.

The two melodies picked up pace and intensity, and she felt her body flowing again. She pranced with a buck now, no trace of the young man remaining. They leapt together in movements that were erotic, yet never sexual. Jennifer felt connected at a deeper level than she thought possible, almost as if they were one being. There was no room for lies here, no place for falsehood to hide.

Justinian was no more human than Liam, she realized. The faun had given him the mind and soul of a stag, then created the façade of a man over it. Yet Jennifer also knew that Justinian truly loved her, completely and without reservation. And regardless of the consequences, man or stag, she discovered that she still loved him with an equal intensity.

At that moment, the fae energies shimmering around Jennifer cascaded over and through her body. She gasped as the world was suddenly filled with light, the sound a bright trill of pleasure. Vision was sharp and clear, yet there was a strange double-vision when she looked at the people around her. Justinian still danced beside her as a stag, but an image of the young faun was superimposed over his animal body. Katy’s ghost was almost fully human, though her ears seemed overlarge, and even Liam had a humanoid, if horse-like shadow. All of them were surrounded by a soft blue-white aura, as if they were reflecting the moonlight. Their souls.

Then she looked at Arleana. The faun’s other image was a darker twin with a deep purple-brown glow that gave her a sickly, diseased appearance. The pipes had a pale yellowish light of their own that flowed through the air to surround her and Justinian.

Jennifer could feel that light pulling at her mind, trying to steal away her will. With a single thought, she cast them away. Arleana shuddered as the connection was broken, and her music faltered. She altered the tune, changing the color of the notes to a pale blue. Again, Jennifer was able to throw off the tendrils easily. She did not need to see herself - she was the unicorn of her vision, silky mane floating about her head, sapphire eyes, and a delicate gold spiral emerging from her forehead. She felt weightless, dancing over the earth on her golden hooves. She was beyond Arleana’s reach now, immune to the magic. No, she -was- the magic.

Breaking away from the dance, Jennifer pranced lightly to the edge of the circle. The faun stopped playing, looking confused. She was just beginning to realize that she had lost. Her treachery had backfired, creating a being too powerful to be controlled by her tricks.

Jennifer trilled in triumph, tossing her head and stamping the ground in a show of strength. The faun could not even cross over her own barrier. Although Jennifer had no such limitation, she needed to find a way to use the fae energies that coursed through her. So much magic - the essence contained in one of her silky hairs would transmute Arleana into a pool of slime, or freeze her forever as a statue of granite. She strained to find the key, the method of release. And heard the faun start to laugh.

“Do you think I would give you such power if you could make use of it yourself?” The faun sneered from the other side of the ring. “A unicorn is a storage device, a focal point for magical energy. You are like a bucket of water, holding liquid for those who have use for it. Yes, you have some small ability to protect yourself. And your horn has its own healing properties. However, you can no more cast a spell than a bucket can drink the water it holds.”

Her eyes narrowed, and she raised the pipes to her lips once more. “And you cannot protect others.” Music sounded again, the plodding peasant dance that had reshaped Liam. These fingers of light were dark green, and though Jennifer was still able to refuse their touch, they had a more solid feel to them. This was a brutal magic, pounding instead of sculpting.

Why did the faun bother? She already knew it was a wasted effort. Then Jennifer realized the heavy magic was not just directed at her. She followed one strand to Liam, his essence already larger and coarser. Another was pulling at Katy’s ghost, drawing the girl’s face into a snout. And the third? Spinning, she saw the prancing stag faltering as the translucent faun’s skull deflated into a more deer-like shape. Jennifer squealed in frustration.

Arleana stopped playing and regarded her with cold humor. “Only I have the knowledge and ability to restore them. As long as some trace of humanity remains, they can be as they were. However, once the essence of their being is fully animal, they will cease to exist as sentient beings.” She raised the pipes again. “To make sure you understand.”

She renewed the plodding melody, but the single streamer was attached to Liam. Although Jennifer had already seen the boy transformed into a horse, there was a darker horror in watching his soul destroyed. The humanoid horse fell to all fours, filling out to match his physical self. As the two images merged, the pale glow surrounding him flickered, and then faded away.

The music changed abruptly, a sparkle of pink and lavender that reached out for Katy and Justinian. In moments, they were as they had been before. The lesson was clear. Cooperate, and those she loved would be safe. Fight, and see those loved ones fade away.

She started as a hand stroked her neck. Justinian had moved next to her, fully human again in form, even if his soul remained a faun’s. She leaned into that touch, desperately needing to feel the purity of his love. He picked up a vine of honeysuckle from the ground and fashioned it into a loose necklace around her throat. No, not a necklace. He stepped forward, holding one end of the fragile stem. A lead rope.

A child could have broken free in a moment, yet Jennifer found herself compelled to follow the young man out of the circle. As she stepped through, the shimmering flickered and vanished. Though she knew what to expect, she still felt sick dread as Justinian lead her to the faun like a little boy showing off a prize pony. He offered her the vine, but to Jennifer’s great relief, Arleana did not take it.

“No, Justinian. She is yours. My gift to you, my sweet love.” The faun smiled triumphantly at Jennifer as she gathered the young man into an embrace. “Now, it is time to return to the castle.” Arleana’s form shimmered and changed suddenly, and she stepped back from Justinian with a girlish giggle. “You can escort me back - I am sure my father will appreciate having his youngest daughter rescued from the woods.”

Jennifer stared in dismay. The faun had stolen her identity. The clothing, her hair, even the nuances of her voice. It was an illusion, of course – she could see that the human shape was a third layer painted over Arleana’s true form and soul. However, it would fool any human. Returning like this would both help establish her identity, and secure the King’s favor for Justinian. And Katy’s disappearance would be linked to that of the missing stable boy. It was not uncommon for young servants to leave without notice.

The faun’s plan was ingenious. With Justinian under her control and Jennifer’s position in court, she would have major influence in two of the largest provinces. Combined with the power she might wield using a unicorn’s fae, there seemed little that anyone could do to stop her.

Except that she and Katy still had their minds. And it appeared that they would be kept close, for the counterfeit Jennifer was climbing on Katy’s back. She could see her friend’s human soul bristling at being used as a mount, cooperating with obvious reluctance. In contrast, the feeling of Justinian on Jennifer’s back brought a sense of well-being and contentment, as if she were not quite complete without him. The price of love, no doubt, but one she was willing to pay. That love would have to sustain her until the happy day when she could dance once more – this time on Arleana’s grave.

The End

Whispers

“Just what tha’ Hell do you mumble out there?”  Andy stared at the black colt.  It was hard to believe that this peacefully grazing animal was the screaming bucking machine he’d been trying to break for more than three weeks.   “I near beat that fool colt to death tryin’ ta’ git him to take a saddle.   Then you saunters in an’ ride him ‘round the corral in less than an hour.”

The younger man standing next to him sighed.  “I told you before, Mr. Fulcher.  The words aren’t important.   Most of the time, it just takes a gentle hand.  He was scared.”

Scowling, Andy felt himself bristling.  “You sayin’ I scared him?  I been breakin’ horses fer this ranch near twenty years.    These dumb beasts gotta learn who’s in charge.  And since you don’t seem willin’ to share that mumbo-jumbo whispering crap…”

The young man raised a hand.  “I didn’t accuse you of anything, Mr. Fowler.  All I said was, the colt was scared.  I didn’t say of what. Or of who.”

“Yeah.”  Andy spit on the ground and hitched up his pants.  “Well, you just remember I’m the foreman, and you’re here to show us yer stuff.  Not to show us up.  Got it?”  He glared at the so-called ‘horse-whisperer.’

There was a pause as the other man’s fingers tapped a brief rhythm on the corral fence.  Then he squared his shoulders and turned to face Andy.  “Look, Mr. Fowler.  I was hired by the owner of this ranch to show the people who work for him a better way of doing things.  I don’t want your job.  I don’t want anybody’s job.  All I want is to see these animals treated with a little compassion and fairness.”    He gestured towards the colt.  “You can see for yourself that kindness works better than spurs and whips.  Your boss has seen it too.  I suggest you figure on changing your ways, or changing your job.”  With that, he spun on one heel and walked off, leaving Andy sputtering in anger.

Why that high-falutin’ asshole!  The guy was what, maybe 30?  Andy had been breaking horses before this pompous bastard had been born.  So he got lucky with one horse.  Glaring at the black colt, Andy balled his meaty hands into fists.  Sure, the horse whisperer had done OK today.  But if this troublemaker colt was wild again tomorrow, the Boss wouldn’t think so much of his compassion crap.  Maybe Andy couldn’t break the damned animal, but he could sure as Hell get him riled up again.  Sneering at the horse, Andy headed for the main barn.  Time to lay in a few supplies for tonight.

Luck was with him.  A group of the regular hands went into town for drinks, and he made a point of joining in the fun.  Andy was careful to drink just enough to bolster his courage, and do enough socializing to set up an alibi.  Slipping away unnoticed, he drove back to the ranch and parked on the far side of the stable.  So far, so good.  The colt was inside tonight, easy pickings.

“So, ya’ black devil.”  Andy smiled as he hefted a long, slender rod.  “Think you can show me up in front of everybody?  Make that damned pansy-boy whisperer look good?”    Flicking a switch on the pole’s base, he gripped its rubber handle and waved the business end at the animal.  “A couple a’ thousand volts here, buddy boy.  And no marks.  I can make a two-ton bull jump six feet in the air with this cattle prod.   Bet you’ll do even better than that.”

“I don’t think so.”

Snarling, Andy spun around to see the whisperer behind him.  “You!  Get outa here, you little bastard!”

Surprisingly, the smaller man didn’t even flinch.  “Oh, I don’t think you want me to leave.  If I did, it would be to let the owner know what you were just about to do.    You’re finished, Fulcher.  I felt a little sorry for you before, but after this?   Ignorant is one thing, but downright cruel is another.”

Andy knew the Boss well enough to agree with the young man’s prediction of unemployment.  Assuming he heard about tonight’s little incident.  Even slightly drunk, he could tear this interfering punk apart.  And there were ways to make it look like an ‘accident.’

Spinning suddenly, he hit the young man in the chest with the cattle prod and grinned as he hit the discharge button.  The jolt would knock him halfway across the stable, and leave him either unconscious or twitching and stunned on the floor.

Or should have.  The punk simply shook his head sadly and stood there with the prod still touching him.  Andy pressed the button again, and again.  A wisp of smoke curled up from the young man’s shirt, singed by the jumping spark.  But his large, dark brown eyes didn’t even blink.   The bastard must have some kinda insulation in his boots.

Cursing, Andy threw the prod aside and lunged for the whisperer with a cry of rage.  His intended victim simply stepped aside, and Andy went sprawling on the floor.

“Violence.  That’s always the way for you, isn’t it?”  The young man’s voice was hard.  “Sure, this owner would fire you.  But there are other ranches, other stables where you could find work.  Where you could keep hurting.  And I can’t allow that.”

Andy tried to stand up, but was too woozy to get off his hands and knees.  Damn!  He’d drunk too much.    “So what are you gonna do?  Go ahead and tell the Boss.  It’s your word against mine.  And even if he does fire me, I got lots of places that don’t give a shit what you say!”    He managed a defiant sneer.  “Remember this.  Wherever I go, I’m gonna take special pleasure in makin’ horses suffer just for you.”

“That’s pretty much what I figured.”  The young man looked down at him in obvious disgust.  “Which is why I’m forced to do this.”  He reached behind his back and pulled out a long, dangerous-looking knife.

“Shit!”  Andy scrambled back, still too drunk to stand.  “I wuz jus’ talkin tough!   I didn’t mean it!”

“Oh, you meant it.”  The whisperer had a look of grim determination on his face as he approached.  “And I can’t let you get away.”

“You can’t do this!  I ain’t done nothin’ to you!”  Andy was backed into the corner now, still unable to defend himself.   “I’ll change!  I won’t hurt horses no more!”  His eyes widened as the weapon loomed over his head.  "Oh, God!  Don’t kill me!”

“Kill you?”  The young man snorted.  “That would be the easy way out.”  The knife slashed down, and Andy screamed.  He felt the blade snag his collar and rip backwards.  The blade caught for a moment on the hard leather of his belt, and then sliced through all the way down to the seam of his pants.

Bewildered, Andy felt the warm night air against his bare skin.  What kind of sicko was this guy?  A sicko with a sharp knife.  Frantic, he looked around for some avenue of escape.  Not that there was much hope of outrunning him.  Andy cursed himself for hitting the booze so hard.  At the same time, he couldn’t remember having more than a couple of beers.  Damn!  Why was he feeling so thick-headed?

A strong odor filled his nostrils.  It was a stable smell, familiar, yet somehow more powerful than any he had ever experienced.  The whisperer?  He looked towards the source of the scent, but the young man was no longer there.  Instead, there was a shimming image of a horse.  No, not just a horse.  Hundreds, thousands of different horses flickered in and out of existence in the same spot.  The creature towered over Andy, a golden stallion, then a shaggy mule.  A Clydesdale, then a pony.  And they all spoke with the whisperer’s voice.

“You would kill for vengeance, torture for pride.  Let the blood you would spill fill your veins, the lives you would harm entwine with your own.  You wanted to know what I said to the colt?  Listen well!”  And then the voice thrust itself into his mind and exploded outwards.

Andy gasped as his back legs twisted suddenly and then straightened again, throwing him forward.  At the same time, something seemed to push against his hands, leveling his body out.  He looked down, trying to figure out what was propping up his arms.  Only to discover thick, rounded limbs which stretched down to solid-looking dark lumps.  Hooves.

He threw back his head to scream, but the sound caught in a lengthening neck and emerged as a coarse, strangled bray.  The stable shrank around him, vision distorting and expanding at the same time.  There was no pain.  Just mind-numbing terror as his body reformed into a larger, very different configuration.   A shape moved next to him, and his long, shaggy ears went flat.  Danger!  Already confused and afraid, he searched out escape from this sudden confinement.  And in the midst of his terror, he heard the voice.

Not words, though the comprehension of what words were hadn’t quite faded.  This was a blanket of calm and serenity somehow conveyed by a soft whispering in his mind.    He knew noises should be sensed with his ears, not within his head.  And that the images and instincts which those whispers created were replacing what had been there before.   It troubled him only a moment.    Confusion faded, taking the last remnants of human knowledge and memory with it.  And then he dropped his head to lip at the loose straw on the ground.

The flickering equine visions collapsed back into the single figure of the whisperer.  He leaned against the wall, drained by his ordeal.  Some aspects of his craft weren’t shared with the average student, especially those involving the full power of Equus.  There was good cause to be secretive.  Although his basic awareness remained, the memories, knowledge and personality that made Andy Fulcher who he was no longer existed.

There might be a few questions tomorrow, but Fulcher was known to go off on a good drunk every now and then.  Even if he was missed, no one would connect the brutal ranch hand’s disappearance with the arrival of a gentle brown mule.   Hardly seemed fair that the Jack was young and healthy.    Of course, he discovered that Equus had no concept of justice a long time ago.

The man smiled sadly as he led the animal to an empty stall.   What was it?  Five years ago?  Before he’d discovered the real power behind his craft.  Eric had been a nice kid, eager to learn, and crazy about horses.  Listening to every word, trying to understand how it affected the horses.  And one night, when a mistreated old Arab mare had required that special contact, he had somehow linked with the power of Equus.   He could still picture the amazement on Eric’s face, and feel the thrill of happiness that came from the boy’s mind as he realized what was happening.   But when the change was done, there were two identical mares in the stall.  Same color, same age, same mind.  Like Fulcher, the boy no longer existed.  Both mares had died of kidney failure last year.

He’d vowed never again, but of course there had been others.  A woman with a fatal illness, a young man crippled for life.  And the kid he’d caught mutilating horses.   But he no longer shared the real power, or even the lesser chants.   Punishment and reward were the same to those who heard the Horse Whisperer.

The End

Ashes and Dust

Mike winced as he climbed off his overloaded mountain bike. Six hours of Scotland’s rolling hills and gravel roads had left him tired, sore, hungry, and dirty.  And he was standing in a pile of sheep manure.

Staring down at the muck-covered shoe, Mike gave a resigned chuckle.  Oh, yeah.  This was part of the country’s rustic charm.  He scraped most of the ‘charm’ off on a rock, and looked at the stone building that had been his objective for the past half-hour.

Initial hopes of getting directions had faded as he got closer.  Obviously abandoned for decades, the structure was nothing more than four walls and a rusty tin roof.  Probably a hundred years old.  However, this forlorn antique was the only sign of human inhabitation he’d seen in at least four hours, and he was too exhausted to pedal another inch.

Maybe he should have taken the ‘high’ road.  Mike grinned to himself.  That’s what he got for being spontaneous.  And stupid.  He hadn’t even checked the map before pedaling off down this unmarked road.  One good thing about being alone – no one else ever had to know.  About the only drawback was that instead of a Bed and Breakfast, he’d be spending the night in a Dirt and Sheep Dung.

Kicking more dried manure off to the side, Mike plopped down wearily.  If they took a local census, eighty percent of the inhabitants would bleat, moo, or whinny.  Given the scenery, he wouldn’t mind joining the majority for a while.  At least he wouldn’t have to get back on that damned bike.

God, he was tired.  Leg muscles burned, his back ached, and his hands were almost numb from gripping the handlebars.  This trip had been planned ten years ago.  Unfortunately, there was a lot more difference between 33 and 43 than he had been willing to admit.   Worse, he’d been almost completely ignorant of riding conditions here.  Even without an established itinerary, his plans had been ridiculously enthusiastic.

BritRail had taken care of long distances so far, but the last train station was about forty miles back.  On the wrong end of a ferry which ran only twice a day.   Mainland Scotland had lulled him into a false sense of security.   There, Bed and Breakfast signs were posted every few miles.  And every town, no matter how small, seemed to have at least two tourist facilities.  Up to now, he’d been able to find a place to stay with no trouble.  Things were different on Skye.

Oh, there were towns here, and plenty of places to stay.  On the East side of the island.  The promise of spectacular scenery (and less nerve-wracking traffic) had lured him away from the single-lane main ‘highway’ towards the western coast.  Not that he’d been disappointed.  Rugged hills and rocky beaches had already consumed three rolls of film.  A strong tail wind and the total absence of traffic had encouraged him to continue even when the poorly maintained road degenerated into a rough gravel path.

According to the map, there was a village some ten miles further.  It might as well be another thirty. He’d pushed himself as far as he could go today, and now he faced a night stuck in the desolate landscape.

So what?  Mike shook his head.  He’d come to Scotland for a great adventure. Well, here it was. What was that quote he’d seen on a Bed and Breakfast wall?  I’d rather be ashes than dust, rather be fire than water…  Well, he’d been gathering dust for too many years now.  Maybe a night in the wild would help brush some of it off.  Besides, he had bread and cheese in the duffel bag, a full water bottle, and plenty of dirty laundry to keep him warm.  There was even a battery-powered razor for the morning.

Rousing himself, he stretched aching arms and legs, and checked out the building.  From the lack of windows, it was probably an old storage shed.   The door had long-since been removed, and there was a scattering of debris on the dirt floor.  No trash, though.  Just leaves, bits of dried heather, and of course, sheep dung.

At least the doorway was too small for Scotland’s shaggy cattle.  And the sheep had set a precedent for him.  There hadn’t been any public toilets in the last forty miles, either, and he ended up leaving his own deposits in a corner.  It was getting dark by the time he finished, so he rolled his bike inside and unpacked the duffel.   Photocopies of his passport and BritRail Pass, candy, tools, even a flashlight.  No matches, of course.

Spreading last week’s clothing on the ground, he positioned the duffel to use as a pillow, and lay down facing the doorway.  The sun was a dull red fire behind the hills now.  He watched until the last glow had faded from the sky, leaving an impossibly deep field of stars.   The combination of solitude and beauty was almost overwhelming.

‘Loch Lomond’ came to mind, and he found himself whistling the melody.   A slight echo effect from the stone walls enhanced the sound, and he closed his eyes to concentrate on his music.  As he started a third variation, the richness of the tune increased.  It was more than just an echo.  The new sound increased in volume, becoming the humming of a clear, painfully beautiful, female voice.

Startled, he sat up suddenly to see the silhouette of a woman in the open doorway.  Flustered and more than a little embarrassed, he scrambled up and brushed himself off.  “Uh, hello!  I, uh, didn’t mean to trespass.  The place looked abandoned, and I, uh, just need a place to stay for the night.”

She responded with words that were unintelligible.  Not just the Scottish brogue that he was getting used to.  A different language.  Gaelic, probably.   Most of the signs here in Scotland were in English and Gaelic.  This far away from civilization, maybe English wasn’t used at all.  Still, her voice was pleasant and the tone friendly.  And there was no mistaking her gesture to come out.

Feeling a bit nervous, he stepped out beside her.  There was enough of a moon to provide a clear view now.  She was young, probably in her early twenties.  And big.  Not fat, just very tall and solidly built.  The full-length dress she wore covered a full and shapely figure.  Her features were a bit coarse, framed by rust-brown hair that was unkempt, yet becoming.  It was her eyes that commanded attention, dark brown, with huge irises that seemed deep as wells.

It occurred to him that this was indeed a different world.  Even in the relatively small city he called home, a girl would never be so trusting of a stranger.

She spoke again in that lilting tongue, cocking her head in obvious curiosity.

“Sorry.”  Mike shrugged and held out his hands.  “I don’t understand you.  Do you know English?”  From her puzzled look, it was certain she didn’t.  Yet there were other means of communication.  She gestured at the sky and the dark hills around them, and then beamed at him.  “Yes.  It is beautiful.”  He smiled back at her, feeling a little self-conscious.   And then she leaned forward suddenly and kissed him firmly on the lips.

Caught off-guard, Mike sputtered and fell back.  Not that the experience hadn’t been pleasant.  But this girl was a good 20 years younger than he was, and he didn’t want some outraged Scottish father after him.

“I’m sorry, laddie.  Do you prefer the boys, then?”

He turned brilliant red and started stammering a denial before realizing he’d understood her.  “You speak English!”

She grinned.  “Aye, we understand each other now.  You didn’t answer my question, though.”  Her eyes twinkled in obvious amusement.

“No!”  The outburst didn’t help his mortification.  “I mean, I like girls.  It’s just that, well, I didn’t expect you to kiss me.”

She reached out and took his hand, her eyes never leaving his.  “And why not?  You are a fine and handsome young lad, the night is beautiful, and we are alone.  Do you find me unattractive, then?”

“Of course not!”  Flustered, he couldn’t help grin at the situation.  A pretty girl was calling him a fine and handsome young lad, and trying to kiss him.  OK, maybe she needed glasses.  Really strong glasses.  “Uh, I think you are really nice looking.”  That was the truth.  “I guess I’m not used to having pretty girls I don’t know kissing me.”  Sadly, he wasn’t even used to pretty girls he DID know kissing him.

She laughed, and then made a deep curtsey.  “Point taken, my bonnie lad.  You may call me Lillith.  And you are…?”

“Mike.  Michael Marshall.”  He bowed awkwardly, feeling silly and somehow exhilarated at the same time.

“Michael.  A fine name.”  She held out her hand.  “Now that we are introduced, walk with me, my lovely Mike, and tell me how you came to my domain.”

Still a little self-conscious, he took the offered hand and followed her in a slow stroll.   An explanation of the day’s events wasn’t enough.  She kept prompting him, until he broke down and basically gave her his life history.   He was sure the girl would be bored to tears, but she seemed to hang on every word.  Even after he had made a point to reveal his age, her interest was unchanged.

He stopped and looked up at the sky as he finished.   “You’re very lucky to be here.  It’s the most beautiful place I have ever been.”

“Aye.  But it can also get very lonely.”  She raised her hands to cradle his face, her breath sweet as clover.  “Be with me, my handsome Michael.”  And then she kissed him again.

There was no pulling back this time.  A fire ignited inside him that he could not control, and he let her pull him down to the ground.  Somehow, their clothing vanished, and her warm flesh pressed against his.  A small corner of his mind protested, only to be silenced by overwhelming passion.

Dawn was just starting to paint the hills when he woke.  The sensation of dirt and rocks against bare skin confused him at first.  And then he remembered the girl.  Sitting up, he found himself naked.   Even in the dark, there was ample evidence that he hadn’t spent the night alone.

Oh, God!  What had come over him?  Memory of the overpowering lust was frightening.  He’d lost control completely.   His greatest fear was that he had possibly raped the girl. No, that was probably as far from the truth as he could get.  Not that she had raped him.  It had been an intense, mutual need unlike anything he had ever experienced.

But why?  He felt a new sickness.  Had she robbed him?    His thoughts about this being a different world seemed laughable now.  He’d been even more naïve and trusting than he’d thought she was.  Having sex with some girl he’d just met?  With no protection?  These days, that was like playing Russian roulette.

One way to find out.  He scrambled up and looked around.  At least she’d left his clothing.  He pulled the scattered garments back on, not even bothering to brush himself off.  At first, he didn’t see the stone building.  They had walked quite a ways.  He ran back, stumbling occasionally on the uneven terrain.  All of his money, his charge cards, his clothes, his passport, his airline ticket home.

Still there.  Even in the dim light, he could see everything was just as he had left it.  The discovery made him feel ashamed.   And a little bewildered.  Why, then?  He had no illusions about his own appearance.  He wasn’t bad looking.  But he also wasn’t the kind of guy who got much attention, either.  At least not from girls half his age.

Uncertainty prompted him to gather his things and repack the bike quickly.  It was still mostly dark out, but he wanted to get away from this place.  He couldn't shake the feeling that Lillith wasn't through with him yet.  And as powerful as the experience with her had been, he was frightened by the total loss of control.  Brushing off dust was one thing, setting bonfires was another.

He heard her in the distance as he reached the road.  Calling his name.  Her voice aroused the passion once more, and he had to struggle not to respond. Fear was stronger, and he rode harder than he’d ever done before.  The bike shot up the hill like a motorcycle, and her voice was left behind in the dust.

The town must have been closer than he thought, for he reached the outskirts even before the sun was fully up.  His heart sank when he saw the signs, though.  Before, everything had the English above, and Gaelic below.  This town apparently had yet a third language that replaced the English.  Great.  Well, the girl had spoken well enough.  And even the most remote corners of Scotland had to have some English.

One thing for sure.  They weren’t used to strangers.  At least, scruffy-looking strangers on mountain bikes.  The few people up at this hour gawked at him like he was a side-show freak.  He ignored them for now, concentrating on finding what might be a Bed and Breakfast, or at least a place he could get something to eat.

His nose found the bakery before his eyes did.  The door was open, so he walked in.  An older couple was busy stocking the case, only to stop and stare when they saw him.  “Do you speak English?”  From the frowns, he figured that he’d struck out.  Pointing at a tray of rolls, he held up two fingers.  A nod this time.  Good.  At least they could use sign language.

As the woman wrapped up the indicated bread, he fished around his pockets.  No change.  All he had in his wallet were traveler’s checks.  At least they were from the Bank of Scotland.  Holding up a 20-pound check, he was relieved when the woman nodded.  He scribbled his signature without really looking, and handed it over.   Let’s see.  ID. He pulled out the familiar blue passport.  She opened it and looked at the picture.  And frowned.

Mike realized he wasn’t in the most presentable of condition, and self-consciously brushed at some of the dirt on his sweatshirt.  That didn’t help anything.  The woman called her husband over and showed him the passport.  Now both of them were looking at him funny.  The man scowled and began talking to him in a firm voice.  Something was obviously wrong, but he still couldn’t understand a word.  Noticing his confusion, the man switched languages.  Maybe French.  Not that it made any difference.  He’d forgotten what little he knew of French and Spanish almost as soon as he graduated high school.

“What’s wrong?”  He knew they didn’t understand him, but he felt compelled to try to communicate.  “I didn’t steal the money!  It’s my signature!”  He grabbed the traveler’s check off the counter and pointed at the familiar scrawl.  “See, just like the one on the pass…”

His voice trailed off as he stared at the check.  Yes, the signature was the same.  But what had happened to the printing?  He was sure they had been Standard English.  Now all he could make out was the number 20.

The man shook his passport and pointed at the picture.  That wasn’t what caught Mike’s attention.  Like the traveler’s check, all of the wording printed on his passport was in a different language!

“What’s going on?”  Confused, he tried to grab the passport.  As he did, there was a movement in the corner of his eye.  He spun around, panicking.   A mirror.  Then he blinked. That wasn’t him.  Instinctively, he turned to see who was behind him.  And saw the reflection do the same.

The traveler’s check slipped from his fingers unnoticed.  Almost in a trance, he approached the framed glass, watching the stranger on the other side come closer.  Shaggy, rust-brown hair framed the coarse-featured face of a very young man.  Certainly not more than 20, perhaps even in his teens.   Homely, but familiar.  Especially the eyes.  Dark brown, with huge irises that seemed deep as wells.

Trembling fingers verified what the mirror reported.  There was no stubble on his cheeks, and the thick growth of hair on top of his head was no toupee.  Even his teeth were different, larger and thicker.  What else had changed?  Ignoring the old couple, he pulled off his sweatshirt and the T-shirt underneath.  It had been too dark to see anything when he got dressed before, and besides, he’d been thinking about other things.  Still, it seemed like he should have noticed the changes.

His chest, once covered with hair, now had smooth, unblemished skin over rippling muscles.  Not quite like a bodybuilder.  A farm hand, perhaps, big-boned and solid.  Part of him had to admire the improvements.  Most of him was absolutely terrified.

It occurred to him that he felt wonderful.  No soreness, no fatigue.  Even after the long, hard ride which had brought him here.  If he was hallucinating, the sensations were pretty complete.  But if it was a hallucination, why did the old couple have a problem with his passport?

He realized that only the man was here now.  The anger on his face had been replaced with one of concern.  Mike shivered, swaying a bit as the room began to spin.  A tear slid down his face as he reached out for help, and then he was swallowed by darkness.

There was murmuring around him when he woke.  Nothing he could understand.  He was lying on a blanket, but the surface underneath was rough and uneven.  And he was naked.  Grabbing the blanket, he covered himself as best he could and gave his audience a bewildered stare.  The couple from the bakery was here.  And three others, all much older.  Then he realized where ‘here’ was.

The stone building from last night.  The time of day looked a bit familiar, as well.  The sun was going down.  He’d been unconscious all day.

“What the Hell is going on!”  He shouted at them, venting fear and frustration even though he knew none of them could answer.  Except that one of them did.

“You be... potato.”  The oldest of the group spoke in slow, halting words. He stopped when he saw Mike’s confused look and shook his head.  “No.  You be - chosen.”

Despite his bewilderment, Mike couldn’t help an incredulous laugh.  What was this, a Scottish Tarzan movie?  “Do you understand me?  Doesn’t anyone here speak English?  I mean, really speak English?”

The old man shook his head violently.  “No!  No!  Too fast!  Talk slow.”

Mike took a deep breath and tried again.  “OK.  Does.  Anyone.  Speak.   English?”

The guy began to rattle off more of the gibberish that they called a language here.

“No!  English!”  Mike was feeling growing frustration.  “Why doesn’t anybody here speak English?  And what the Hell have you done with my clothes?”

“That be English.”  The old man said something in gibberish.  “and that.  You no speak English.  You speak…”  He seemed to be searching for a name.  “The Old Tongue.’

One of the women produced a plain cloth bag that she dumped on the ground in front of Mike.  His wallet, passport, airline ticket.  Everything of value.  Cautiously, he reached out and picked up his wallet.  Every credit card, the receipt from the Bed and Breakfast he had stayed at two days ago, even his United Airlines travel card was now an unreadable jumble of letters and numbers.

Nobody could make such perfect replacements, even if there was a reason to do so.  He pulled out his American Express card, recognizing tooth marks where he had absently chewed it one day.   And then he heard the singing.

The others didn’t seem to notice.  They were watching him with obvious concern.  Somehow, he knew they meant him no harm.  There was pity in their eyes, but also something else which confused him.  Envy?

Mike shivered as desire and fear welled up inside him.  “Please.  What’s happening?  Why are you doing this to me?”  Lillith’s call was louder now, pulling at his soul.  “I have to get away.  I don’t want to see her again.”  A lie, despite his terror.  His head throbbed with the power of her song, his loins ached for her embrace.

The old man’s eyes suddenly widened, and he backed away from Mike and rattled off something to the others.  They stared at him in obvious shock, and then the couple from the bakery scrambled outside.  He heard car doors open and slam shut.  The other two observers stayed long enough to gather his belongings and put them back in the bag before leaving.  Only his translator remained.

“Time short.”  The old man wanted to run, that was clear.  “Old One come.  Choose you.”  He stared at Mike’s forehead, and then reached out a quivering hand to gently trace unfamiliar contours.

Mike reached up and felt swollen temples.  “I don’t understand.”  But he did understand.  Maybe not the reason, or the method.  It was the passion.  Her singing was louder now, filling his thoughts and surrounding his body.

The old man stood up to leave, then turned back and placed a hand on Mike’s shoulder.  “No fear.  You be with Old Ones.  Life short.  Life full.”    A panicked shout from outside prompted a final sad smile before the man stumbled out to the waiting car, which took off in a spray of dirt and gravel.

As the dust cloud settled, Mike heard her call again.  Tears burned in his eyes as his traitorous body stood and walked outside.  He was dimly surprised that his head brushed the top of the doorframe, the odd sensation joining others as he moved up into the field.

She called to him from the spot where they had made love.  The sound drew rust-brown hair from his chest, his arms, and pulled bones and tendons painlessly into larger, stronger shapes even as his mind diminished.

Mike felt his life slipping away, memories and comprehension subtly altered with each step.  The vision of her true form filled his manhood and swelled it into much larger maleness.  Her song caressed his flesh, now shaggy and thick, drawing a muzzle from his face and a tail from his spine.  Then he fell forward, unable to support his growing mass on two legs.

The jolt broke her spell, allowing humanity a brief moment of clarity.  Mike made no attempt to escape.  He knew without looking that there was no place left for him in the world he knew. Yet the hopeless fear seemed to lessen, and he found himself answering her call.

Movement became easier, then natural as her song continued rewriting the notes of his music to match hers.  He could feel her in his mind again, promising companionship all the years of his life, and ever-present passion.

Her scent filled his nostrils, making thoughts unfocused and confused.  Acceptance now, and growing contentment, though he couldn’t tell if they were his own or imposed by her gentle manipulations.  Did it really matter?

Bellowing his song to merge with hers, the massive, shaggy bull slid over the Old One’s back.  The fire within him was lit, and would burn to oblivion.

The End

Tradition

Autumn colors spread across the summer sky as the sun eased its way over the horizon.  Any other time, Russ would probably have admired the sunset.  Right now, he was more interested in the flat, featureless desert which surrounded him.  Rising heat made the terrain waver, blurring detail of distant objects.  It was easy to forget he was in Montana, and imagine this to be the plains of Africa.

He shivered despite the high temperature, feeling frightened, excited, and stupid all at the same time.  He’d tried some oddball things before, but never in the presence of another.  Jumping naked over a beaten copper knife, wearing what was supposed to be a wolf skin belt, and drinking vile-tasting concoctions made up from recipes found in dusty books.  Nothing had worked.  Yet here he was again, standing naked in the Montana desert with a strange old woman, waiting for the full moon.

“Here.”  The woman in question thrust what looked like a piece of beef jerky into his hand.  “Start chewing it.  The time draws near.”

He took the cardboard-like meat and stared at it apprehensively.  “This is it?”

“What did you expect, boy?”  She snorted in disgust.  “Can’t just walk into a store and grab a Zebra heart from the butcher.  Now, if ya’ wanted to be a cow or a chicken…”

“OK, OK!”  He stuck it in his mouth, wincing in anticipation of really terrible taste.  “Actually, I wouldn’t mind being a cow.  Or a bull.  Maybe not a chicken, though.”   The meat really wasn’t bad.  In fact, it pretty much tasted like store-bought jerky.  He couldn’t help wonder for the umpteenth time if this was all some elaborate hoax.

“Cows aren’t traditional.  Neither are chickens.  And this American preoccupation with wolves!”  The woman spat.  “Fah!  Nothing more than wild dogs.  My people practice tradition.  My magic follows tradition.”

Russ didn’t point out that he obviously wasn’t one of her people.  Blonde hair and blue eyes hardly marked him as a follower of African folklore.  In fact, he would have preferred the wolf shape she seemed to despise.  Still, becoming a Zebra, a cow, Hell, even a chicken, would fulfill a longing which tore at his soul.  Werewolves had filled his youth, but as he got older, he had discovered that the legends of shapeshifting covered every form of animal known to man.

Even now, almost ready to graduate from college, he found himself taking chances.  Tonight, for instance.  He’d met the old woman two days ago.  Poking through an occult shop in search of shapeshifting books and paraphernalia.  Her shop.  He had felt her eyes watching him the whole time he browsed.  At the time, he’d thought she was making sure he didn’t shoplift.  And when she’d grabbed his hand at the register, turning it to read the lines on his palm, he’d figured she was more than a little crazy.

So what was he doing out here in his birthday suit?  Other than making a complete and total fool of himself?  Because she had made the offer.  The offer to shapeshift in the light of the full moon, to throw off the bounds of human skin and gallop across the earth on four hooves.  The offer to transform him, just for one night, into an animal.

He’d already told himself this wouldn’t work.  That this strange old woman was a fraud, a phony mumbo-jumbo artist out to cheat the silly white boy.  Yet she had asked for no money.  In fact, she’d insisted that he bring nothing but whatever clothing he had to wear.  Blackmail?  There was no law against eating Zebra hearts.  Running around naked might raise an eyebrow or two, but he doubted even that would get him more than a lecture from the police.

More violent possibilities, such as kidnapping, murder, or rape had crossed his mind briefly.  And were just as quickly dismissed.  While no football halfback, Russ was lean and strong.  The old woman didn’t come up to his shoulders, and he hadn’t seen so much as a pocket knife in her shop.  Not to say he wasn’t watching her carefully.  He might be crazy for doing this, but he wasn’t stupid.

“Swallow!”  Russ jumped at the sudden command, obeying instinctively.  Even though it had tasted OK, he couldn’t help gagging a little at the thought of what was sliding towards his stomach.  The heart of a Zebra.  According to the woman, this was the first step of a ceremony brought over from Africa.  She claimed to be the equivalent of a sorceress, her craft passed down over generations.  Not voodoo.  Or the curses and love potions marketed by those so-called witches in magazines.   And, he hoped, not Black Magic.

So far, he’d seen nothing he would regard as Satanic.  Her shop dealt with the spirits of nature, animal totems, and African veldt.  Oh, and Tradition.  Jeez.  The woman prattled on about tradition.  The rites and ceremonies which were almost lost, for they could be passed only verbally.  No written language could capture the sounds and movement.

He heard the woman pick up something that rattled, and turned to see what she was doing.  Amazingly, he was more embarrassed to discover her without clothing than he was to be naked himself.  He averted his eyes, though her body was nothing to be ashamed of.  Especially at her apparent age.  He’d guessed her to be in her sixties, but below the neck she could be half that.

Flushing, he had to remind himself of his own earlier fears.  The woman was old enough to be his grandmother!  Yet she circled around him now with uncanny grace, her arms reaching up as she chanted gibberish, softly at first, and then with growing intensity.  A prickly feeling ran down his spine, and he turned to look up at the now darkened sky.  Hanging directly overhead, pale as death, was the full moon.

He could hear his heart pounding, feel the blood pulsing through his body.  And then a second beat joined in.  A second heartbeat.  Russ stared down at his chest, trying to disbelieve the new sound.  He could feel the steady rhythm growing stronger, more centered in his ribs.  And then a spasm rocked him backwards, arms thrown stiffly up.  Snapping back, he gasped and clutched his aching breast.  And felt it push outward in the center.

There was only one heartbeat now, a thundering sound which echoed in his head.  His skin was becoming rough with emerging hair, shifting and pulling over his expanding bones.  Oh, God!  It was really happening!    He dreamed of this for years, but faced with the reality, Russ was terrified.  Another spasm threw him forward this time, and he screamed as he fell heavily on numb, swollen hands.  Fire raced over his back, leaving an odd sensation of thickness.  As it spread down his arms, he saw smooth skin darken, and then vanish under a blanket of white and black fur.

Fingers and toes throbbed, melting and reshaping into solid hooves.  He screamed as the fire consumed his head, the sound catching in a throat which stretched impossibly.  Vision blurred and expanded, split in the front by the swelling mass of his face.  It seemed as if his very brain was being dipped in acid, his insides filled with boiling oil.

And then it was over.   The relief was so sudden it shocked him almost as much as the pain.  He was gasping, drawing great volumes of air through flared nostrils.  New sensations bombarded his mind, which curiously seemed able to sort and identify them.  Everything felt different, but natural.  Standing on four legs, lashing an unseen tail, the ripple of muscle under his thick hide.  Even his thoughts had changed.

A small corner of his mind marveled at the clarity and concentration of equine comprehension.  Anyone who thought the animal mind was dull or slow needed to experience the world as a Zebra!  His ears picked up a symphony of sounds, his nose drank in scents familiar and strange.  And dangerous.  That last though confused him.  What danger could he face out here?

He turned towards the old woman, trying to ignore the instinctive alarm as he reveled in his new shape.  She had given him his dream!  He’d do anything for her.  It was hard to spot the woman at first, for his equine night vision was poor.  Then he caught movement to the right of the car, and trumpeted joyfully.

“Yes.  You have discovered the strength of the animal spirit.  The power, the purity of thought.”  Her voice was oddly distorted, pronunciation somewhat lisped.   She stepped closer, almost staggering.  Yet even hunched over, she displayed a fluidity of movement that belied her age.  The woman stood suddenly, stretching out her arms with a cry of pure pleasure.  Russ saw her skin ripple as pale golden fur sprouted, her slender form growing thicker and more powerful.

The Zebra backed away, only barely held in check by Russ’s fading intellect.  He recognized the danger now, the threat which his new instincts had tried to warn him of.  Her scent was thick in his nostrils, musky and ripe with the promise of death.

“My people are true shapeshifters.”  She flexed her hands, watching calmly as they swelled into massive paws.  “The slavers who brought my ancestors here learned too late.  And we found ways to adapt.  To chase rats in the city, or perhaps a deer in the woods.  Enough for basic needs, but not really satisfying.”

“You wished to know life as an animal.  There is more than just the physical form.”   She was more lioness than human now, yet he could still understand her.  “Now you will know the primal instincts, the fight for survival.  The thrill of the hunt.”    She dropped to all fours and arched her back as the transformation completed, her voice lost in a rumbling which finally broke through Russ’s paralysis.

Spinning, he surrendered to the Zebra mentality, unleashing the power of his legs in a spray of sand and dust.  The lioness was watching him, not giving chase just yet.   Playing with him.  Or perhaps, giving him just enough of a chance to make things interesting.  He was very fast, and there was a lot of open land to run.  He just might survive.  But deep in his pounding heart, the Zebra knew which ending was traditional.

The End

Strapped for Cash

Donnie stared at the ‘Help Wanted’ sign and sighed as his fingers explored empty pockets.  He’d been penniless more than once in the past few months, but this was the first time he’d ever been threatened with jail.   You were a traveler only as long as you had money – without it you were a vagrant.

Maybe it was time to give up this aimless wandering.  He’d struck out to see the world on his twenty-first birthday, determined to have some sort of adventure before joining the rest of his classmates as yet another clerk or salesman.  The planned month stretched into two, then three.  When funds ran out, he’d sold off the few possessions he had carried, until all that he had left were literally the clothes on his back.

Curiously, what most would consider hardship, Donnie found refreshing.  It wasn’t work itself he objected to but the trappings of ‘normal’ life.  No one expected him to behave or dress a certain way, no debt or obligation hung over his head.  For the most part, he didn’t have a care in the world.  Well, except on those cold nights when he shivered under some old bridge, or days when his belly was empty.

Like now.  As gruff and unpleasant as the constable had seemed, he’d directed Donnie to this remote farm as a place to find ‘fair treatment for honest work’.  True, it was more an alternative to being locked up than a friendly suggestion, but ten days behind bars would do nothing to improve his finances.  Whatever the job, it apparently wasn’t good enough to entice locals.  But then, Donnie had much lower requirements than most.   Any wages could go towards resuming his travels when the weather got warmer.

Sighing, he bent down and pulled up the sign.  It would serve to announce his intentions.  Besides, if the constable was to be believed, no skill was required.  After a moment straightening his cap, he squared his shoulders and strode towards the stone cottage beyond.

“Out here, lad!”  A cheerful voice hailed him before he reached the front porch.  It took a moment to locate the source – a white-haired man who was barely visible in the field of grain behind the house.   “Be with you in a wee moment.”

Donnie waited patiently, encouraged by the friendly manner.  This was obviously a working farm, with a few goats and chickens wandering about.  No cattle, but he spotted a large off-white horse grazing in a grassy pasture just beyond the barn.

After couple of minutes, his potential employer walked over to greet him.  The man was quite short and solidly built, looking like a miniature Santa Claus in jeans.  Copper-red eyebrows indicated the previous color of his tangled hair and beard.

“Now then.”  Emerald green eyes glanced down at the sign in Donnie’s hand.  “I’ve not seen you around here.  Passing through?”

“Uh, yes sir.  I was told you were looking for someone.”

The man grinned.  “Had a run-in with the local constable, no doubt?”  He chuckled at Donnie’s flush of embarrassment.  “He’s the only one who’d a’ sent ye my way.  Not a worry, lad.  I don’t care who you are or where you come from.  You’re young and healthy.  Better ‘n most I’ve dealt with over the years.  Last fellow was a real ne’er-do-well, but he served me well nigh on fifteen good years.”

Fifteen years?  If someone stuck around that long, the job couldn’t be too bad.  “Uh, what kind of work is it?  I mean, I’m willing to do pretty much anything, but I’ve never been on a farm before.”

“Oh, just muscle power.  What little skill you need comes natural.”  The man looked up at him thoughtfully.  “What’s your name?”

“Donnie.  Donald Whitlow.”  He extended his hand.

The man made no move to shake.  “Donnie.  Good enough.  I’m Periwinkle.  Been farming this land since...  well, let’s just say I’m older than dirt.”

Donnie dropped his hand.  “Nice to meet you, Mr. Periwinkle.”

“No ‘Mister.’  Just Periwinkle will do for as long as it means anything.”  The man stroked his whiskers.  “So, what’s a young fellow like you doing wandering about the countryside?”

Donnie was hesitant at first, but Periwinkle seemed both friendly and interested.  Before long, the little man not only knew most of Donnie’s life history, but the fears and desires that had brought him to this point.

The man listened until he was done, then frowned slightly.  “Ye seem a good sort.  If it wasn’t harvest time, I’d not waste you in the fields.  But Stanley’s earned his retirement, and truth be told, it’s not a bad life for a lad with no ambitions.  Simple work, all your needs seen to, and no worries or obligations.  Pretty much what ye seem to be after.”

Though he felt vaguely insulted, Donnie realized Periwinkle wasn’t far from the mark.  It did seem like an ideal situation, at least for the time being.  A few months here, and he’d have another spring and summer to wander.  “So you’ll take me on?”

Periwinkle snorted.  “Aye, lad.  Ye be part of the farm now.  No point in dallying.  I have to move the thrasher out of the field.”  He gestured over to where he had been when Donnie arrived.

“Uh, OK.”  Donnie took a step towards the field.

“Oh, it’s a wee bit heavy even for a strapping young lad.  Go around the barn and bring me the tack hanging up there.  Ye can’t miss it.”

Giving a little shrug, Donnie made his way around the red-planked building.  As promised, there was no missing the tack.  The dark brown leather harness looked old but well polished, with ornate brass buckles that glinted in the afternoon sun.  Periwinkle must be planning to use the horse after all.

One of the thinner straps had fallen on the ground, and he bent over to pick it up.  As he straightened, a sudden spasm shot up one arm and down the other.  Before he could react, yet another jolt raced down his legs, and up, quite curiously, through his ears.  The effect was far more startling than painful, but Donnie gasped and stumbled, catching himself against the barn wall.

What in blazes?  He stared at the hand supporting him.  A blue-green mist appeared around dark, swelling fingers, swirling up his arm and out to the closest piece of tack.  Dumbfounded, he saw himself reaching for the glowing blinders and tried to stop.  When the limb failed to respond, he grabbed at it with his other hand.  His traitorous finger closed on the bridle just as he yanked back, pulling the entire harness on top of him as he fell backwards.

Donnie scrambled up, trying to shake free of the tangled straps, only to find himself surrounded by them.  Violent spasms hunched him forward with enough force to split the seams of his trousers.  It should have been painful, yet all he felt besides the pulling muscles was an almost pleasant heat.  Or perhaps it was all happening too fast for him to even recognize pain.   His hands had doubled in size, becoming thick lumps that stretched away from him on lengthening arms.  At the same time, his nose and mouth thrust forward into the dangling bridle.  Jerking his head back only caused the bit to fall into his mouth, and the straps caught around ears too high and too large.

Tremendous pressure around his feet suddenly vanished as his stout leather hiking boots pulled apart.  Balance shifted, and he fell forward with the sound of more ripping cloth.  His hands hit the ground far sooner than expected, impact dulled by numbness.  Clothing fell away, yet he did not feel cool air – instead there was an odd sense of thickness – not only of skin, but of body and mind as well.

He twisted around in time to see the top half of his left boot fall away from what was unmistakably a hoof.  The change had occurred so quickly that he’d been unable to put the sensations together, but as the last scraps of clothing dropped off and the colorful mist evaporated away, Donnie knew instantly what had happened.  He’d been turned into a horse.

The overall look was familiar.  Vision was blurred and colors were off, but if memory still served he was pretty similar to the animal in the pasture beyond.   Stanley?  The ne’er do well who’d worked well for fifteen years?  Donnie stared at the scraps of cloth on the ground, then dropped his head to pick up his cap. It was the only part of his past that had survived.

Why wasn’t he terrified?  The experience had been bewildering, but if there had been any real fear at all it was already forgotten.  In fact, he felt rather good.  The straps around his body and head were oddly familiar, as was the sense of mass and strength.  But he’d been turned into an animal, dammit!  How long did horses live, anyway?  Not as long as a man, for sure.  He didn’t want this!

“Don’t worry, lad.”  Periwinkle strode up and patted his side.  “It’ll all be right as rain in a few more minutes.  Ye be a five year-old gelding, sound and well formed.  I’ll work you for fifteen years, then let you spend whatever’s left in the pasture.  In more than two hundred years, I never lost a beast to illness or injury, and when the end comes, you’ll just lay down and go to sleep.”

Fifteen years?  Donnie shook his head, trying to clear a creeping fog that was making it hard to concentrate.  And a gelding.  He’d lost his sex and more than half his expected life span!

“I suppose it’s a waste of time explaining.”  Periwinkle stared up at him.  “Ye won’t remember a word.  Every thought in your head is becoming that of the horse ye now are.  Still, I don’t like to have my animals upset.”  He fished in his pocket and pulled out a thin brownish stick.  “Cinnamon sugar pole.   Your favorite treat.”

Donnie snuffled at the candy, then dropped the bad-tasting object he had been holding in his teeth and lipped the offering into his mouth.  Periwinkle rubbed his chin and made happy sounds, then took the pulling thing and led him towards the field.  For just a moment, Donnie felt a flicker of resignation.  This was exactly what he had signed up for - simple work, all his needs seen to, and no obligations.  Then even comprehension of such thoughts was gone, and the horse plodded after his master with not a care in the world.

The End

Team Spirit

The doorbell started ringing just as Detroit’s star linebacker caught the ball at the 35 yard line.  Ben ignored the buzzing, focusing on the screen.  Tyler, his best friend, jerked a finger to the door.  “Company?”

“Whoever it is can wait…  GO, run you sunofabitch!”  After one more ring, whoever it was switched to insistent knocking, but Ben waited until the tackle before racing to the door in time to see the back of a delivery man.  “Yeah!  I’m here!”

When the guy turned around to display a big plant with bright blue flowers, Ben blinked and shook his head.  “You gotta have the wrong apartment, buddy.

“Benjamin Turner, Apartment 12?”  The guy glanced at the number on the door.

“Uh, yeah.  But…”

“I need you to sign for these.”  The guy handed Ben a pad and pen.  “The first blank line.”

Puzzled, Ben scribbled out his name and took the planter.  “Who the hell is sending me flowers?”

The delivery man shrugged.  “Someone who likes you a lot.  That’s $350 in your hand.  Special order, overnighted from New York.”

“Bullshit!”  Ben frowned at the scraggly-looking plant.  “Looks like someone dug up a weed.”

“Hey, I just deliver them.”  The guy cocked his head.  “You got the game on?  Who’s winning?”

“Detroit, by 2.  And they just got a first down.  They’ll clobber the Raiders.”

The guy grinned.  “You sound like a Detroit fan.”

“Lions all the way!  I wouldn’t miss a game for anything.”  Ben checked the ceramic pot.  “Who is this from?  Is there a card or anything?”

“Nope.”  The guy strained to catch more of the game, then sighed.  “I gotta make more deliveries.  Enjoy the game!”

Tyler shouted from the living room as Ben shut the door.  “Come on!  They got slammed by defense!  Third down!  Who was at the…   flowers?”  Tyler grinned.

“Three hundred and fifty dollars worth, according to the delivery guy.”

“Who’d waste that much money sending YOU flowers?”  Tyler stared at the planter a moment before suddenly voicing the thought that popped into Ben’s mind.  “Crystal!  Oh, man.  You must have laid it on pretty thick when you cancelled out for today.”

Ben grinned, setting the flowers down on the end table and twisting his voice into a wheezing whisper.  “I’m so sorry, Crystal.   I know I promised to go with you to the ballet, but I got some kind of bug.”  He coughed.  “Probably just a 24-hour thing.  I’m going to lock the door, take the phone off the hook, and crash.  “He coughed once more for effect.

“Just better hope she doesn’t find out.”  Tyler grinned and shook his head.

Ben shrugged as he headed into the kitchen.  “She probably got one of her girlfriends to go with her.  Hell, I did her a favor.  I’d have fallen asleep halfway through and embarrassed the crap out of her.”

“Like the ‘favor’ you did her when you told her you had to work late last Friday?”

“I just didn’t feel like suffering through one of those damn foreign flicks again.”  Ben got a Bud Light from the fridge.  “You want a beer?”

“Sure!”  Tyler clicked off the sound as commercials started.  “I can’t figure out why she puts up with your crap, anyway.”

“The sex!”  Ben grinned as he handed over the beer, then plopped back down on the sofa...  “It was fun at first.  She’d go to games, hit the bars – then she got on this damned culture kick.  Hell, the last restaurant she suggested served me four scallops and a little pile of weird steamed vegetables and charged more than two steak dinners at Outback!”

Tyler grinned.  “I’m sure you said as much to the waiter?”

“Damn straight!  ‘Course, Crystal read me the riot act when we got outside.  Said next time she’d have the waiter throw a hunk of raw meat on the table.”  Ben grinned.  ”I told her that sounded good to me.”

“And you lived?”  Tyler shook his head.  “Man, I wouldn’t have the balls. She doesn’t seem like the kind of woman I’d want pissed at me.”  He walked over and peered down at the small tag attached to the pot.  “Midnight Blue Agapanthus.  Native of South Africa.  What’s the deal with that?”

“Who knows?”  Ben sipped his beer.  “She’s doing some big study on African folklore and legends for her Doctorate.  Probably means something sappy.”

“Me Jane.  You Tarzan.  Me wuv you!”  Tyler grinned and ducked as Ben tossed a sofa pillow at him.  He was leaning over to pick it up when the phone rang, and he reached for it automatically before Ben could stop him.

“Turner’s Bar!”  Tyler’s grin vanished suddenly, and he looked at Ben in alarm.  “Oh, uh Crystal!  Yeah, I’m just over, uh visiting.”  He tried to hand the phone to Ben, who shook his head violently.  “He’s, umm, lying down on the sofa.  I just came over to make sure he didn’t need anything.  He, uh, doesn’t want to use the handset.  Germs, I guess.”  Tyler rolled his eyes and grinned and shook his fist in mock anger.  “Oh, sure.  Just a sec.”  He covered the mouthpiece.  “She wants me to put it on speakerphone!”

“Crap!  OK, go ahead.”  Ben cleared his throat and prepped while Tyler punched the button and set the handset back in the cradle.

“Ben?” Crystal sounded a little tense.  “So, it’s OK for your best friend to get exposed, but you didn’t want me to come over?”

“He’s, uh, staying away.  Just here for a minute.”  Ben glanced at the clock on the DVD player.  “Hey, shouldn’t you be at the ballet?”

“I decided not to go.  So, how are you feeling?  Any better?”

“Uh, a little.”  Ben managed a couple of coughs.  “Still got some chills and stuff.  I was sleeping until Tyler got here just a few minutes ago.  Oh, and I got the flowers!  Thanks!  They’re, uh, pretty.”

“Oh, good.”  Crystal sounded a little more cheerful now.  “So, Tyler?  Looking after a sick friend?  That’s nice.  You sure you aren’t going to catch it yourself?”

His friend tried not to laugh.  “Oh, I’m pretty sure I’ll be OK.  Somebody’s gotta make sure he has food, right?”

“I’m really surprised the two of you aren’t following the playoffs.  Isn’t this a big game against Oakland?”

Tyler rolled his eyes and grinned.  The game was back on, luckily with the sound off.  “Hey, if he’s sick enough to cancel out a date with you, he isn’t going to be watching TV.”

Ben gave him a ‘thumbs up’ as he replied.  “Sorry about that, hon.  Maybe some other time.”

“Maybe.”  She paused.  “The Raiders have the ball!”

Both men looked at the TV, and Tyler shouted “Shit!  They’re on the 20!”  Then they grimaced and Tyler covered his face.  “Oh, damn.”

Ben struggled to come up with something.  “Uh, yeah, we just turned it on for a minute, hon.”

“Oh, cut the crap, Ben.”  Crystal had an edge to her voice now.  “You ditched the ballet so you could watch the game.  Every time we plan something I want to do, I dread seeing the message light on my answering machine flash.  Because I know it’s you with another lie.  You should have just said you didn’t want to go.”

Ben threw his head back in exasperation.  “OK, yeah, I lied.  Detroit’s in the playoff!  You know how important it is for me!”

There was a long and chilly silence before Crystal spoke again.  “Yes, I know.  Lions all the way.  That’s why I sent you the flowers.  And since your buddy there doesn’t mind fetching you food and backing up your lies, he can enjoy them too.”

Ben was annoyed now.  “OK, I’m sorry I screwed up your day!  Maybe it’s time you stopped making plans with me.  Your idea of fun and mine are getting pretty different these days.”

“I believe you are right.  What’s a good time for you, Ben?”  Crystal’s voice hardened.  “A comfy place to watch the action, a hunk of red meat to chew on?  And of course, a good screw whenever you get in the mood?”

Tyler nodded emphatically and then buried his face in a pillow to smother a laugh.

“That sure sounds better than a bunch of people prancing around on tiptoe and a restaurant that considers a sprig of parsley one of the vegetables!”

Crystal seemed to brighten.  “Then this is your lucky day, because it’s nothing but good times from here on out!”  Then she started a quiet chant.

Both men blinked and stared at the phone as her voice grew stronger.  None of the words were recognizable, but the sounds pulsed around them, almost tangible.  The air was suddenly hot, almost oppressive.

Tyler stared past Ben, his eyes widening and mouth falling open.  Looking back, Ben saw why.  The end table was sprouting tall, yellow-green grass.  “What the hell?”  He felt the sofa sag and jumped off as it collapsed in on itself and crumbled into a dry, dusty soil.  “Shit!”

Crystal’s voice resonated around them now.  Tyler spun and ran for the door, only to find that he couldn’t grasp the handle with the large, tawny paws that had replaced his hands.  Ben was frozen, gaping as the wild grass swept though his apartment, consuming carpet, furniture, even walls.  The chanting came to a crescendo, pounding into his brain, and stopped with an abrupt shout.

A soft moan drew his attention back to Tyler, or something that was standing where Tyler had been.  Large, terrified eyes stared back at him from a face that looked less and less like his friend’s and more like that of a large, gold-furred lioness.  His clothing fell away as he took an awkward step towards Ben, wobbling as his body lost the ability to walk on two legs.

It wasn’t until he took a step towards his friend that Ben realized his own body was changing as well.  He looked down in time to see his shirt and jeans crumble off a body already covered in fur.  A tail pushed out from his spine, twitching with new muscles, and claws erupted from the nubs of fingers that rapidly drew into swollen, padded palms.  His nostrils were filled with a mix of powerful and unfamiliar scents, including a heavy musk that had to be his own odor.  Another spasm forced him over into a half-crouch, and he screamed.

The apartment walls shimmered and dissipated like so much smoke, revealing vast expanses of open plains in every direction.  Tyler toppled forward, catching himself – herself – on her powerful forelegs.  She stared up at him, eyes becoming unfocused and confused.  Then the lioness snorted, shook her head, and settled in the grass to lick her forepaws.

“No!”  The word came out guttural, almost a roar.  Ben struggled to find words for an apology, to beg forgiveness, but a hot blast of air tore through his mind, melting away memories and knowledge.  Muscles twisted and pulled, balance shifting until he could no long remain upright.  His arms shifted as he fell, twisting and reshaping themselves into animal limbs.

“Goodbye, Ben.”  Crystal’s voice came from the hot, dry air now, the phone long since dissolved into dirt.  He twisted around, seeing the last traces of humanity fade away, aware of what was happening even though comprehension was failing fast.  There was a fresh kill a few feet away, the bowels already ripped out.  He snarled in anger and defiance, desperately trying to hang onto the last remnants of self.

The voice whispered now, almost lost in the rustling of the tall grass.  “Here’s your good time.”  Ben heard the words, and knew despair a moment before even that was gone forever.  “Lions all the way.”

The End

Totally Pucked

“Now that is one choice piece of ass!”  Billy leered at the classy broad who was frowning at bottles further down the Beer and Wine section.  Definitely not one of Piggly Wiggly’s regular customers.  Tall, blonde, and hot looking, she had on a fancy long white gown that sparkled in the fluorescent lights.

The woman didn’t react at first, then straightened suddenly and gave him a cold look.  “I hope you are not talking to me.”  There was authority behind her voice – a sense of warning that Billy took as a challenge.

“Ain’t nobody else on the aisle, is there?”  He looked her up and down very deliberately, enjoying the rich bitch’s obvious anger.  “Chill, toots.  It’s a compliment.”

“Oh, really?”  The woman raised an eyebrow.  “A compliment?  What do you think, Robin?”

There was a giggle directly behind Billy, and he spun to see a scruffy-looking little kid grinning up at him.  While the boy’s clothing looked expensive, it was wrinkled and out of place, and his blonde hair was a wild tangle.

“I bet he thinks it is!”  Robin’s emerald green eyes twinkled.  “Yeah, someone as ugly as him would think an ass is beautiful.”

Billy scowled and leaned down in a threatening manner.  “Watch your mouth, kid.  Around here, we take a belt to brats who don’t respect their elders.”

A look of astonishment crossed the boy’s face, then he exploded into laughter.  “Oh, did you hear what he said?  I wish Obie was here!”

The unexpected reaction threw Billy off long enough for the brat to scamper back to Mama.  Probably just as well – backhanding someone else’s kid could get you in real trouble.  He grabbed a couple of six-packs and looked back at them with a sneer.  The kid was whispering something to his mother as he grinned back at Billy, probably something insulting given her smile and nod.  Billy very deliberately held up one of the six packs and extended the middle finger of the hand holding it.  That wiped the smirk off the bitch’s face.

Feeling triumphant, Billy turned to leave – then yelped and jumped sideways as the shelves next to him suddenly exploded!   He fell against the freezer case on the other side of the aisle, dropping the six packs to protect his face with his arms.  The entire area was drenched with warm beer, and it felt like a thousand BBs had been thrown at him.

“Shit!”  He lowered his arms and stared at the mess.  Every bottle and can of beer on the top row was blown apart, their contents splattered all over the area.  It was a good thing he’d covered his face – his jacket and pants were speckled with tiny shards of glass, and a few were sticking out of the backs of his hands.  He looked towards the end of the aisle to see if the woman and kid had been hurt.  They were gone.  Then a pimple-faced clerk came running, followed by most of the other customers.  Billy realized a golden opportunity when he saw it, and held up his hands.  “I’m all cut up!”

*****************

An hour later, he was heading home bearing the fruits of his performance.  The paramedics had plucked out a half-dozen glass splinters and daubed them with disinfectant, but only one was deep enough to warrant a Band-Aid.  Even so, he had a trunk full of free groceries courtesy of the store manager.  Not to mention four cases of beer – premium stuff, not the cheap brew he usually bought.  Things were going just…

The car suddenly started slowing, and red lights on the dashboard popped on.  “What the Hell?”  The engine had cut off.  Frowning, he glanced at the gas gauge – it showed half-full.  He shifted into neutral to coast and tried starting the engine again.  It cranked over twice, then even the lights went out.

“Dammit!”  Billy steered the old Chevy off the road and stopped.  Another try confirmed that the battery was stone dead.  He pounded the dash with his fist, then threw the door open and climbed out.  Just great.  It was close to ten – even during the day he’d have a hard time getting a ride.   Nobody was gonna stop for him on this dark, wooded stretch of the road.

He needed to find a phone – Mike would be up, or maybe Carter.  The Piggly Wiggly was about two miles back, but it had been closing when he left.  One of those 24-hour convenience stores was about the same distance the other way.

Slamming the door shut, he thrust his hands in his pockets and started trudging along the side of the road.  Piece o’ shit Chevy!  Maybe he could torch it and claim insurance.  Nah, he didn’t have that kind of coverage.  He was still contemplating dire fates for the car when he saw light through the trees.  It was too far away to make out the source, but glimmers of red and blue indicated some sort of business sign rather than a house.

What would be out this way?  Billy hadn’t realized there was anything behind the trees but open fields.  The light didn’t look very far away, and the convenience store was still out of sight.  It was worth checking – he might save a couple of miles walking.  Anyway, he needed to take piss.

Billy unzipped as soon as he was inside the woods and let fly – only to stop abruptly as he felt the warm liquid splash back on his hands and pants.  Startled, he cursed and turned away from whatever he was hitting, only to have the same thing happen.  Squinting in the darkness, he couldn’t make out anything in front of him.  Backing away, he swept the ground with one foot to make the area was clear.  A cautious release seemed OK this time, and he relaxed as this afternoon’s beer made room for the new brew in his car.

However, when he was done, his pants wouldn’t close back up.  Billy yanked the stubborn zipper hard, only to have the pull come off in his hand.  To make matters worse, his jeans were a bit small and the fly gaped open.  He pulled his shirt out and let it hang out under his jacket, but that didn’t cover enough.  Grumbling, he took off his jacket and tied it around his waist like an apron.  That took care of the problem, though it looked pretty silly.

Disgusted, he headed for the colorful glow.  Whatever the place was, he’d misjudged the distance.  After a good five minutes of walking, it didn’t look any closer.   Maybe he’d be better off going back to the road and finding the convenience store.  At least he knew that was… where?  Looking back, Billy realized he couldn’t see anything but trees.  Which way had he come from?  He tried listening for the sound of cars, but heard only crickets.  Then he caught the faint rustle of leaves as something moved.  Something close.

Billy looked towards the noise, but couldn’t make out anything.  He backed away cautiously, then headed for the light again at a faster pace.  Something dark flickered in the corner of his eye, but when he turned to look it seemed to melt into the shadows.  There weren’t supposed to be any kind of predators around here – the only large animals he knew of were deer.  But a deer wouldn’t be stalking him.  He started a quick jog, glancing back nervously.  Could it be a dog?  He’d never heard of -

Something grabbed at Billy’s right foot, throwing him forward.  He stumbled and fell, twisting awkwardly to catch himself. Luckily, the ground was covered with damp, soft leaves and he missed hitting a tree.  Scrambling up, he spun, expecting some sort of attack.  And saw his tennis shoe caught up in some roots.  At the same time, he became aware of less pressure and more air on his backside.  His jeans had split wide open when he fell.  A fresh stream of profanity was interrupted by the clear sound of a twig snapping.  He jerked his head towards the source, and this time saw a large, dark shape that wasn’t part of the shadows.

Billy ran, stumbling over more roots, bouncing painfully off of trees.  Low branches caught at his hair and slapped his face and arms.  It wasn’t until he burst into a small clearing that he looked back.  His gut clenched as he saw the dark shape approaching slowly.  Looking around wildly, he spotted a fairly large branch on the ground and seized it.  He raised it up over his head like a club as his pursuer moved out of the shadows – and giggled.

It was a kid.  Billy stared, more shocked than if it had been a mountain lion.  Not just any kid, either.  It was the brat from Piggly Wiggly, though he’d traded his prep-school clothes for some sort of furry pajama bottoms.  The boy grinned at him from the edge of the clearing, and held up a familiar shoe.  “Lose something?”

Bewilderment turned quickly to outrage as Billy realized he’d been had.  His pants were split, he’d actually lost both shoes and his jacket, and his arms and face were stinging from small cuts and bruises.  His face twisted into a snarl.  “You little ass!  I’m gonna make you wish you’d never been born!”

The boy looked amused.  “I wasn’t born.  So that seems like a pretty silly wish, doesn’t it?”  He tossed the sneaker off to the side, then regarded Billy with a grin.  “You have a real preoccupation with asses, don’t you?  Pretty unusual, since you obviously don’t have the slightest idea of what one really looks like.”

“Why don’t you educate him, Robin?”  Another familiar voice came from behind Billy, and he turned to see Rich Bitch step into the clearing.  She smiled coldly.  “If such a brute can be taught anything at all.  Just what are you planning to do with that branch?”

Billy realized he was still brandishing his makeshift weapon, and flushed as he dropped it.  Then he remembered his state of near undress, and reddened even more before his anger returned.  “Shit, lady!  He’s lucky I didn’t kill him in the dark!  What kind of mother are you, lettin’ a kid run half-naked through trees chasing strangers?”

There was sudden laughter, not only from the woman and boy, but what sounded like dozens of soft, high-pitched voices in the surrounding woods.  Billy looked around in confusion, starting to get scared again.  What the Hell kind of game were these sickoes up to?

Rich Bitch shook her head, still chuckling.  “And what makes you think I am Robin’s mother?  Or that he is only –half- naked?”

“See?”  The kid seemed to hop into the clearing.  “I told you it would be more fun this way.  Besides, you know how much it upsets Obie when you kill a mortal.”

Billy felt his gut constrict.  Robin wasn’t wearing pajama bottoms after all.  No human limbs could bend that way, no matter how good the costume.  From the waist down, Robin was some sort of sheep or goat.  Billy’s mouth fell open, and he sat down suddenly as his legs gave out.

“As if I care about Oberon’s likes or dislikes?  However, I must admit this is quite amusing.”  The woman clapped her hands.  “Come, my court!  Let us observe as our wise and willful Puck educates this crude lout.”

Pinpoints of light suddenly appeared all around the clearing, flickering with color.  Billy stared incredulously as the glow he’d been trying to find floated in from the woods.  One of the lights drifted close enough for him to make out a vaguely human shape with wings as the source.  His mind searched for explanations, and finding none, shifted into a kind of muddy neutral between bewilderment and terror.

Puck, or Robin, or whatever he was, stooped to gather a handful of dandelions, then pranced over to stand in front of Billy.  Up close, it was even more obvious there was no costume involved, no trickery.

Even the boyish appearance of Puck’s upper body and face was misleading.  His eyes had no visible pupils – they were bright, swirling pools of blue flecked with gold.  Small horns were just visible through the tangled blonde hair covering his forehead, and the tips of what must be pointed ears poked up on either side.

“Now for your education on the ass.”  Puck grinned, revealing teeth that were more shark-like than human.  “I saw this in a movie once.”  Then he held up the wildflowers and blew their fluff into Billy’s face with a puff of grass-scented breath.

Jerking back instinctively, Billy blinked in confusion.  The fluff made his skin itch, and he brushed absently at it with his hand.   More high-pitched laughter came from the audience.  What was so funny? A flicker of resentment made it through his bewildered fear.  He was being humiliated in front of … well, whatever they were.  The more he thought on that, the stronger his anger grew.  This little bastard had him cringing like a whipped dog.  Well, screw that!

Glaring at Puck, he pushed himself up and stood with fists clenched at his sides.  To his great satisfaction, the audience fell silent, though Puck actually looked pleased.  A small corner of Billy’s mind noted that he was hanging out in front and back, but he did his best to ignore that.  Hell, these weird creatures were probably all coming from the bottom of a bottle that he didn’t yet remember drinking.

“This oaf actually has a trace of spirit!”  Rich Bitch clapped her hands together in obvious delight.  “How surprising.”

Billy spun around, his face twisted in anger, to shout out just what she could do with her ‘spirit’.  “Haaaaaaaaaaaaw.”

He clasped both hands over his mouth, eyes wide, as fresh laughter broke out.  It took a moment to realize that they were laughing at more than just the noise.  His mouth and nose felt swollen, and strangely fuzzy.  Remembering the dandelions, he pulled at the fluff and found that it had somehow adhered to his skin.

“Lesson one, mortal.”  Puck cocked his head slightly, grinning.  “That’s the sound an ass makes.  Speak again, so we know you have it down right.”

“Haaaawwww-HEE-haawwww.”  Billy tried clearing his throat.  “Haw-heeee-haw-hee-haw.”  What had happened to his voice?

Puck grinned and nodded.  “That’s correct.  Now, Lesson Two.  What are the long, furry things on the top of an ass’s head?”  He pantomimed stretching the pointed tops of his ears up with exaggerated motions.

A moment later, Billy’s ears began to feel heavy, creating a curious bending sensation that migrated slowly up the sides of his skull.  He grabbed at them, his fingers reporting thick, pliable flesh that flared up and out.  Muscles pulled in his temples where none had been before, while sounds increased in volume and detail.  When the sensation stopped, Billy still held the tops in his fingers, but his arms were fully outstretched.  He pulled them down slowly, until gray-brown, furry tips came into view.

“I told you he’d be a good student, Titania.”  Puck gestured elaborately with one hand, and what looked like a large blob of mercury appeared in the air.  It flattened out vertically in front of Billy to become a perfect mirror.  “See?  You knew the answer right off the top of your head.”

Billy let go of the impossible growths and turned his head slightly from side to side as he looked at his reflection.  His hair had filled in where human ears should be, and his skull seemed to have adjusted in shape slightly, making the new donkey ears appear almost natural.  Leaning closer, he also saw that his face had developed a light coat of hair, white on his nose and mouth, and gray-brown to match the ears elsewhere.  Even his eyes looked different, bigger and further apart.

“Oh, you’ve already guessed Lesson Three, haven’t you?”  Puck leaned forward, this time moving his hands outward from his face.  “What do you call an ass’s nose and mouth?”

No!  Billy recoiled from the mirror, but it was already too late.  He could see and feel the lower half of his face push outward, forming a broad, blurred protrusion between and below his eyes.  His mouth stretched open as jawbones thickened and teeth shifted, deepening the long ‘haaaaaaaaw’ of despair that emerged from dark, thick lips.  Scents became stronger, Puck’s slightly acrid animal scent mixing with earth, grass, and a stronger sweat-urine smell that he realized was his own smell.

He stumbled back, fingers probing a mouth far too deep and wide to be human.  Nostrils flared, even the air tasting different on a broader, longer tongue.  How could this be real?  Billy looked around the clearing with wild eyes.  The woman, Titania, was watching him intently with a slight smile, while Puck stood with hands on hips, grinning broadly.  He should run, escape this madness.  But then, the madness was right there on his face – how could he run from that?

The mirror still hovered in midair.  As frightened as he was to look into it, Billy found himself drawn to the silvery disk.  The image reflected back wasn’t quite a donkey – the eyes were wrong, the forehead too high.  He reached up to trace the edge of a protruding eye socket, staring at the animal features with morbid fascination.  Nothing recognizable remained.  Yet instead of boosting his fear, Billy found it easier to accept whatever happened.  This wasn’t him anymore.

“Quite right, mortal.”  Puck moved next to him, looking up with a thoughtful expression.  “You have the answer, but it needs just a bit of embellishment for full credit.  A little less here…”  He made a downward motion with one hand.   “and a tweak there.”

Billy’s skull deflated behind the jutting eye sockets, sculpted by invisible fingers that pressed and pushed until his head looked like that of a normal animal.  Only his eyes remained partly human, though greatly enlarged and set in much more rounded sockets.  He explored the changes with his hands.  The gray-brown fur was surprisingly soft and thick, contrasting the coarse mane that ran back from his huge ears to end between his shoulders, and the bristly hair on his chin and lips.

The reflected image was somehow familiar – maybe something in a picture he’d seen once, maybe back in school.  Or a political cartoon – one of Democrats.   Billy wrinkled his nostrils in distaste at that thought, though there was a vague relief that he didn’t have an elephant’s head.  Maybe it should be a pink elephant’s head, seeing as he was obviously bombed.  That he couldn’t remember drinking anything was a nagging detail that he forced to the back of his mind.

“That’s the answer I was looking for!”  Puck made a sweeping bow to the woman.  “What say you, my Queen?  Does our guest not have a fine ass’s head?”

“I suppose so.”  Rich Bitch tilted her head critically, looking a bit bored.  “It will at least be an interesting decoration for my wall.”  She started to raise a hand.

“Wait, milady!”  Puck leapt between them, striking a comical pose.  “It would be sad indeed for this foolish mortal to meet his end still ignorant of his own nature.  And there is great sport to be had in the telling of his tale.”  He reached back and grabbed the stubby appendage that protruded over his furry butt and yanked with an exaggerated hop.

Billy jumped and brayed in surprise as something erupted from his own backside.  More new muscles worked, these controlling a whip-like tail that emerged from the split seat of his pants.  His reaction brought renewed laughter from the watchers, but Billy was more concerned with the exchange between Puck and Rich Bitch.  A decoration for her wall?  Meet his end? A cold chill of fear returned, though it no longer had anything to do with his current appearance.  Rich Bitch was planning to kill him!  And dream, drunk, or real, Billy had no desire to die.

She raised an eyebrow, then folded her arms.  “By all means, Master Puck.  Enlighten the fool.  Though think not that you fool me.”

“I would never be so foolish as to try fooling the Queen over a fool!”  Puck did a backflip, twisting in midair to land facing Billy.  For just a moment, his broad grin became a harsh glare, and the swirling eyes conveyed a sense of threat, or perhaps warning.  Then he hopped aside and spun to address the audience of lights.  “What shall the next lesson be?  Shall we teach him how an ass goes into hiding?”

Something Billy wished he could do right now.   Except that part of him understood Puck was talking about something else.  Hiding.  How did that tie in with a donkey?  It wasn’t until the itching started that he realized the answer.  Hide.  As in furred skin to match that already covering his face.

“Clever human!  He provides the answer even before the question is asked!”  Puck shook his head and ‘tsked’ with a mock frown.  “But he might lose points for poor presentation.  After all, we all want to see that he gets it right.”  He turned to Billy with an expectant look.

What did he…?  Oh!  The little bastard wanted him to strip!  Billy had to fight the flare of resentment – Hell, he was already hanging open in front and back.  Besides, he had a strong feeling that his survival depended on cooperating.  Grabbing his shirt front with both hands, Billy yanked hard enough to rip the buttons off.  His chest was already showing patches of off-white fur, and the cloth dragged over new growth on his arms and back as he slid the garment off.

The dramatic action seemed to please the watching crowd, for they laughed again.  He flung the shirt away, and undid his belt so he could shove the ruined jeans down to his knees.  Stepping out with one leg, he used the other to sling the pants high into the air.  Only to see them dissolve into silvery particles of dust before they hit the ground. Had Puck or the Rich Bitch done that?  Did it matter?  Swallowing, Billy hopped on each foot long enough to tug off the opposite sock and let them fall to the ground.

He was completely naked now, though the term didn’t mean quite the same thing as it might have before.  Dense white fur covered his chest and belly, turning the same gray-brown as his head elsewhere.  Only his fingers, toes, and genitals were spared, though the skin there was much darker.

“Very good.”  Puck nodded in approval.  “Now let’s try some audience participation.  For his next question, our student will have to get someone else to answer for him.  Tell me, mortal.  What does an ass walk on?”

Billy blinked.  That was easy.  But how did he get someone else…?  His gut clenched.  A donkey walked on four hooves.  Not feet – or hands.  He stared at his fingers, flexing the digits, then saw Puck give a slight nod and look towards the woman.

Oh, shit.  Steeling himself, Billy turned and walked slowly towards Rich Bitch.  She frowned as he approached, tightening the clamp around his gut.  Puck had called her a queen.  Billy made a clumsy attempt at a bow, then knelt before her like someone about to be knighted in an old movie.  It took real effort to raise his arms up, presenting his hands for her inspection.  However, he could not control the trembling.

She regarded him with slight smirk.  “So, fool.  At least you are wise enough to be afraid.  Do you finally realize the magnitude of your insults?  You should have been shredded by glass and metal, but Puck protected you.  To give me sport, he claims, but his weakness for human fools is well known.”  She reached out and took Billy’s hands in her own with surprising gentleness.  “I believe you want me to answer for you?”

Billy’s fingers were suddenly crushed as her delicate-looking hands squeezed like a steel vise.   He jerked back without thinking, but it was like he’d been riveted to a stone wall.  The pain took his breath, overwhelmed thought.  He worked his mouth in silent agony as searing heat melted the splintered bones and split flesh into solid lumps that took a long time to cool into numbness.  When she let go, his arms flopped down, unable to support the weight of his new hooves.

She smiled down at him with obvious amusement.  “Ah, but that is only half an answer, isn’t it?  Turn around so I may give you full credit.”

Oh, God.  Billy stared up, trying to find some trace of compassion in her deep hazel eyes, but found only the cold, dead stare of a shark.  If he didn’t obey, he’d be dead.  Not that there was any guarantee that he’d survive any of this anyway.  More importantly, he was so drained he wasn’t sure he had the strength to move at all.  It was tempting to put everything he had into a final gesture of defiance, to show her he was a man!

But he- wasn’t- a man any more.  And to his shame, Billy found that he was more interested in living than any semblance of dignity.  Moving slowly, he shifted unsteadily on forehooves and knees so that he faced away from her.  He heard her crouch, then felt the deceptive touch of her fingers as they closed around his toes.  Clenching his eyes tight, he braced himself as best he could.  The clearing had fallen silent, even the insects ceasing their noise.

A sense of warmth started in his feet, then flowed up his legs and into his body.  He blinked as strength returned, the gentle heat rejuvenating him and soothing the residual aches in his arms and shoulders.  At the same time, his hips and knees pulled oddly, forcing him to back slightly as arms stiffened and seemed to push against the ground.  Confused, he swung his head around to look just as Titania stood.  His nostrils flared, drawing in the animal scent that was now pure donkey to match his body.  She had completed his transformation!

“Your student does indeed learn quickly.”  Titania stood, then moved to stand in front of Billy.  “Remember this lesson well, beast.  Obedience and service bring rewards.  Anything else…?”  She smiled and let the threat hang in the air.  “And now, Master Puck, might I suggest that the final lesson be administered by one of the other graduates of your unique schooling.”

Puck looked startled, then flushed.  “I was not aware that the Queen had taken an interest in my… collection.”

“You mean you thought you had kept it a secret.”  Titania smiled again, this time showing a trace of warmth.  “Oberon might be a blind fool, but I know of every former mortal that now walks your woods on paws and hooves.”

Billy stared at the boyish creature he had thought was his only friend here, and felt his heart sink when he saw Puck’s grin.

“Did you have a topic in mind, my Queen?”

Titania smiled and nodded.  “As well as the tutor.  I believe that silly actor you tricked me with in England is still a healthy jackass?  Summon him here now.”

Puck nodded, looking at Billy in puzzlement a moment before grinning broadly.  “Ah!  I had not noticed.  My queen has a fine sense of humor to match her benevolent justice.”

What the Hell were they talking about?  And what could a jackass teach…?  Billy’s eyes widened and he suddenly shook his hindquarters to find that he…no, she, was missing several expected parts.

“I believe the beast is ready for her final lesson.”  Titania’s smile broadened.  “She will demonstrate to us all how to be a ‘choice piece of ass.’

The End

Something to Remember

The fog was thinning.  Phil could see brighter patches off the port bow, and steered towards them.  He knew these waters well enough that he had not been overly concerned by the poor visibility, Kacey had been on edge ever since they got caught in the heavy mist.   Two days of progress wrecked by a few hours of fog.  He sighed, and rapped on the cabin door.  “Kacey, honey?  It’s clearing up.  Why don’t you come on deck?”

There was a muffled thud, probably a pillow being thrown against the wall.  At least she wasn’t doing damage – there was a gouge in the starboard bulkhead from her last temper tantrum.  “Just tell me when we get home!  I am so sick of being cooped up on this damned boat I could scream.”

Phil gritted his teeth.  “You know we’re two days out.  Come on, Kacey.  It’s beautiful.”  The mist was thinning rapidly, revealing crystal-clear skies, smooth seas, and… he blinked and stared at a wide spot of green off to starboard.  An island?  Confused, he pulled out the charts and checked his course.  Any land along this stretch should be to port, and there were no islands shown at all.

The GPS had them pegged precisely on course and the independent compasses both verified direction.  It did not seem possible that all of his navigational equipment could have failed at the same time.  Besides, they had only been caught in the fog a couple of hours.  Even running at top speed, the sailing boat wouldn’t do more than 20 knots.  He scanned the chart carefully, working out from his last verified checkpoint.  Nothing should be out here.

He angled the boat into the wind, spilling air out of the sails to slow down.  Perhaps it was a big cargo ship, one of those monster container vessels piled high with green boxes.  Pulling out the binoculars, he focused in on the object.  It was definitely an island, and a large one at that - at least ten miles across, with tree-covered hills and one fair-sized mountain.

The cabin door slid open, and Kacey climbed up the stairs.  She looked like a Sports Illustrated model, with only a thong bikini covering her dark, slender body.  Even out at sea, she took great pride in her appearance, making sure that every strand of her shoulder-length auburn hair was in place.  In the five years they had been married, Phil had never seen her leave the bedroom without first taking care of her appearance.

“So, Captain Ahab.  Where the Hell are we?”  Kacey looked at the sparkling water sullenly, then seemed to brighten when she spotted the island.  “Hey!  What’s that over there?”

“I’m not sure.”  Phil gave the chart a final glance, and rolled it up.  “A good sized island, for sure.  But it isn’t on the chart.  I’ve checked the readings, and all the instruments – “

“Yeah, yeah.”  She cut him off with a wave of her hand.  “You got us lost.  This is why I wanted to take a cruise instead of this dumb-ass boring sailing rowboat.”

The chart crumpled as Phil tightened it a bit too hard.  Right.  A cruise, with food, games, and entertainment.  And lots of other women.  That’s all he needed – Kacey going off on one of her screaming fits every time he even glanced at anyone else.  Although he had never given her any reason to be jealous, she was convinced that he was unfaithful.  That was why he’d decided on this sailing trip.  With no one else around, they might actually have a chance to salvage their crumbling marriage.

“Looks like a good place to stop.”  She grabbed the binoculars and scanned the island.  “Hey, there’s some sort of fancy building on the far end!  Maybe it’s a resort.”

“Not hardly.”  Phil squinted, and picked out the white shape she was looking at.  “The weather is too rough most of the year.  Probably some private estate.  I doubt they would welcome visitors.”

“Wow!  It’s a palace!”  Kacey ignored his comments.  “Head over to the end there.  I’ll bet there’s a dock or something.  Maybe the owner is somebody famous!”

“It has to be private property.”  The sails flapped, then billowed out as he caught the wind again and started tacking away from the strange landmass.  “I’d rather not spend the rest of this vacation in jail for trespassing.”

“Look, if it’s private property, it’s gonna be posted, right?” She turned and gave him her best smile.  “Come on, sweetie.  Just a walk on the beach, a chance to stand on something that isn’t moving?  Who knows?  The owners might like to have some company.  Please?”

Right.  That’s why they had moved to an island ten miles from nowhere.  However, Phil knew that the smiling request would quickly turn to screaming demands if he didn’t comply.  “OK.  But if the place has no trespassing signs we keep going.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

Surprisingly, there were no signs or other indications that the island was off limits.  As they got closer, it was obvious that the building was done in the style of a Greek or Roman temple, all white marble or other stone that shone in the sun.  However there were no satellite dishes, power lines, or other indications of modern amenities.  Such things could be disguised, of course.  Phil actually took the long way around the island to make sure that he didn’t miss any warning signs, and finally dropped anchor in a small lagoon just below the imposing structure.

He pulled out the rubber dinghy and used one of the compressed air canisters to inflate it while Kacey went back down into the cabin for a second check of her makeup.  She emerged as he slid the boat into the water, wearing a gauzy beach robe that did little to hide her obvious assets.  Most men would be instantly conquered; even with their strained relationship, Phil couldn’t help feeling pride and even a touch of lust whenever he looked at her.

The beach had a line of debris along the edge, mostly seaweed and bits of driftwood.  He was pleased to note that there was no man-made litter.  Someone must work hard to keep the trash off the sand.  Steps carved into the cliff face provided access to the building above.  They looked badly worn, as if they were centuries old.  A clever cosmetic trick to continue the illusion of an ancient temple.

As they approached the top, a voice called out.  “Welcome, travelers.”  A young woman was waiting at the top.  Tanned and ebony haired, she wore a flowing white robe that was in keeping with the Greek theme.  “My name is Janeen.  Welcome to our home.”  She was pretty, but not really in same league as Kacey.  However, her smile radiated genuine warmth as she took Phil’s hand.

“Um, Phil Carter.”  He flushed suddenly, feeling a bit guilty about trespassing.  “This is Kacey.”

“His wife.”  Kacey made a point of looping her arm possessively through his, and he could hear the slight chill in her tone.  “I’m so sorry to be barging in like this, but Phil got us lost in that horrible fog bank, and now he doesn’t have the slightest idea where we are.  Men!  Never do know when to stop and ask directions.”  Phil felt a touch of resentment at the thinly disguised barb, but said nothing.

Surprisingly, Janeen did not respond as expected.  “I am sure your husband is an accomplished sailor.  These waters are quite, well, unpredictable.”  She took a step towards the main building.  “Please come with me.  The Mistress is always happy to entertain guests.”

They walked across a lush pasture that had an unusual variety of animals grazing off to the side.  Phil picked out a llama, a camel, an American bison, a Scottish Highland bull, a large donkey, a moose with huge antlers, several kinds of sheep and goats, and at least four different breeds of horses ranging from a Shetland pony to a Clydesdale.  “You have quite a collection here.  Are there any problems with territorialism?”

Janeen shook her head.  “Not at all.  There are no females, so dominance really is not important to any of them.”

Blinking, Phil looked back at the group.  Sure enough, there was only one of each, and most were obviously male.  “Isn’t that sorta...”  His question was cut off as Kacey suddenly grabbed his arm tightly and gasped.  He followed her gaze and stopped as he saw the source of her fear.  “Oh, shit!”

Another group of beasts had appeared less than fifty feet away.  Almost every type of carnivore was represented.  Big cats from a massive lion to a North American cougar, a wolf and a hyena, even a huge crocodile, all watching them with hungry eyes.  Phil’s heart was pounding, and he had to swallow hard to clear the lump in his throat.  “What do we do now?”

Janeen looked back in obvious puzzlement, and then laughed.  “Oh, I’m so sorry!  I should have warned you, but we see them around so much we tend to forget others might be afraid.”  She walked over to the predators and hugged a huge Bengal tiger.  “This is Liam.”  The animal licked her hand and pressed his head against her.  Almost on cue, all of the beasts moved around her for pets and rubs.  “They are all quite friendly – would you like to pet one?”

“No, thank you!”  Kacey actually stepped back from the group, tugging at Phil’s arm.  “This is quite close enough.”

Phil stared at the animals, fascination winning out over his fear.  “If you are sure it’s safe.”  Pulling free of Kacey’s grasp, he approached slowly with his hand outstretched.  The lion looked up at Janeen, and after a barely perceptible nod, padded directly to him.  Bravado vanished as the huge beast approached, but it was too late to run.  It jumped up suddenly, using its forepaws to knock him backward onto the soft ground.  He heard Kacey scream as the lion plopped on top of him, felt hot breath on his face, and then a sloppy, sandpaper tongue began to wash his face.

“Andy!”  The girl was pulling at the animal’s forepaw.  “That’s enough!  You’re too big to jump up like that!”

It took a bit more coaxing to get the animal to get off him, but Phil was actually grateful for the delay.   He managed to calm his fears and was even starting to ruffle the thick, tangled mane.   For all his ferocious appearance, Andy was more like a friendly, if extremely strong-smelling, St. Bernard.  Scrambling up, Phil brushed himself off, and wiped some of the lion spit from his face.  “That’s OK.  I was just, um, startled.”  Then he grinned.  “That was pretty incredible.  How did you get them so tame?”

“He was probably giving you a taste test!”  Kacey grabbed him and yanked him back, hissing in his ear.  “How could you do so something so stupid?!  What if that animal had ripped out your throat?  Don’t you have any brains at all?”

If Janeen heard that last, she gave no sign.  “None of them are vicious, Mrs. Carter.  I can promise you that no animal on this island will cause you any harm.”  She patted the wolf, and then continued towards the temple-like building.  “I will make sure none of the others bother you without permission.  Come.  The Mistress awaits.”

As they followed, Kacey fussed over Phil’s clothing.  “Whatever possessed you to play with that beast?  You are covered with grass and dirt and there is spit on your face and hair.  We’re about to meet someone really important and rich, and you look like a ten year-old who just came in from the playground!”  She sniffed and wrinkled her nose.  “And you stink!  I think that damned lion marked you!”

How quickly her concern had switched to appearances.  Phil sighed and did his best to brush himself off.  There actually was a strong scent left from the animal, slightly acrid and musky.  Well, if their hostess objected, it was her own fault for having an overly friendly lion.  As they approached the structure, however, he began to feel more self-conscious.  Four other women were outside, and came over to greet them.  All four were dressed in simple, elegant white robes and sandals, and all were quite beautiful.  And while they smiled and nodded in his direction, the welcoming embraces and handshakes were reserved for Kacey.

Well, he couldn’t blame them, really.  Lion spit and white fabric didn’t make a good combination.  Feeling a little embarrassed, he murmured to Janeen.  “Is there somewhere I could clean up first?   Andy left me a little messy.”

The girl grinned, her eyes sparkling.  “You definitely made a friend.  He is usually much more reserved.”  She turned to the others.  “Why don’t you take Mrs. Carter to see the Mistress while I show Mr. Carter to a washroom?  Andy gave him an enthusiastic greeting.”

“Please, call me Phil.  I never was much on formality.”

Janeen nodded, but the women gathered around Kacey seemed to ignore him completely.  Shrugging, Phil followed the girl as Kacey was led off to meet their hostess. If his wife felt any jealousy, it was probably lost in the apparent adoration of her guides.

Whoever his hostess was, she had spent a fortune building this place.  The floors were polished marble with beautiful Persian rugs.  Twenty-foot ceilings were decorated with elaborate carvings, and the walls were hung with incredible tapestries that depicted different Greek myths. The washroom turned out to be an alcove holding a basin, a pitcher of cool water, and some thick, white towels.  Damn!   He looked morosely at the dark stains left on the brilliant cloth.  There was no mirror, so he ran his fingers through his hair as best he could.

Janeen watched him a moment, and came over to brush a few strands into place.  “You look fine.  Very handsome, in fact.  I am sure the Mistress will be very pleased to meet you.”  She motioned towards the main hallway.

More women were walking around the different rooms, all beautiful, young, and dressed in the same flowing robes.  All of them looked at him curiously as they passed, but he felt more like a freak than a guest.  It occurred to him that he had not seen another man or boy anywhere.  Was this some sort of cloister?  He touched Janeen on the shoulder to stop her short of some ornate wooden doors.  “Before we go in, could I ask you a question?”

She seemed puzzled, but nodded.  “Of course.”

Flushing slightly, Phil suddenly found trouble finding the words.  “I, um, was wondering… well, it’s just that I seem to be the only, ah...”

“Man?”  She finished his question, and it seemed that her smile wavered a bit.  “Yes, that is correct.  You are the only man on an island of beautiful women.  I hope that does not distress you.”

He reddened even more.  “It’s not that.  I was just hoping that we haven’t violated some taboo or something.  If my being here is offensive or any kind of problem at all, maybe Kacey and I should leave?”

Janeen’s smile remained steady, but the mirth in her eyes seemed to fade out.  “Of course not!  You are a most welcome guest.”  A frown flickered over her face.  “I just wish that… oh, never mind.”  She brightened again, and pushed open the doors.  “It is time to meet the Mistress.”

An excited babble of female voices washed over him as they entered the chamber.  At least a dozen women were fawning around Kacey, feeling the fabric of her robe, touching her hair, her skin.  His wife seemed to be eating the attention up, holding out her hand to show of jewelry and striking poses like a fashion model.

The room itself was stunning.  Skylights and open windows provided bright, natural illumination, and there was a huge aquarium built into the inner wall.  Perhaps it was an illusion of mirrors, but the tank appeared to be at least thirty feet wide, and seemed to continue back for more than fifty.

“Ah!  Our other guest has arrived.”  A rich, sensuous voice silenced the excited chatter, and all heads turned to Phil.  The speaker was a tall, slender woman with ebony hair that cascaded past her shoulders.  Although she was dressed identically to all the other women, she radiated a sense of authority and power.  The Mistress.

Bowing, Phil glanced around at his audience.  Something about their expressions made him feel more like a specimen than a guest, but he forced a smile.  “Phil Carter, ma’m.  I apologize for our intrusion, and thank you for your hospitality.”

There were some puzzling giggles from the other women.  The Mistress approached him and held out her hand.  “Welcome, Phillip.  Your charming wife was explaining how you arrived here.  It is quite fortunate that you found your way – the seas around my island can be quite tricky.”

Just what had Kacey told them?  “She may have exaggerated our situation a bit.  I had an exact fix on our position.  I was curious as to why this island doesn’t appear on my charts.”

“An exact position?  How amusing.”  The Mistress ignored his question and swept back to a podium where she sat in a throne-like wooden chair.  “Both of you are welcome guests.  I ask that you accept my hospitality.  Bedchambers have already been prepared, and a feast is planned in your honor.”

“We are happy to accept!”  Kacey spoke up, shooting a warning look at Phil.  He knew better than to argue, even if he felt somewhat uncomfortable.  “It is a great honor.”

“Excellent!”  The Mistress looked back at him.  “Perhaps you would like to clean up?  Someone will show you to your room.”

God, did he still look that bad?  Phil glanced over at Kacey, who had a smug look on her face.

“I’ll take him, Mistress.”  Janeen came up beside him and bowed.  “It is my fault he got dirty.”

“Fine.  Dinner will be in few hours.  Someone will come get you.”  The Mistress gave him a curt nod, and then rose and walked over to Kacey.  Phil had obviously been dismissed.

Bewildered and a little miffed, he followed Janeen out of the main building without speaking.  Apparently, his hostess had more regard for male animals than male humans.  There were different creatures everywhere, dogs, rabbits, a raccoon, even a koala bear.  Without exception, every one with identifiable sex was male.

They ended up at a much smaller structure set back near the woods.  His room was small, but looked comfortable.  However, the bed was obviously made for one.  Janeen must have noticed his questioning look.  “I apologize for the accommodations.  We rarely have guests, and are not set up for couples.  Your wife’s room is off an open area shared by all of us.  It includes our bath and toilets.   I can arrange for additional pillows and mats if she prefers to stay out here with you.”

If Phil had been uncomfortable before, he now felt like the proverbial turd in the punchbowl.  His first impulse was to go back for Kacey, go back to the boat, and sail the hell away from this women’s-only club.  Right - as if she was going to miss out on this glamour and excitement because he wasn’t having a good time.  Sighing, he shook his head.  “No, this is fine.  She says I snore, anyway.  Maybe she’ll sleep better.”  He managed a slight smile.

“In our rooms?”  Janeen’s eyes twinkled again.  “It sounds like a thunderstorm in there sometimes!  Go ahead and wash up, take a nap if you like.  I will come get you for dinner.”  She bowed, and then walked back to the main building.

Phil didn’t feel tired at all, but when he looked out and found the lion staring at him from the woods, decided to remain in his room.  Why was Andy watching him?  Perhaps Kacey was right – the show of affection had really been a taste test.  No, he didn’t believe that.  Still, the animal’s focused attention was a bit unnerving.  He was glad when Janeen finally showed up to take him to dinner.

The second-class status was reinforced at dinner, where Kacey sat next to their hostess at one end, and Phil was placed opposite with only Janeen for company.  He was surprised to see that his wife had changed into one of the long white robes.  It would have been nice to change into something clean himself, but then, men’s clothing was probably in short supply.

Most of the conversation revolved around Kacey, questions about her job as a marketing director, how she dealt with men in business, and her views on politics.  Naturally, all the world’s problems were universally attributed to men.  However, he managed to tune out the chatter and focused on the vegetarian meal, which was surprisingly excellent.

Despite the obvious wealth and relative luxury, it turned out that the temple did not even have electric lights.  Dinner broke up as the sun set, with Kacey giving him little more than a cursory wave before rejoining her new cronies.   Janeen led him back to his quarters, apparently the only person who would have anything to do with him.

She turned to leave, and then stopped in the door and looked back.  “Are you all right, Phillip?  You have not spoken a word since dinner.  Was the meal not to your liking?  Or perhaps the company?”

Company?  It suddenly occurred to him that she had spent the entire evening sitting quietly at the end of the table with him.  She had not spoken, but then neither had he.  He had been so intent on ignoring the man-hater’s club that he had also unintentionally snubbed the one person here who treated him as an equal.  “I’m sorry, Janeen.  I guess I felt a little uncomfortable – like being a fly at a spider’s convention.”

A look of alarm flashed across her face.  “It wasn’t that bad, was it?”  Then she frowned, and finally smiled sadly.  “Yes, I suppose it was.  Many of the women here have been abused or mistreated by husbands, boyfriends, even fathers.  I think all of us have been badly hurt by men in one way or another.  I guess it is easy to just lump all of them together.”

Well, that at least confirmed his suspicions.  Phil snorted.  “Kacey will be right at home.  According to her, I haven’t done anything right for the past two years.”  Then he added, only half jokingly, “Maybe I should leave her here.”

Janeen didn’t comment at first.  Then she looked down at the ground.  “Consider it, Phillip.  And consider it soon.”  And with that curious statement, she left him alone in the growing darkness.

It wasn’t until dawn that Phil discovered yet another modern amenity lacking - toilets.  At least, there were none in the vicinity of his room.  He could relieve his bladder against a tree, but he was damned if he was going to take a dump out there with nothing but leaves to clean up with.  As uncomfortable as he was, he decided to go back to the boat.  Besides a fully functioning head, he could take a hot shower and change clothes.

Luckily, the guest quarters were on the same side of the plateau as the lagoon.  If he cut through the woods, he would only have to go through the section of pasture where the herbivores had been grazing to reach the top of the stairs.  Halfway to the trees, he remembered the other group of animals.  The carnivores had been friendly enough when Janeen was with him - hopefully, they didn’t turn mean when they were unsupervised.

As Phil walked through the mismatched herd, a donkey wandered in front of him and stopped.  He tried to walk around the beast, only to have a mountain goat step into his path.  Backtracking, he tried another angle and found himself facing a buffalo.  The damned animals were deliberately blocking him!  Phil might have been amused any other time, but his bladder was beginning to become insistent.  He feigned a movement to the right, and then lunged around to the left like a quarterback in a high school game.  A sheep tried to cut him off, but he made it past the herd to the far side.

What the Hell had that been about?  He looked back from the edge of the woods.  Most of the animals were staring at him, and the big draft horse whinnied plaintively.  He didn’t have time to ponder the odd actions.  Waiting another minute might force him to change clothes for other reasons.

The sun was still low enough that it was just barely casting a red-orange glow over the distant horizon.  Although the view was beautiful, there was something odd about it that caused him to stop for a moment just inside the trees.  He remembered checking the compasses as he came into the lagoon.  Unless they were both equally out of whack, the sun was rising in the Northeast.

He was startled out of his puzzlement by the sounds of a male voice coming from the direction of the steps - the words sound Chinese or Japanese.  Then a woman spoke - the Mistress, though she was also speaking the same language.

He stepped back into the trees and squatted down as they reached the top, visible only as silhouettes against the dawn.  It was a silly reaction - he had every right to go to his boat - but making his presence known now would only make him feel even sillier.  He shifted uncomfortably trying to keep his mind off the growing pressure in his bladder, then froze as more women came up the steps.  There were a good half dozen, whispering amongst themselves and watching the Mistress and the man.

The Mistress walked back to them.  “Our friend is a fisherman from North Korea.  He is demanding to know where he is, and what this island is doing in the middle of his best fishing grounds.”  She chuckled, then moved to a woman in the back of the group.  “I leave his fate to you, my newest sister.”

“Really?”  Phil’s heart skipped a beat.  It was Kacey!  What the Hell was she doing out at this hour?  He normally couldn’t get her out of bed before noon!  “I mean, you can really do this?  It sounds so fantastic!”

The fisherman shouted something back at them, obviously impatient.  He heard Kacey giggle, then say, “A pig.  One of those pot-bellied pigs from Asia.”

“Appropriate, if a bit old fashioned.  Watch, my sister.”  The Mistress turned and gestured at the still-ranting fisherman.

Phil blinked and squinted in the darkness.  It was hard to tell in the dim light, but the man seemed to be shrinking.  His voice got higher, and he hunched forward and fell out of Phil’s line of sight.  His language became garbled, ending in screams that grew more and more like a pig’s squeal.  In less than a minute, the Mistress bent and picked up a small, struggling shape.   Phil was dimly aware that his bladder had emptied itself.

“That was amazing!”  Kacey’s voice was filled with awe and wonder, not fear.  “He looks wonderful.  Like a real animal!”

Terrified beyond words, Phil shivered in the dense brush.  His wife had to be drunk or drugged.  The eager tone of her voice made it sound like she was commenting on someone’s new car, not the sudden and impossible transformation of a man into a beast.

“Oh, he is.  Any vet in the world would tell you he is a perfect specimen, young and healthy.  Actually, he will remain this way for quite a long time.  Part of the magic.”  The Mistress put the former human back on the ground, where it squealed and bolted for the pasture.  “It is still quite early.  Return to your chambers and rest, my sisters.  We have other entertainments awaiting us later.”

Phil remained hidden until long after the women were gone, trying to convince himself that it had all been some sort of weird nightmare, or a hallucination.  When he finally ventured out, the landing was vacant.  There was no sign of clothing or anything else to indicate anyone had been here.  What had he actually seen, anyway?  A man falling to the ground, and the Mistress picking up a small animal.  However, the fisherman had vanished.

Looking down into the lagoon, Phil saw what appeared to be a medium-sized Chinese junk anchored in the center.  Not a hallucination, then.  Then a cold hand clutched his already tight gut.  Their sailboat was gone.

Horrified, he ran to the landing.  The fisherman’s odd craft was not big enough to hide the big sloop.  Had the boat sunk?  He searched his memory.  Everything had been done – plugs installed, the anchor secured, the automatic bilge pump switched on.   God, could something or someone have cut the anchor line?

The first rays of sunlight danced in a fine mist rising off the water, creating the illusion of a reddish glow around the junk.  In the midst of his frantic search for the missing sailboat, Phil suddenly realized that the pulsing light was no illusion.  The mist was thickening, forming a miniature cloud of fog that completely obscured the fisherman’s vessel for a few moments, then dissipated to reveal - nothing.  The junk was gone.

Phil’s knees gave out and he sat down hard.  A flash memory of something the Mistress had said about the pig staying young and healthy came back to him – ‘Part of the magic.’  It hadn’t been a dream.  The horrified denial of truth that he had struggled to maintain crumbled as he looked down at the empty lagoon.  Magic.  What kind of nightmare world had they stumbled into?

Sudden memory from old literature and legend provided the answer.  The world of Circe.  God, how could he have been so blind not to see it before?  The Mistress had to be some kind of sorceress, if not the legendary witch described in Homer’s Odyssey, then one so close that there was no difference.  An island populated by beautiful women and animals.  Male animals.  He had to get Kacey away from here, before…  Sick realization hit him hard – she had not been drugged.  His wife had taken part in what was essentially murder, and actually enjoyed it.  What did Circe offer her?  Eternal youth and beauty?  Life surrounded by women who fueled each other’s hatred of men, living in pampered luxury?

He had no doubt that he was one of the other entertainments the witch had mentioned.   Would Kacey laugh in delight as he sprouted hooves or claws?   Their marriage had been crumbling because of her petty jealousies and vicious temper – he had no illusions that she might come to his defense, or even warn him of the danger.

God, what could he do?  With the sailboat gone, the only escape from this island was the rubber dingy.  He scrambled up suddenly and looked down at the beach with a sick dread.  Even the small inflatable and its motor were gone.  He was stranded here.

How much time did he have?  Circe and the others had returned to rest.  Perhaps he would be the after-dinner show.  Unless they discovered he was missing.  Given his soiled condition and the timing, Circe would easily guess that he knew what was going on.  He spun and ran for the guest quarters as fast as he could.  Survival as a human probably meant hiding in the woods that covered the other side of the island, but he needed at least some basic tools.  He’d left the small pocket knife he always carried on the table by his bed, next to his wallet and keys.  With that, and perhaps the sheets from his bed, he might have a chance.

The animals did not block him this time, though they did watch him run through the pasture.  He realized now that they had been trying to keep him from being discovered.  In fact, if they hadn’t slowed his progress he would have met the fisherman on the landing.  And probably shared his fate.  How much of their minds remained?  He didn’t know what would be worse – being a man trapped in the body of an animal, or losing your human identity entirely.

Branches tore at his arms and legs as he pushed through the last patch of woods.  He pressed himself against the back of the guest building, sweaty and panting.  Easing around the side, he risked a glance around the front corner to make sure the clearing was empty, then slipped into his room and shut the door.

“Phillip?”

He spun around, heart in his throat, and saw Janeen staring at him.

Her eyes widened as she took in the bleeding scratches and dirt, and her hands closed into tight fists.  “You saw, didn’t you?”

Phil groped for the handle of the door, preparing to make a run for the woods.  Only the witch had shown the ability to transform…

“Wait!”  Janeen reached towards him and then stopped, dropping her hand back to her side.  “Don’t be afraid of me.  I came to warn you.  To help you, if I can.”

“Help me?”  Phil’s voice was hoarse with fear.  “You’re one of them!  You knew what would happen to me from the start, didn’t you?”

She flushed and dropped her head.  “I arrived here a few months ago.  The Mistress has a way of finding us - I don’t understand it, but one day I went to the roof of my apartment building to jump off.  The Mistress was waiting for me.  She took my hand, and suddenly we were standing in the clearing.”

“You wanted to commit suicide?”  Despite his own fear, he was shocked.  “Why?”

“My husband was a drunk.  He got mean sometimes, but I could usually stay out of his way.  Except that he brought home one of his boozer buddies that night.”  Tears formed in her eyes and her hands became fists again.  “He wanted me to have sex with both of them.  When I refused, he beat me bloody and then raped me.  Both of them raped me. He stood by and laughed while another man raped his own wife.”

“Oh, God.”  His own peril forgotten for the moment, Phil was overwhelmed with pity for this girl.  “No wonder you are here.”  Then he frowned in puzzlement.  “Why would you want to help me, then?”

She looked up at him with sad eyes.  “Because you are different.  Not all of the men the Mistress transforms deserve punishment, but the others have blinded themselves with hate.  Andy - the lion who liked you so much?  He was little more than a child, a boy who was wind-surfing in the Mediterranean.  I doubt he had ever even been with a woman, much less hurt one.”  Her head dropped again.  “I was the one who chose his form.  He was so young, so innocent.  But I had just arrived, and I saw only another man, a predator.  So I had him remade into the image of my hate.”

Phil didn’t know what to say.  How did you respond to something like that?  “He seems happy.”

A smile flickered in the corner of her mouth.  “None of the animals can hurt us – part of the spell seems to force limited obedience.  I think Andy really loves it, though.”  Then her smile faded.  “The carnivores hunt on the far side of the island.  Most of the herd animals stay here because it is the only place they are protected.  I’ve seen Andy take down a wild boar and eat it while it was still kicking.  That innocent, bewildered boy doesn’t really exist anymore.”

He shivered, remembering the cruel fangs and sharp claws that had been so close to his throat.  God, how could he survive out there?  Once he left the compound, he would be prey for the different meat-eaters.  Maybe Andy would spare him, but the others might not have any such compulsion.

Sagging against the door, Phil felt the crushing weight of hopelessness.  “There’s nothing I can do, is there?  I can’t get off the island.  Even the dinghy is gone.  I can either let the witch turn me into some animal, or get eaten.”

“There is still time.  They plan to transform you just before the evening meal.”  Janeen hesitated.  “Your wife is to choose your form.  She has joined the Sisterhood with her whole heart.”

He had suspected as much.  “Time doesn’t do much.  I am still stuck here.”

“No.  Your inflatable boat is hidden in a small cave just off the main beach.  I dragged it out of the water before the mist came.  No one knows it survived.  If you can get back into the fog and stay there, you will be left behind when the island moves.”

“Moves?”  Phil stared incredulously, even though he suddenly had hope.  That explained why it wasn’t on his charts, and how the victims could include a Korean fisherman and a boy from Europe.  It also meant he would have no idea where he was when he escaped - if he escaped.   “When does the move take place?”

“At sunset, I think.  It is hard to tell.  There have not been many victims since I got here.”   Janeen straightened suddenly.  “I must return before I am missed.  It is not safe for you in the woods.  Stay here, or explore the grounds, but do not go back to the lagoon.  As long as they think you don’t know about your boat, you are probably safe.  Wait until we gather for the noon meal.  The Mistress always takes a bath afterwards – it will be your best chance to escape.”

She took a tentative step towards the door, and he moved aside and opened it for her.  As she passed, he touched her shoulder gently and whispered, “Thank you.”   She paused for a moment, then continued out and across the grass towards Circe’s temple.

Phil spent a restless morning, afraid to go outside and unable to sleep.  He took the time to wash out his soiled clothing in the washbasin and draped it on the bed to dry.  Unfortunately, he had only relieved one of the pressing bodily functions, and soon realized that he could not wait any longer.  Creating a makeshift toga from a sheet and his belt, he went back to the woods.

It was hard not to run for the beach, to find the raft and get as far away as he could from this nightmare.  However, two things kept him here.  First of all, some of the women were wandering the grounds now.  He could not make it to the landing without being caught.  And the second reason was Janeen.  She had taken a terrible risk to warn him.  If he did escape, she might still face the wrath of an angry witch, goddess, or whatever the Mistress was.  He would ask her to come with him for her own protection.

It was concern for the girl that finally drove Phil to wander around the grounds, carefully avoiding the lagoon end.  Hiding in his room all day would be suspicious, though he could not bring himself to go to the temple.  If the few women who saw him noticed his damp clothing or the fact that he was avoiding the main building, none said anything.  They simply stared, or worse, seemed to find him amusing.  Were they chuckling over his appearance, or some shared insight as to his fate?

The other side of the plateau was cultivated, with an impressive collection of vegetables and fruit trees.  As long as the weather stayed constant, the inhabitants would never want for food.  There was a large, crystal blue lake of fresh water beyond that.  He knelt by the edge and washed up as best he could.  As he was rinsing off his arms, a low rumble from behind made him jump.

Andy.  He turned and stared at the massive animal nervously.  They were out of sight of the main compound.  How tame was this animal without one of his keepers around?  Janeen’s description of him killing and eating the boar came to mind, and he began to move slowly towards the water.  Cats didn’t like water, right?

Wrong.  The lion sprang at him suddenly, knocking him backwards into the shallow muck along the lake’s edge, then leaped into the water and used a huge forepaw to splash him.  It was startling to see a five-hundred pound carnivore frolicking in the lake like an overgrown Labrador, and Phil crab-walked backwards a few feet before he realized the transformed boy was playing with him again.

Annoyed, he stood up and wiped mud from his arms and legs in disgust.  “Dammit!  I just got my clothes washed out.”  Andy stopped immediately, somehow managing to convey the image of a whipped puppy despite 3-inch fangs.  The poor kid must be desperate for some companionship – Janeen seemed to be the only other human who would even come close to him.  Even the herbivores were better off in that regard, able to live together in the herd.  As a lion, the other beasts were either prey or competitors.  Andy couldn’t even follow his natural instincts of mating and building a pride.

On impulse, Phil crouched suddenly and scooped up a handful of the dark mud, which he threw at the startled lion.  Andy jumped as the muck splattered against his side, and then leapt into the air and landed in a feline cannonball that drenched Phil from head to toe.  Sputtering, Phil staggered back and ended up tripping over his own feet and falling backwards into the mud again.

Pushing himself up on his elbows, Phil looked at the equally drenched lion and started to laugh.  It was a ridiculous reaction considering the dangers he still faced, but it provided a desperately needed release of tension and fear.  Andy sneezed, shook himself like a dog, and then pounced again, this time grabbing Phil with his forepaws and rolling over in the muck.  Outweighed by three hundred pounds and lacking Andy’s carefully-retracted claws and sharp teeth, Phil found himself in an exhilarating and playful wrestling match with a full-grown lion that ended only when he realized they were being watched.

Three women were looking at them in obvious disgust, including his wife.  He rolled free of the animal and stood up, painfully aware of what a filthy mess he must be.  Kacey snorted.  “I knew you were a lying, cheating bastard, but I never thought you were such a pervert.  Instead of checking up on your wife, you play around all morning with this… animal!”

Phil flushed indignantly, feeling angry and silly at the same time.  “What the Hell is wrong with you?  We were just playing!  Look, I was exploring the place, and he startled me and I fell in, and then, well, it just sorta turned into a wrestling match.  For God’s sake, Kacey, he’s just a kid!”

The words were out before he realized it.  “I mean, he’s like a cub.”  Panic welled up, making him fumble mentally as he tried to cover the slip.  “A puppy really!  It’s like playing with a big dog!”

The tall black woman to Kacey’s left raised an eyebrow, and the Swedish blonde on her right smiled slightly.  His wife, however, glared at him with undisguised loathing.  “We are guests of a cultured, elegant woman who I want to make a good impression on.  She asked why you did not join us this morning for breakfast.  Do you have any idea how embarrassed I was?  Then I track you down to make sure you don’t miss lunch, and find you out here.  Just how do I explain to our hostess that my husband prefers the company of a filthy, stinking animal?”

“He’s not…”  Phil caught himself, realizing there was no point in arguing.  In truth, Andy did stink, and some of that animal odor had rubbed off on him.  However, he knew it was not the smell, or even embarrassment that made Kacey so bitter.  It was the fact that Phil had been having fun, actually enjoying himself.  It didn’t matter that Andy was a grown lion.  His wife’s jealousy only saw him taking pleasure in the company of someone or something other than her.

Turning back to the huge cat, Phil smiled sadly.  “Sorry, big guy.  Gotta go now.  Maybe I’ll see you later?”  As Andy slunk off into the woods, he couldn’t help wondering if the lion would still see him as a friend the next time they met, or as potential dinner.

The three women remained watching as he did his best to clean up.  Wading out to a waist-deep point, he immersed himself completely and managed to wash most of the muck from his hair.  He emerged sopping wet, but considerably cleaner.  Looking at his sodden clothing, Phil tried to take advantage of Kacey’s pride.  “Look, honey, I’m really not fit to go inside.  Why don’t you tell her what happened?  I can make myself presentable for dinner.”

“Nonsense!”  The black woman smiled suddenly and stepped forward to take his arm.  “The Mistress prefers her men to look wild and natural.”

Phil saw Kacey’s eyes flare in anger, then soften into what might pass for amusement.  “Yes, dear.  You must come to lunch.  The Mistress specifically asked for you to be there, and it would be rude not to accept.”

The forest was close by, with the far side of the island beyond.  He could run away now, find a place to hide.    And then what?  Hope he didn’t end up eaten alive by one of the other carnivores?  He forced a smile and nodded.  “Let’s go to lunch, then.”

He was flanked by the two other women, with Kacey leading the way to the temple.  They stopped long enough for him to dry his hair and face with a towel from one of the washrooms.  Staring at himself in the mirror, Phil was dismayed.  Between the lack of sleep, no razor, and his romp in the lake, he looked like a bum.

“Come on, Phil.”  Kacey called impatiently from the hallway.  “We are going to be late.”

If Janeen hadn’t already told him that his transformation was to be done just before dinner, he would have been more nervous about her impatience.  Still, for someone who was trying to make a good impression, his wife was awfully eager to parade him looking his worst.  Perhaps it was all part of the male-bashing mentality - the more brutish he looked, the better.

The main hallway was filled when they walked in, and all heads turned towards them.  Phil scanned the room for Janeen, but the Mistress stood and commanded his attention before he could locate her.

“Welcome. Phillip.  We missed your presence here this morning.”

“I, uh, overslept.”  He was suddenly nervous.  “Great bed.  Slept like a log.”

“Indeed?  I am sure that Janeen would not have disturbed you if she had known you wished to sleep in.”  The Mistress smiled, but her eyes were cold.

God, how much did she know?  Phil felt his gut tighten.  It was useless to deny the girl had visited him.  “She just came to invite me to breakfast, and see if I needed anything.”  Predictably, a look of anger flashed over Kacey’s face.

“Such a thoughtful girl, isn’t she, Phillip?”  The Mistress walked to the huge aquarium.  “But very emotional.  She let her feelings cloud her judgment, and made bad choices.  Her emotions betrayed her, and in turn, she betrayed me.”

He looked around the room again, fear building.  Then there was a loud splashing noise from the aquarium.  Spinning, he gasped as he saw a nude woman flailing inside the immense tank.  Janeen!

“What are you doing!?”  He ran towards the tank, only to stop dead as half-dozen women suddenly drew glittering knives and blocked his way.  “Let her out of there!”

The Mistress ran her hand across the glass, looking at the struggling girl on the other side.  From Janeen’s panicked movements, it was apparent that she could not surface.  “Poor child.  Despite the brutality she suffered, she did not learn the treacherous, violent nature of men.”

“You are killing her!”  Phil took a step closer, but was forced back.  Helpless rage was match for sharp steel.

“No, I am curing her.”  The Mistress laid her hand flat on the glass and closed her eyes.  Janeen saw her and appeared to scream.  “Relieving her of the emotions that have been her downfall.”

The drowning girl clutched at her throat, and her struggles grew more violent as she tried and failed to swim up for air.  Then she stopped suddenly and looked out from the tank with wide, frightened eyes.  Air bubbled from her mouth and nose for a few more seconds, and stopped.  As her hand fell away, the reason for her survival became clear – she had gills.

However, the changes did not stop there.  Her neck swelled, spreading out to form a continuous sweep of flesh from her jaw back to her shoulders.  At the same time, her arms began to draw in, and the separation of her legs blurred, then fused.  She began struggling again, mouth open in a silent scream.

“Please!”  Phil was heartsick, thinking of Janeen’s gentle nature with the animals, her kindness and concern.  “For God’s sake, don’t do this to her!  She doesn’t deserve to be punished like this!”  Although he had known her for only a day, Phil was overwhelmed by a terrible sense of loss, and tears ran down his cheeks.

“Just what did you ‘need’ this morning, Phil?”  Kacey advanced on him, a vicious sneer twisting her face.  “I know you, you lying bastard.  Did you lure her into your bed, or did you just screw her on the floor?”

“You sick, twisted bitch!”  Anger boiled up under his grief, and he turned on her with an intensity that stopped her halfway.  “I have been faithful to you for five years, really tried hard to try to make this marriage work.  God, I have tried so hard to stay in love with you!”  He swallowed, and turned back to the aquarium.  Janeen was no longer recognizable as having ever been human.  Her body was becoming larger, a streamlined shape with fins.  “You know what this girl did for me?  She came to warn me, to try to save me from the perverted monster you are so eager to follow.  The one decent, caring human being on this island.  And my ‘loving’ wife?”  He spat angrily on the floor.  “You know what is going to happen to me.  And you didn’t say a thing.  I guess this morning wasn’t enough.”

“You witnessed our little indoctrination ceremony?”  The Mistress’s face was impassive now, and she stepped away from the tank.  “And you still came here.  Bravery?  Or perhaps you realize the futility of running.”  She motioned for the women to let him approach.  “Better say your good-byes quickly.”

Phil stumbled to the tank and placed his hands on the cold glass.  Sick dread washed over him as he recognized Janeen’s sleek form.  A shark.  A dorsal fin was pushing up from her back, and her skin was already taking on a gray-blue and white coloration.   One her eyes remained human, the pale blue orbs that had sparkled with amusement when he had first met Andy, and shown such remorse and concern later.

Almost fully-formed now, Janeen swam to the glass to meet his anguished gaze.  They shared a last moment of contact, and then the pale blue began to darken.  “No.”  Phil’s throat was too constricted to produce more than a whisper.  “Oh, God.  No.”  Dark purple now, the cornea was beginning to merge with an expanding iris.  And then there was only dead black.  The shark convulsed slightly, and then slowly swam towards the back of the aquarium until it disappeared from view.

“Now it is your turn.”  The Mistress’s voice was tight.  “What shall you be?”

Bitter and sick with guilt over Janeen’s death, Phil turned to face the Mistress.  There was no point in resisting.  Her apparent anger puzzled him slightly, until he realized that losing Janeen was a failure for her.  And he doubted that she was used to failure.

“He’s my husband!  I want to choose!”  Kacey stepped forward, a malicious smile on her lips.

The Mistress frowned slightly, but nodded almost imperceptibly.  “What would you like to see?”

Kacey reached out and smoothed his dark hair with one hand.  Then she stepped back and cocked her head slightly.  “He seems to find that stinking lion so attractive.  Make him a lioness!  We can see how he likes being on the receiving end.  Or maybe that would make you happy, pervert!”

Disgust welled up so heavily that Phil was nauseous, not from the fate she described, but the realization that he had spent five years of his life thinking he loved this loathsome creature.  Meeting her gaze levelly, he shook his head.  “It doesn’t matter anymore.  Getting screwed by a lion or turned into a pig is better than spending another minute of my life with you.”

He had momentary satisfaction in the shock that registered in her eyes.  Then she slapped him hard enough to start his nose bleeding.  “Bastard!”   Phil realized she must have expected him to grovel, to beg and plead for mercy.  Only to have her overblown ego destroyed in front of her new friends.

Kacey retreated behind the Mistress, white-faced with anger.  “Change him!  Change him now!”

“Do not presume to order me, sister.”  The witch’s voice was cold, but she did not look away from Phil.  “You are new, and perhaps still too emotional concerning this useless human.  Have you already forgotten the dangers of too much emotion?”

His wife’s anger fell away, instantly replaced with fear.  She looked at the aquarium and then dropped her gaze to the floor.  “I apologize, Mistress.  I meant no disrespect.  Please forgive me.”  Her voice faded to a whisper.

The Mistress reached out and lifted Kacey’s chin with one hand.  “You do not need to bow to me, sister.  I understand your hatred.  In truth, it bonds you closer to me, for we share the same passion and intensity.  I bless the stars that brought you here.”  Then she turned back to Phil.  “However, I will not honor your request.  The female form is blessed, no matter what the species.  This detestable oaf shall not have that blessing.”

A slight smile formed on the witch’s face, and Phil tensed as he read the cruelty behind her deep, hazel eyes.  “No, I have something else in mind, something that will torment him far worse than life with hooves or paws.”  She stepped towards the huge tank and peered into its depths.  “Sharks are nearly mindless eating machines – they are driven by instincts, reacting but never truly thinking.  Janeen’s personality, her soul, is still intact inside the shark, but her actions are controlled completely by the killer instincts.  Since the two of you shared in my betrayal, I think you should share her fate.”

“But…”  Kacey started to object, then caught herself and dropped her eyes.  “Mistress, would that not bring them together as mates?  Even trapped as a shark, he may find some pleasure with her.”

The witch smiled broadly, an expression that sent a cold shiver down Phil’s back.  “Not as a shark.  As a porpoise.  Predator and prey, equally matched.  Her instincts will force her to attack him, and his instincts will make him defend himself.   And all the while, they will be screaming deep inside, unable to stop.”

Phil stumbled back, numb with horror.  He had not imagined the depths of this monster’s cruelty.  Spinning suddenly he bolted for the exit, brutally knocking aside the women in his way.   Knives slashed at him, and he felt burning pain as one sliced open his back.  However, he managed to get free and burst out of the room with the women in pursuit.  He heard the witch shouting after them.  “Run all you like, fool!  There is no place to go, no place to hide!”

A few of them kept chasing him, but the flowing togas slowed them.  Leaping down the steps two and three at a time, he raced towards the landing.  They must have guessed something was up, for he heard renewed shouting.  He had a good lead now, already leaving the main grounds and cutting across the pasture.  Then he faltered and slowed as he got close to the cliff overlooking the lagoon.  The herd animals were massed along the edge, blocking access to the landing and the steps down to the water.

“Let me through!”  Phil managed to shove past a goat and a sheep, only to face a living wall of horses and cattle.  Looking back, he saw some of the women already halfway across the pasture, and threw himself against the massive beasts, screaming in frustration.  “Damn it!  Why are you helping them?”

“Because they have no choice.”  He spun around and saw the black woman who had been at the lake.  She was flushed and breathing hard from the exertion but wore a triumphant smile as she stopped a cautious distance away.  “The Mistress commands them, controls their will.  They are forced to obey us.  Just as you will, once the Mistress arrives.”

“Never!”  More of the women were showing up now, including Kacey.  He redoubled his efforts to push through, and actually slipped under one of the large beasts before some of the smaller animals scrambled to fill the gaps between their legs.  Then a thundering roar shook the air.  Women and herbivores alike scattered as Andy charged towards the landing.

Phil struggled to free himself from the press of animals, and was actually dragged off to the side as instincts overrode whatever mental commands the Mistress had given them.  However, the path to the landing was clear now, and he felt renewed hope.  The lion was guarding the top step, snarling and lashing out at the women with his claws extended.

As Phil approached, Kacey screamed out “Kill him!”  The lion suddenly went silent and shuddered violently.

“Andy?”  He reached out to touch the animal, and just barely snatched his hand back in time to avoid having it torn off by a swipe of one paw.  Shaking again, the beast backed away and twisted as if he was trying to run off.  “KILL HIM!”  Kacey was shrieking now.  “You have to obey me!  Kill him!  KILL HIM NOW!”

Andy’s ears went back and he tore at the ground with his claws, lunging to the side, then back in an apparent attempt to break away.  He shuddered again and looked at Phil with a tortured expression, and then gave a tremendous roar and charged.

His back to the cliff, Phil had no place to go.  Cringing as the lion leaped, he braced for the onslaught of claws and teeth.  Only to feel a quick breeze and the passing stink as Andy flew over him and plummeted to the rocky beach a hundred feet below.

Phil screamed and twisted around in time to see the tawny body hit some boulders below with a soft thud, and bounce off onto a patch of sand.  Before he could turn back, Kacey was on him, screaming in rage and clawing at his eyes in a frenzy of hate.  “Die, you bastard!  Why can’t you die?”

For a moment, he considered grabbing her and leaping over the cliff to join the lion.  But that would make Andy’s sacrifice a waste.  Instead, he swung at her with all his strength, connecting with a right to her chin that sent her flying backwards to lie in a crumpled heap on the ground.  Before any of the other women could react, he was running down the steps.

Phil didn’t look back until he had reached the bottom, and was surprised to discover no one was following.  Then he saw them part as the Mistress moved to the top of the landing.  He froze, thinking it was too late.  But the witch did not make any gestures, and he felt nothing to indicate that he was being altered in any way.  Perhaps he was out of her range.

Edging back along the beach, he made his way to where Andy had landed.  Any hope of the boy’s survival ended when he saw the unnatural twist of the lion’s neck, and the blank, staring eyes.  Another good person destroyed because of him.

“You have impressed me, Phillip!”  The Mistress’s voice was clear despite the distance.  “Two that I thought were mine, lost forever.  You must be quite proud of yourself!”

There was no point in replying.  Instead, he remained crouched by Andy’s broken body and whispered a quick prayer for the boy’s soul.  Then he scanned the cliff face for signs of a cave, having to blink to clear away tears.  Janeen said she had hidden it on the beach.  It had to be far enough away that it would not have been discovered when the fisherman arrived.

“You are wasting your time, Phillip.”  The witch shook her head.  “There is no way off this island for you.  And even if there were, the waters surrounding my island are even better protected than the land.   Surrender now, and I will allow you to take Andy’s place.  A powerful young lion, free to run, to hunt.”

“NO!”  Kacey was pushing her way to the edge of the cliff, shrieking at the top of her lungs.  “KILL HIM!  DESTROY THE BASTARD!”

Phil stood up, knowing he had little time left.  The first prospect turned out to be little more than shallow depression in the rocky face.  Then he saw a darker spot about halfway down the beach.  Looking closer, his heart leapt as he spotted faint, but recognizable footprints and a wide, smooth path in the sand.  The kind of trail dragging a rubber boat would create.  He had to gamble that the dingy was there.

Taking a deep breath, he began walking to the cave.  He had made it halfway there before someone saw the tracks in the sand and shouted.  Phil launched himself towards the cave, actually crying out when he spied the bright yellow craft.  Grabbing one of the mooring ropes, he dragged it towards the water as fast as he could.  Two of the women were already coming down the stairs, and the rest surged towards the landing when they saw him. The real threat was the witch, who was halfway down by the time he reached the water’s edge.  How far away did her powers reach?  Had he gotten this far, only to end up transformed into a beast anyway?

The first two women had hit the beach and ran towards him as he shoved the inflatable boat into the lagoon.  He saw the glint of sunlight on metal, and knew they would try to puncture the boat if they could get close enough.  Leaping forward into the water, he paddled frantically and pushed the boat ahead of him, trying to put as much distance between himself and the beach as possible.  The cut on his back burned as salt water washed over it, but he gritted his teeth and kept thrashing his legs.

He was about thirty feet from the shore by the time the witch arrived.  He heard her shout something and looked back to see her gesturing wildly.  For a few moments, he felt a slight prickling, but could not take time to examine himself.   The sensation faded the further he got from shore, until it finally disappeared completely about a hundred feet out.  Hauling himself into the dingy, he stood and raised two shaking fists with the middle fingers extended.

“You haven’t won, fool!”  The Mistress screamed at him now, obviously frustrated at his escape.  “Only sealed your doom!”

“Give me a knife!”  Kacey tried to snatch one of the blades.  “I’m a good swimmer.  I’ll stop him, I’ll KILL HIM!”

Even from this distance, it was obvious that his wife had snapped.  The burning hatred that turned her against him had been fueled by jealousy and failure into an inferno of raging obsession.

“No, Kacey!”  The Mistress grabbed her and yanked her roughly back.  “I have already summoned his death.”

This time, however, his wife was too far gone to heed even the powerful witch.  Jerking her arm free, Kacey tried to fight her way through a wall of women to chase him.  As Phil began to yank on the small outboard’s starter rope, he heard her resume her screaming.  “He’s mine!  I want to kill him! HE’S MINE!”

“Wait!”  The witch called out again, but this time Phil saw her raise her hand.  There was a flash of light, and then the Mistress was holding some sort of goblet that glinted in the sun.  He paused in his efforts to watch as the woman offered the goblet to Kacey, saying something that he could not make out.  Whatever was said must have been about him, for Kacey suddenly grabbed the goblet and turned to glare at him in mad triumph before swallowing the contents in one gulp.

The Mistress went to her as soon as the goblet was cast aside, and the two women held hands for a moment before suddenly embracing in a passionate kiss.  Pulling apart, they moved to the water’s edge, where Kacey pulled off her toga.  The witch’s hands caressed her shoulders, her breasts in a blatantly sexual display that both repulsed and confused Phil.  Were they trying to make him jealous?

Then he realized that something else was going on.  Kacey was getting larger, and thicker, even her ample chest being absorbed as her torso bulged obscenely.  If this was some form of punishment, his wife seemed to be enjoying it.  She swayed slightly, head arched back as she stroked her own flesh with dwindling arms. Mesmerized, he watched as she stretched up, six, eight feet, ten feet.  The sun glinted on iridescent green scales that were flowing across the surface of her bloated body, and her arms had flared out into scalloped fins.

Kacey’s lustrous hair vanished as her head dropped back into the swollen mass of her shoulders.  It was assuming a more triangular, flatter shape, ears and nose melting into a scaly, serpentine mask.  A sea serpent.  Phil gaped at the monster, a twenty-foot column of shimmering green that continued to rise up.  She swayed, and then fell into the surf with a tremendous splash that scattered all but the Mistress herself.  Dripping from the spray, the witch reached up to stroke Kacey’s fully transformed head one last time and then stepped back as the new monster launched herself into the lagoon – towards him.

Renewed fear clutched Phil’s gut, and he began to work on the engine frantically.  It sputtered once, then died.  “Come on, come on!”  He screamed at the stubborn outboard, and yanked again.  This time it roared to life, and he twisted the throttle to full just before the fifty-foot nightmare of glistening green scales closed in.

Kacey shrieked, a soul-piercing sound that reverberated across the lagoon as the inflatable shot out of reach.  With only Phil in it, the light craft skimmed the top of the waves, picking up speed rapidly.  He looked back – Kacey was streaking through the water like massive torpedo, closing the gap between them too fast.  The ocean was still a hundred yards away, and the supposed safety of the fog at least another two hundred yards beyond that.  She would be on him in seconds.

He searched the boat frantically for some sort of weapon, anything he could use to slow her down.  There was a flare gun in the emergency kit, but he didn’t have time to get it out and loaded.  Desperate, he grabbed the anchor and swung it like a mace as the monster loomed behind him.  Luck was with him, for the sharp blades dug into the top of her skull.  She screamed and stopped to twist wildly in the water, jerking the anchor rope with so much force that it tore the mounting point from the boat’s plastic bottom.

The respite was short-lived, for she shook the anchor free and came at him again.  This time she caught up to the boat, and he threw himself to the bottom as her massive body suddenly looped around the sides and began to squeeze.  The outboard raced as the propeller was lifted out of the water, and the inflatable boat’s sides buckled inward.  Trapped, Phil struggled to free himself, only to gasp as water closed over his head.  Kacey was trying to drag the entire boat under, to drown him in her coils.

Her scream vibrated through the water, and the inflatable became a personal roller coaster as she twisted and thrashed madly.  Phil’s lungs were straining now.  His head pounded and a haze clouded his vision, his life counting down in seconds.  Then a second, deeper shriek reverberated around him, and the inflatable popped suddenly to the surface.  The boat had slipped from her crushing embrace.

He gasped for breath, bracing for a second attack.  The water boiled underneath him, as if some great struggle was going on at the bottom of the lagoon.  There was splashing, and more of the shrieks, muted and somehow overlapping.  Then above it all, he heard the rhythmic rumble of the outboard.  Despite Kacey’s wild gyrations, the motor must have remained above the surface.

Throwing himself at the motor, Phil held the throttle wide open and steered for the distant fog.  He knew there was no hope, that the monster would reappear and drag him under once again.  Kacey would make sure he was cold and dead before she released him.  Yet he was out of the lagoon now, and the rolling foam had not followed.

A brilliant scaly column erupted from the water – Kacey.  She gave a hideous shriek and began chasing him again.  A hundred feet long now, the shimmering green death caught up with him easily. Phil could only watch helplessly as she loomed over him, apparently planning to crush him with her body.  It was impossible to find any trace of the woman he had known in the monster.  All that remained was her hatred.

Then she was yanked suddenly downward, disappearing again beneath the waves.  When she reappeared, she seemed to be tied in a knot, her iridescent scales now a mix of green and purple.  The water frothed again, and this time a second serpentine head appeared near hers.  This new monster was the one with the purple-black coloring, and it was obviously intent on ensnaring her in its coils.  What was that the witch had said?  She had already summoned his death?  It appeared that she had doomed Kacey instead.

Or had she? Kacey struggled to free herself, writhing in her opponent’s grip. No matter how hard she struggled, the huge purple monster continued to surround her.  Still, there was nothing in the larger serpent’s actions that indicated intent to do harm.  Sudden realization almost made him laugh. If the Mistress had created the purple-black creature, odds were good that it was male.

He heard her shriek again, this time sounding more terrified than terrible.   Yet her undulations were flowing with the other monster now, not struggling against it.  As the first wisps of fog began to appear around him, the entwined serpents slipped beneath the surface still locked in their passionate embrace.  A bitter smile formed on his face as the lagoon and the island beyond were lost behind the thickening mist.  Kacey had found a perfect match.

The fuel only lasted another half-hour, leaving him adrift on choppy seas.   If he hadn’t gotten far enough away, he might end up back on the island.  And if he had succeeded in escape, he could find himself anywhere in the world, battling freezing cold, blazing sun, or even a raging hurricane.  There was nothing to do now but wait for the fog to lift.  Despite the pain from his back and a hundred other aches and pains, exhaustion finally caught up with him and he fell into a deep sleep.

Phil woke to the warmth of a clear, sunny sky.  After lying in the bottom of the boat a few minutes, he became aware of the faint, but unmistakable sound of breakers, and finally forced himself to take a look.  It was an island, but not the one he had just left.  He could make out hotels along the beach, and crowds of people.  There were boats, too, and several seemed to heading his way.

He stood up and waved, wincing as the effort cause renewed pain across his back.  The knife wound was bleeding again, leaving a watery red puddle in the bottom of the boat.  He reached back to try to feel how bad the cut was, but his fingers brushed something else that commanded his attention.  Hair?  Pinching some of the fine growth between his fingers, he yanked some strands free and looked at them.

They were short, more like overgrown peach fuzz than normal body hair. However, this was a tawny brown, not the black he should have had.  He recognized the color, and looked down at himself for the first time since this morning.  A fine layer of golden fur covered his arms and legs, and according to his fingers, formed an even coat over his face as well.  Morbid curiosity got the better of him, and he knelt down to look at his reflection in the ruby-colored pool at his feet.

The witch had started her transformation, all right.  He stared at the thick mane of tangled hair, no longer black, but a perfect match for his new fur.   The deep brown eyes he had been born with had likewise faded to a pale yellow, with irises that were not quite round any more.   His nose might be a bit wider, and his face a bit more protruding.  It was like a faint ghost of Andy lingered within him now.  Still, his features were roughly the same.  With some hair dye and colored contacts, he would look enough like his old self to get by.

The first boat was close now, and he could make out uniforms and an official seal on the side.  U.S. Coast Guard - he wondered where he was, and what he could tell them.  Nothing beyond the fog, he realized.  They would take him to shore, find out who he was, and then start to guess.  Some sort of accident to be sure, a freak storm that had swept him hundreds, perhaps thousands of miles from his starting point.

It was best to let them come up with their own explanations.  Eventually, he would return home.  But not for long.  He balled his hands into fists, absently noting the chocolate-brown nails and raised, rough pads on his palms.  There were other changes under his tattered shorts, he was sure, but none of that mattered.

In truth, he was grateful for that short touch of the witch’s magic, even though it had made him somewhat less than human.  The changes were proof of his experience, something concrete he could focus on.  He would see Andy in the mirror every day for the rest of his life, and with him, the sparkling blue eyes and charm of a girl he had barely known.  Both gone now, but not unmourned.  And not unavenged.

He knew what to look for and how to prepare.  The witch’s magic did not have the range of a good automatic rifle, and her grand temple was not immune to high explosives.  Liquidating his resources would provide enough money to buy another boat.  After that, he would cruise the coastlines, looking for mysterious fog banks that were here one day and gone the next.  It might take months, or years, but he would find the island again.  And then, as the Mistress had provided him with a trace of Andy’s image, he would give them something to remember him by.

The End

Table of Contents

Monkey Magic

Summer Bovinox

Peanut Gallery

Substitution Penalty

Charlie’s Eyes

Surrogate

Knight on the Town“Look,

Payback

Finishing Touch

The Lamb

Unicorn Dance

Whispers

Ashes and Dust

Tradition

Strapped for Cash

Team Spirit

Totally Pucked

Something to Remember