Edited by Over_Red

*****************

I had just passed the werewolf that had nearly eaten me the night before. He had been browsing the stores on the promenade of the Springfield mall. I had managed to keep calm and get to my car without being spotted by the werewolf, although he had picked up my scent, scaring me shitless. Once behind the wheel of my Interceptor, I gunned it out of there.

As soon as I stopped at a red light a few blocks away, I punched the steering wheel in frustration. The cultists were here, the werewolf knew me by smell and my knee wasn't fixed. I was still partially disabled as myself. Ashley didn't have any problems with her knee, why didn't turning into her fix my actual knee, as well? Was it because it was a preexisting condition? Did magic follow the same guidelines as health insurance firms? That sucked the hairy big one.

The light turned green and I floored the pedal with my bum leg to make the mall disappear from my rear view mirror. I was alright, in the end. The knee hadn't given out, it was just tender. There was quite a lot of pain to be had before the knee would finally give out. I knew that from a year of experience with it. I'd be right as rain after I did some light physical therapy. I just had to remind myself to always wear my knee brace and to never again try to work through the pain. The knee was fucked and it would always be fucked, magic or no magic.

I wondered if I could use my power to heal, but I had enough experience with doctors and medicine to know better.

As I drove through the streets of Springfield, I realized I was lost. I hadn't taken the same route back and I didn't know the city well enough to get around. I shrugged and kept driving east. Riverside was to the northeast, I'd find my way there once I got to the edge of the city.

I spotted a sign in red neon letters on a black background. It read: Occult. If the werewolf was here in Springfield, and he definitely had a lot to do with magic, then it stood to reason that there might be some info about magic to be found in Springfield. I turned on my indicator.

Yes, heading off into the unknown was like grabbing ankles and asking the universe to ready its fist, but I felt like I had no alternative. I needed to know about the evil butchers. Staying at home and wading through every piece of fantasy ever created wouldn't teach me anything useful. I needed to know which magical system the butchers adhered to, if any. I needed to know exactly what they had done.

If this occult shop did turn out to be connected to the murderers, then the werewolf would smell my scent in it the next time he came calling. I didn't see anything wrong with that. Let him know I was there. Let him feel as afraid as I did. I was going to shake the tree and see what came loose.

Of course, the shop would most likely be a dead end, but I needed to know if it was. Even eliminating one possibility was progress.

Heading off the beaten path on a whim like this was not my usual modus operandi, but I was not going to waste time on trying to eliminate every possible risk. Now that I knew magic and monsters were real, the very idea of thorough preparation became laughable and antiquated. No, this situation required me to do stuff and play things by ear.

I circled the block looking for a parking space and then found myself walking into a new age occult shop. The front window was full of scented candles and various knick-knacks. Wind chimes hung from the ceiling. The middle of the store held some strange statues on lighted pedestals, almost like it was an art gallery, while the back half of the store was taken up by shelves of books.

I smiled at the woman behind the sales desk. I'd say she was about thirty. She had a pretty face with big, expressive eyes. Her short, rust-colored hair was swept to one side with gel, the way men used to wear it in the fifties, and I noted she had a very nice rack.

She stood a foot shorter than me and it was right there to see. If she didn't want me to look, maybe she shouldn't wear a bra and suit jacket combo. Maybe add a sweater, or T-shirt, into the mix? Her fingernails were completely trimmed. That made me grin.

I walked over to her and said, "Hello. I'm looking for some books on the interpretation of symbols."

She was not impressed. "We have many books on the interpretation of symbols," she said. "What form do these symbols have? Are they dream symbols?"

"Oh, no, no, no, they're, uh, they're drawn symbols."

"Drawn symbols?"

"Yes."

Her eyebrows rose as she looked at me like I was an idiot. "Drawn on what?"

"Um..." I was not going to tell this woman the truth. "I just need to understand what some symbols might mean. One of them is the ankh, and there's the ouroboros and the, uh, the yin-yang symbol...and the triquetra. And some others."

She barely held back from snorting at me. "Those are potent and meaningful symbols, but they hail from different traditions scattered over the four corners of the earth." She turned her back on me, dismissing me. "And their meanings can be found online."

I watched her as she started stocking the small shelf behind the counter with tiny bottles of lotions, extracts and bath supplies. "Please, Miss, I need your help."

"With what? Come up with a sensible question and I'll give you answers. Otherwise, stop wasting my time."

I looked around. The store was empty. "Well, can you at least recommend a book on symbols for me to read?"

"I don't think any book covers all those symbols." She turned to give me a look. "At least not any book that has the truth written in it." She returned to stocking her shelves. I sighed and slumped with disappointment. "Go to the third aisle and take the book with the yellow covers. It writes about the most basic symbols."

I went into the stacks and found the book. It contained information about many symbols, mostly astrological ones. I found the four I knew were on my flower, but the book gave only the most basic information about where the symbols had been used and what their meaning most likely is. This book wasn't going to explain anything magical to me. Particularly since I couldn't draw, or recognize, the rest of the symbols from memory. They were on the insides of the petals of the blue flower in my brain. If I wanted to draw them, I'd need to make the flower bloom and that meant turning into Ashley.

The woman appeared right in front of me as I lowered the book and I flinched. I hadn't heard her come over. "Young man, this is not a library. Either purchase the knowledge of that book, or I should like you to leave."

"Um, well, this isn't the kind of information I'm looking for."

"You have already opened that book and started absorbing the knowledge it has been inscribed with. You must purchase it now."

"Um..." I frowned and checked the price tag. My eyes went wide. I wasn't going to spend forty-three bucks on a lame book about symbols. "I'm not buying this book!"

Her pretty features drew down into a scowl. "Then leave!" She pointed imperiously at the front door.

I snorted. "I think I'd prefer to speak with your supervisor."

"This is my establishment. Now, get out!"

I stood there gaping at her in disbelief. What an asshole. I shook my head and shoved the book into her hands before leaving. I was having a really hard time just letting go of that woman's brash dismissal. Her store was empty, she should have been able to give me one minute of her time. And the way she had spoken about the books and insisted I buy that overpriced, yellow, children's book? Unforgivable.

I don't know if it was because I was still pumped from the werewolf near-miss just minutes ago, or what, but by the time I walked back to my car, I hadn't cooled off. Instead, I was determined to return to the store and find all the info I could ever want. I was going to scour each and every one of her precious books for information on the flower and its symbols. I was going to do it right in front of her and I was going to laugh at her if she complained.

I'd need to have the flower bloom first, so I could find the symbols. I wanted to go home, change into Ashley and draw the symbols while I could see them. I should probably do a Google image search for them, too. I should have done that before going back to the store, but the chesty chick had gotten my goat and I wasn't going to just drive off and leave things as they were.

I looked around before getting in my car. This entire city block was once some kind of warehouse, or factory. Half the storefronts were empty and there were no cameras to be seen. There was no one on the sidewalk. No one was looking my way. I slid lower in my seat, made the flower bloom and my clothes were loose around me. I then proceeded to get dressed in my freshly purchased clothes, using my Kevin clothes as a makeshift dressing room. The bra was a bit tricky, but I had seen how to put it on in the online tutorials.

Fully dressed, I opened the car door and bent down to tie my shoes. I wasn't sure if I was imagining it, or if the weather had turned for the worse, but I was starting to feel very cold. I put on another T-shirt under my zip-up sweater and hugged my sides. I guessed my fat, giant Kevin shape was just more resilient to the cold. It was also way stronger and could do whatever I wanted in that store. The owner could only screech at me impotently.

Well, I wasn't exactly powerless as Ashley. I could defeat gravity itself. I imagined the car door closing. Nothing happened at first but, as I pushed more of my willpower into it, the car door swung closed. I smiled. Reality was willing to bend to my will. How fucking cool was that? Feeling sure I could make whatever mess I wanted and get out of it, I jogged back to the store.

My fingers were almost trembling by the time I reached for the handle on the occult shop's door. When I entered, I involuntarily shuddered at how warm the place was. I felt myself blush as I strode past the owner. I didn't know if it was the warmth, or whatever.

I reached up and took the yellow book down from the shelf. I began paging through it, trying to match the symbols on my flower's petals to the stuff in the book. Finding the ankh and the rest of them had been easy, cause I knew their names and could look them up in the table of contents. The other twenty-four were going to require me to eyeball the entire book, page by page. I sighed. This was a waste of time. I really should have done an image search on them, if nothing else, then to get their names.

The shopkeeper again snuck up on me, only this time, her face was all smiles. I nearly flinched, all the same. "That must be a good book you're holding," she said, "people have been handling it all morning."

I came back looking for answers and mentally prepared myself for an incident, or a fight. Her friendly tone was completely throwing me off. "Um..."

She winked. "I'm kidding. That's a worthless glossary of symbolism. I only push it on wannabees and the annoying. May I ask if you're looking for something specific?"

May she ask? May she? Where the fuck had her evil twin gone? "Um..." She stepped closer and leaned against the book case. Despite the size of her store, she chose to invade my personal space. I stepped back and replaced the book on the shelf. "I'm looking for some information."

Her smile grew even warmer as she said, "I think I might be able to provide you with what you need."

"Uh, yeah." Well, fuck it, if she was feeling helpful, then I was going to ask for her help. Now, how does one get information without telling what it's really for? The only thing that I could come up with was that it was for a book. I spun a quick yarn. "I've got this assignment, uh, in my creative writing class. We were supposed to practice doing our research, cause a writer's supposed to know what he's writing about and, uh, I was given this set of, like, strange glyphs that I've got to investigate."

She nodded along with my explanation. "They."

I stared at her blankly.

"A writer is a they, not a he. A single male writer is a he, just as a single female writer is a she, but a writer is a they, in and of itself."

The fuck was that supposed to mean? Yes, I had said that a writer is supposed to know what he is writing about, but that was neither here, nor there. "Yes, right."

"You just made an informative slip of the tongue." She crossed her hands before her ample bosom. "It seems that the patriarchy has already convinced you that writing is a male profession."

I nodded and nearly laughed as I got a handle on this chick. She was a man-hater. Probably a bulldyke, too. Her earlier behavior towards me had been hostile, most likely because I had dared to even exist without ovaries. I floundered for a response that would get me her cooperation. I was a chick now. Wasn't there some sort of chick code I could appeal to?

She reached out and put a hand to the side of my upper arm. "Don't worry!" She winked. "I love it when a girl takes up arms against the oppression and beats them at their own game."

Whatever gets me some info, sister suffragette. Hey, wait! That sounded alright. "Well said, sister suffragette," I said, smiling.

She laughed politely and rubbed her hand on my upper arm. "Listen, I can maybe aid you in your endeavor. I'm quite good with ancient languages. Why don't I take a break and we retreat upstairs to delve into this matter?"

"Upstairs?"

"Yes." She walked past me, towards the front door, and waved vaguely at the ceiling. "I live upstairs. I also keep the good stuff there." She turned the lock and flipped the open sign to read closed. "This stuff down here is mostly for Goth kids and wannabe Wiccans."

A secret stash of the real stuff? Lead on, my good woman, lead on! "Yeah, ok!"

She rushed at me, smiling playfully, and hooked her arm into mine as she led me to a staircase in the corner of her store. We ascended and she unlocked the door at the top. Her apartment was a huge loft, very airy and full of light. The ceiling was well over ten feet high and the wall that faced the street was broken up by large, floor-to-ceiling arched windows. Shelves, wardrobes and other big pieces of furniture divided the apartment into separate spaces. There was a large stack of wooden boxes against the far wall.

She led me to the kitchen space, separated from the rest of the apartment by a giant shelf full of spices, wine bottles and food, and a long counter. She had me sit on a high stool at the counter. "Can I offer you anything to drink?"

A drink would be a great excuse to stick around longer and ask more questions. "Tea?"

"Sure thing! Which would you like?" She reached up with one hand to point out the many jars of teas she had on the shelf. She recited their names, but I was distracted by the fact that her suit jacket had been pulled up by her arm. One of her bra cups was now completely exposed to my gaze. The purple lace looked barely adequate to the task of restraining the mound of pale flesh as I confirmed my theory. Bras only look nice on a big pair of tits. Her tits also seemed to be a lot bigger than I had thought at first glance. Her dark, stiff jacket was downplaying her cleavage, not emphasizing it.

Her list was finished and I looked up at her face sheepishly. I hadn't heard a single one. She was smiling. I nearly winced as I said, "Uh...whatever you pick will be fine."

She took one box off the shelf and switched on her electric kettle. "So, what can you tell me of these symbols you're researching?"

"Nothing." She raised an eyebrow at me. "I mean, I know nothing of them. That's the point of the, uh, the assignment. We were given a topic we have no idea about."

"Don't worry, sweetie! You're in the right hands with me." She put her hands on my shoulders and gave me a brief hug as she chuckled. I guessed she was being supportive, so I chuckled along with her. The friendlier the two of us were, the better the chances she'd tell me if she knew anything about the kind of magic the cultists had used up on Stony Mountain to change all of us. "Could I see them, please?"

"Um, I forgot them at home," I lamely said.

"Oh, that's a shame," she said, sounding about zero percent disappointed. Her hand kept rubbing my shoulder.

"I can draw them for you," I said. "I know them by heart."

"Well, I'd like that. Wait right here!" She walked off someplace beyond the shelf wall. She returned quickly, holding out a pencil and notepad for me. I accepted them gratefully and began recreating the symbols that were on the petals of the blue flower in my brain. While I was doing that, she stood next to her electric kettle, waiting for it to boil. I thought I could feel her eyes on me the whole time, but I kept concentrating on drawing the symbols properly.

Her kettle soon started whistling and she quickly stopped it. I was focused on drawing, so I didn't watch her as she moved about her kitchen area. When I finished and looked up, there were two cups of steaming tea on the counter. Next to them were a small, decorative bowl of sugar and a tiny, porcelain jug of milk. She sat on the stool next to mine. I dispersed the four symbols I had mentioned to her as Kevin between the rest of the twenty-four. Hopefully, she wouldn't make the connection between the linebacker and the blonde.

She took the notepad and made a small noise in the back of her throat as she looked them over. "Do you happen to have a really big, rude, brown haired boy in your class? Very tall and horribly fat?"

So much for that. "Uh, yeah. Yes, he, uh, he got the same assignment as me." I tapped the notepad. She was just looking at me. "I hate that guy."

She smiled again. "You have very good taste."

I plastered a fake smile on my face. "Thanks."

She held up the notepad. "I'm going to help you with these. I just need a few of my books." She got up and walked off again.

I decided to try and leverage her hatred of the real me to get as much info as I could. "There's extra credit!"

She stopped and turned. "If there's anything I can do to help you upstage that...boy, then all you need to do is tell me."

I forced a smile on my face, even as I wanted to bitchslap her for saying the word boy like it was the worst possible insult. I briefly wondered if I could hit girls, now that I was one. I decided it was still beneath me and got back on topic. "We were given the symbols in a specific arrangement. Two circles, one of thirteen and one of fifteen symbols. If we can decipher a higher meaning they form in such an arrangement, we get extra credit."

She raised an eyebrow as she alternately looked at me and the notepad. "These symbols hail from very different regions and eras. They cannot be meaningfully combined."

Can't, or you won't do it? I affected some puppy dog eyes and held my hands up in a pleading gesture. "Please! Please help me! I don't want that brute to upstage me again."

"Don't worry, I said I'd help you." She put the notepad on the counter again. "You just draw them in the arrangement they were given to you by your teacher and I'll beat his challenge."

I smiled as I sat up straight. "Thanks!"

She walked off deeper into her apartment, collecting books from various shelves as I flipped to a fresh page and drew the symbols in the exact arrangement as they were on the flower. The woman was saying something about how my teacher was obviously male since he had no respect for the totality of symbolic structure, or whatever. I wasn't really listening.

When she returned, she placed nine big books on the counter beside me. I kept finishing my drawing. She stood behind me and looked over my shoulder. She made a small noise of appreciation. "You're very good."
"Thanks," I said. I used to be bad at drawing and painting, but I had taken a class in technical drawing in college. It was a requirement for a future mechanical engineer. I've gotten proficient at drawing things that had blueprints and scales and measures involved. I could plainly see these symbols in my brain, so accurately recreating them on paper was just a matter of patience and concentration for me.

"You can draw something this complicated from memory," she sounded almost wistful. "Such a great gift. Such a talent." She sat down next to me. "And society would have you be a broodmare."

Geeze, lady, do you ever let up?

"Well, this is quite a smorgasbord we've got here," she said, looking my drawings over with a critical eye. "Hieroglyphics, Babylonian cuneiform, alchemical symbols, runes and even a dash of the Orient." She chuckled as she bumped my shoulder with hers.

She took the notepad and tore off the first drawing. She wrote names next to nine of the symbols I had drawn on it. "The rest of the names, I'll need to look up." She opened the first of the books she had brought and casually said, "By the way, what's your name?"

Uh oh.

I didn't think it was a great idea to call myself Ashley Williams. She may be away at Yale, but she was a fabled beauty in these parts, almost as well known as kph had once been. Besides, if this chick knows anything about any real magic, she might even be an ally of the cultists. I'd need an alias. But what? What's a woman's name?

While I was pondering, she looked up at me with an amused look on her face. "My name is Dakota Fitzgerald, as is written above my door. What's your name?"

Shit. For some fucking reason, my brain suddenly seemed unable to recall a single, common, female name. "Uh..." Your name is supposed to roll off your tongue without any conscious thought. Any hesitation, no matter how brief, is immediately suspicious. The pause between her asking me for my name and me not revealing it has grown beyond suspicious. I needed to say something, anything. Two whole seconds had passed and this was becoming genuinely weird behavior. What the fuck was wrong with me? "Um, I'd, I'd rather not say."

She closed her book and frowned. "Why not?"

The books that might be containing knowledge relevant to my situation were right in front of me, their interpreter frowning with suspicion. So close. Awesome work, Kevin. You just tripped on your own shoelace and fell right in front of the end zone. Magnificent. I honestly wanted to slam my head against the wooden countertop at that moment. Well, shit. There was nothing left for me to do but to forge ahead. Lie some more, Kevin. Make it big and brazen. Cover up your idiocy with something so improbable she wouldn't suspect it. Oh, and blame a man.

"I...there's this guy. He, uh...we used to hang out. And, uh...he didn't accept it when I told him I didn't like him...in that way." I looked away from her piercing gaze and tried to hide my face with my hair. "He's been stalking me ever since and he...he's dangerous. I bought a social security number from some people and I'm going to college under a fake name. I'd prefer it if I didn't tell you my new, fake name, or my real one. I told someone my real name once and..."

She put her hand on my back and started rubbing it comfortingly. "Hush, you're alright. Everything's going to be alright. You're safe here. You're safe."

That load of bull worked? Holy fuck! When I die, I'll be revered as a trickster god and my worshippers shall hold orgies to honor my name.

She kept comforting me as I stifled back fake sobs. "It's okay. It's okay. I understand. You're going to be alright. You're safe here." She picked up my tea cup and started moving my long, blonde hair out of the way. I quickly reached up to rub my eyes red under the pretext of wiping away tears. "Here! Have some tea. It'll help calm your nerves."

I sniffed and nodded my head as I cleared my throat. I reached for the cup and began blowing on in, grateful to have something else to do. I couldn't cry on command, particularly not when my brain froze on such a simple task as conjuring up a female name.

Dakota reached up to run my shoulder. "I'm sorry if you feel like I've pressured you. I didn't mean to make you feel unwelcome in my home."

Why the fuck had I frozen on a name? There was a gajillion famous women in the world, actresses, models, singers, whatever. One name was all it would have taken to avoid this farce. A simple she-Sheila!

"Sheila," I blurted out loud.

Dakota leaned in. "What?"

"Um, that's my real name. Sheila."

Dakota smiled. "It's a beautiful name, Sheila."

"Sheila Herman. I'm sorry for not introducing myself earlier. I should have."

"It's quite alright," Dakota said and put a hand to her bosom. "I'm just honored you would place your trust in me."

I took a sip of my tea and nodded my head, honestly afraid to meet her gaze. If she looked me in the eye, she'd surely see that I was pulling her leg. The tea was really good. It tasted of ginger and something else, an exotic spice, or something. I made a small noise of appreciation as I lifted the cup.

Dakota smiled and kept rubbing my back. "Drink up, it's a relaxing mixture."

At that moment, I envisioned a terrible scenario. She was in on the whole human sacrifice thing and when I had mentioned the symbols that don't mix together, she knew I was the intruder from the mountain. The werewolf must have told all of them about me. When I came back as Ashley, she invited me into her home and poured me a beverage. Who the hell does that? Invite a complete stranger into their home? No one, ever. And I've just taken a sip of a strange tea that was poured to me by a woman that owned an occult shop. I was screwed. I was poisoned, or I was drugged and the cultists were coming here to kill me in some gruesome sacrifice.

Dakota certainly didn't look like she had any foul design on me. I set the cup back down on the counter and she started talking about a women's shelter and some lawyer and some shit, but all that was going through my mind was that she was stalling for time. She knew that I knew and the jig was almost up. She put some sugar into her cup and then stalled for time by stirring it. Then she surprised me by taking a few big sips of her tea. I figured that the sugar must contain some kind of antidote to the poison I had already drunk. Or, maybe the cup itself had been poisoned.

No, wait! She left the room after she had poured the tea. She wouldn't do that. It's even on the Evil Overlord List. If you leave the poisoned drinks unattended for any reason, just order a new round. It must be that the sugar has the antidote in it. I squinted at it and contemplated eating a few tablespoons when I realized she had gone silent. She had been talking about taking legal action against my stalker, or something, but she was quiet now. I raised my eyes and met hers.

She hugged me again. "Oh, you poor dear," she said. "I don't want you to feel like I'm pressuring you." She pressed herself against me more tightly. "If you like, you can stay here with me. Just until you make up your mind."

Yeah, right. Stay here and wait for the werewolf and his twelve disciples to show up. Not likely, bitch.

She let go of me and sat up straight. Her hands kept rubbing up and down the sides of my upper arms. We looked deep into each other's eyes. The game was afoot. I decided I wasn't going to leave, just yet. This chick hadn't yet revealed herself as one of the bad guys and she might have some info for me. Besides, if the cultists came, I could just blow out her window and fly away.

Then I remembered at least four of the cultists could fly, too. I needed to get the fuck out of there at once.

"Listen, Dakota, I-"

She leaned in and paused with our noses all but touching one another. I was shocked by her move. She searched my eyes and then slowly closed that last inch of distance to plant a kiss on my lips. It was a tender and ticklish touch that lasted only for a few heartbeats, but it blew my mind all the same. Hot girls don't get the hots for me. Not since Ashley.

I had made out with Ashley almost a hundred times. Her full lips had always felt so good, yielding before my tongue and then sucking on it as I probed her tonsils. Now, however, I was wearing her lips and another woman's lips had caressed them.

Dakota pulled slightly back and searched my eyes before leaning into me again. Her lips were thinner than mine, but she knew how to use them. She sucked on my upper lip and ran the tip of her tongue against it. The ticklish sensation made me lose my breath as my belly quivered in response. I was supposed to be the guy, the one that takes his pleasure and dictates how things go, but I strangely found myself accepting her lead.

Her hand slid up my arm and her fingers splayed over the side of my neck, sending shivers running down my spine. I couldn't believe how sensitive my skin was. I had touched myself in the shower this morning, but not like this. This was such a subtle contact, and yet, it was winding me up like a coil spring. A small moan crossed my lips to bounce around the inside of her mouth.

The long, sensuous kiss made me forget all about my poison theory. My tongue happily wrestled with hers. One of her hands was caressing the side of my neck, while the other held the back of my head, making sure I wouldn't break the kiss. As if I would. She leaned further in and our tits touched. I thought I could feel her nipples press into my flesh, even though there were six layers of fabric between us. She curled her tongue around my front teeth and ran its tip over the gums there. That made me tingle all over. I wanted this chick like I had never wanted anyone before in my life. The kiss went on forever and I was left gasping for breath by the time she finally pulled back.

She planted a soft kiss on the very tip of my nose and smiled. "I knew you were the girl for me as soon as I saw you walking towards my store." The compliment made me blush anew. "You walk like men do."

I raised an eyebrow in slight confusion. What did that mean? Never mind. I was horny as fuck and I wanted her.

Even though I was a virgin, I felt no fear of coming off as inexperienced or doing badly. I wasn't me. I was Sheila Herman. Sheila wasn't a depressed, fat, former football star. Sheila was a hot blonde that could do anything with anyone.

There was only one thing that could stop me from making love to Dakota. I reached up and pulled her hands in front of me. I double checked that her nails were trimmed flush with her fingertips. There wasn't so much as a hair's breadth of white at their tips. I laughed with delight and kissed her fingers.

She giggled and squirmed on her stool as my lips showed my appreciation of her fingernails. When I looked up at her face, she shook her head in wonder and leaned down to recapture my mouth with hers.

We embraced each other and mashed our tits together as we kissed. I could definitely feel her erect nipples when we sucked in quick breaths. We devoured each other's mouths while our hands roamed all over the other's back. My eyes were shut tight and I explored all of her body with my hands, trying to commit her every curve and ridge to memory. We stood up as one and reached down to knead each other's ass. My hips started dry humping at her. She giggled into my open mouth and started walking us.

I clung on to her as I let her lead us. My arousal grew beyond what I ever thought possible. My pussy was so sensitive that I felt lightning arc up my spine whenever my crotch grazed against her thigh. I lost myself in the feeling of her body pressed against mine. Before long, I felt something bump against the back of my calves. I felt her lips curl into a smile and then she broke our lip lock to kiss the side of my jaw. I opened my eyes and confirmed that she had backed me up against the foot of her bed.

She leaned back and let go of me. I faced her again and made a small noise of disappointment in the back of my throat. Why were we stopping? Her face bore a naughty smile as she plucked at my hands clutching at her sides. I reluctantly let go and she shoved me at the same instant. I fell back on her bed, laughing as I bounced. She undid the button holding her suit jacket closed and shrugged it off her shoulders. She was now topless, save for the lacy, purple bra. It looked like its thin straps would give in at any moment, ripped apart by the very tit-flesh they were trying to contain.

She reached behind herself and undid the clasp on her bra. She took it off without delay. My mouth fell open as my wide eyes devoured the most beautiful pair of tits I had ever seen in the flesh. They sagged only a little without the bra and they were topped with pink areolas that were at least an inch across. The nipples were swollen into snub cones and pointed right at my face. My hands reached up, fingers grasping.

She loomed over me, like a guy over a chick, but I only had eyes for her tits. She didn't seem to mind that. She bent lower and let her mounds hang over me. I hefted and kneaded them with gusto. They felt amazing in my hands. She made small sounds of enjoyment as I ran my fingers over her areolas.

Emboldened by her enjoyment, I moved on to the nipples themselves. I teased them

by running my fingertips from the edge of the areolas to the center with gentle, pinching motions that she seemed to enjoy very much. She knelt lower and her tits now loomed right over my face. I grasped one with both my hands and brought my lips to the nipple. I suckled at it and she gasped with pleasure, arching her back to push more of her tit into my hungry mouth.

While I worshipped her tits, she undid the zipper of my sweater. I writhed as she pulled up my T-shirts. Her hands groped my tits through my sports bra for only a moment, then she stood up and pulled her tits away from my mouth. I was gasping for breath as much as I was gasping for her nipples in my mouth again.

Her hands worked fast to make me as topless as her and I barely managed to help. I was almost a mannequin for her. I didn't care if she wanted to play dress-up with me as her doll. I wanted her. My lust was reflected in her blue eyes.

She pushed me to lie back down and kissed me again. Her tongue worked its magic on my lips while her tits descended upon mine. Her bare flesh was hot against mine. I could feel every tiny ridge of her areolas as they molded themselves over my nipples.

She broke our kiss and moved lower to suck on the side of my throat. I giggled at the ticklish touch, even as I felt it stoke my arousal further. She massaged my shoulder with her hand before showering my skin with kisses. She kissed all the way down my arm, her lips heavenly against my skin. A small part of me wanted to grab the back of her head and push it down to my tits and crotch. I couldn't do it. Her touch felt so good against my skin. I couldn't even imagine that getting kissed on the inside of my elbow would ever feel so good. It was like my whole arm was an erogenous zone. I lay back and let Dakota worship both of my arms.

She gave me another kiss on the lips and smiled down on my face. I imagined my expression might have been goofy at the time. I was in heaven.

Then she moved lower and her soft, warm tits moved to slide over my belly, instead of my tits. I made a disappointed noise and twined my fingers in her oily hair, trying to pull her back up. I could feel her lips curl into a smile as she kissed down my collar bone. She was sucking my skin into her mouth and nibbling on it with her teeth, making me writhe under her.

When she moved even lower and started kissing the tops of my breasts, I stopped trying to pull her head higher and started to push her head lower. She kissed all around the side of my left breast, making me arch my back off the bed with each time she applied suction. When she finally reached the nipple and locked her lips around it, I was ready to go mad with desire. She suckled at my nipple and then nibbled on it. I screamed with pleasure, but I didn't cum.

She switched tits and I honestly thought I'd go mad if she didn't make me cum soon. I could scarcely believe I could get so much pleasurable stimulation and not cum yet. I would cum ten times over by now, if I was my old self.

She took her mouth off my tits and kneaded them with one hand each. Her touch was just perfect and I turned into a puddle of flesh that was completely at her mercy. She kissed down my tummy, leaving a trail of saliva. When I felt her tits spill into my lap, I realized I was wet. My panties were soaked through. She reached the waistband of my new sweatpants and grabbed it with her teeth. She took her hands off my tits and propped herself up with them. She pulled her head back and pulled the sweatpants open. I looked down and our eyes met.

She looked like a sexy lioness, tearing away at the skin to get into the meat of her prey. I lifted my hips off the bed, offering myself to her. She pulled my sweatpants down my ass with her teeth. She used her hands to pull my panties down. She looked at my bare pussy. I could feel the fire in that look. She leaned in to take a good whiff, which made me uncomfortable. We're not animals, we shouldn't sniff each other's crotches. The feral smile she gave me after her whiff made me lose my train of thought.

She kissed the bottom of my stomach and then began to kiss upwards. I was about to protest when I felt a hand sneak down between my legs and caress my nether lips. The touch reminded me of that night with Ashley, when she had first reached into my boxers and touched my balls. I frowned and banished all thoughts of her. This had nothing to do with that night.

Dakota's fingers parted my lips and my whole body flinched as one of her fingers touched my inner lips. Her nimble fingers explored my wet pussy. My brain shut down as I became no more than a receptacle for the pleasure her magic fingers could provide me with. I burned from the outside in and I was starting to get scared. It didn't seem possible that my small, female heart would be able to handle the brewing orgasm. It raced as her fingers drove me to the cusp of climax. Dakota kept on with her ministrations, even as she sucked on my tits again.

I didn't feel like I was getting any closer to orgasm, so much as it was growing big enough to reach me. It would explode as soon as it grew over me, like a water balloon that hit its mark, and I feared my heart would explode with it.

I wanted it so badly. Every fiber of my body screamed for that earth-shattering explosion.

Just as I was going to detonate, Dakota slid her fingers out of my pussy and gave my clit a painful pinch. I screamed in wordless frustration as I jumped on the bed. My hands reached for hers, trying to force her to finish what she was doing, but she slid off the bed to kneel at my feet. I sat up instead and glared at her.

Her wicked smile made my impending shouts of rage die in my throat. Her hands grasped the waistband of my sweatpants and panties and pulled. I lifted my thighs to let her take them off. I kept glaring at her, even as I gulped air like a fish out of water.

I let her pull my legs up in the air and she nodded her wordless approval. I lay back against the bed and put a hand between my breasts. I parted my knees so I could glare at her some more. I decided that Dakota was going to finish what she started, one way, or another. Instead of taking my clothes off, she let them pool around my ankles and spread my knees wider.

I sat up on my elbows and snarled at her until she pushed her head between my legs and let them fall atop her shoulders. I realized she was going to eat me out and my glare vanished. I pleaded at her wordlessly to not leave me hanging again. She spread my thighs and gave me a wink before diving into my pussy.
Her fingers had been magic.

Her mouth was even better.

After kissing my pussy, her lips locked around my clit and her hot tongue bathed it with light, wet touches. The pleasure was so great I couldn't keep strangled sounds from coming out of my throat. Each stroke of her tongue made me lose more control of my body. When her fingers joined her mouth, my brain capitulated under the sensory overload.

I exploded in orgasm. My pussy clenched down on her invading fingers, making them feel like they were bigger and harder as they wiggled inside of me. The pleasure made my whole body shudder, from my pussy outwards. My skin was on fire and lightning arced between my pussy and my tits. I could barely hear my own scream from all the pleasure. My eyes were squeezed shut, but I could see explosions of colors in my mind.

I don't know how long I spent just lying there, shuddering with each tiny twitch of her fingers inside of me, but I only came to my senses when she loomed over me and smiled. I returned a dopey smile up at her and she leaned down to kiss me. I realized I could taste my own pussy on her lips and tongue. I guessed Ashley's pussy would taste the exact same and that made me happy, somehow. Just knowing what her pussy tasted like. I decided the taste was ok and returned Dakota's kiss eagerly.

I was quite surprised to feel myself bouncing with energy after a massive orgasm like that. If I were a guy, I would be made comatose by it. As a girl, I wanted more. No, I needed more. I devoured Ashley's mouth as I held the back of her head.

When she broke our kiss, I gasped, "That was awesome!" I started pushing her head towards my pussy at the same time.

Dakota resisted and put a hand over mine. She didn't seem angry as she smiled at me. "If you think that was awesome, wait till you get a load of this!" She tapped my hand and I let go of her head. She turned and reached over to her nightstand. She opened a drawer and took something out. I gasped when I recognized what it was. A vibrator. She put a hand on my shoulder and pushed. "Lie back. Lie back and relax. This'll do all the work for us." She brandished the vibrator and I complied.

She loomed over me again, letting her tits hang down and drag over my own. The touch made me writhe. "We have to warm it up, first," she said and placed the vibrator between my tits. I sucked in some air. It felt as cold as ice against my feverish skin. She lowered herself to mash our tits together around the sex toy. I hugged her close. I wanted to feel all of her body against all of mine. She felt so good. So smooth and so firm. I lost myself in the feel of her body over mine and her tongue in my mouth.

When she finally got up, I whimpered at the loss. "Nice and warm," she said, but I wanted nothing to be between our bodies. The air was cold against my skin. She picked up the vibrator and slid it down my belly. It was indeed warm against my skin, but it was a poor substitute for her. I grabbed her head and pulled her back down for another kiss. This time I plundered her mouth while she drew the hard, plastic sex toy over my labia.

It still felt a little cold and I was starting to have some second thoughts. I would have begged her to eat me out again, but my tongue was otherwise occupied. When she slid the end of the vibe into me, my pelvis instinctively flinched to try and draw more of it in. My pussy felt just like my cock, if it were wet, soft and more sensitive, and the vibrator felt like a hard, plastic pussy. All my instincts demanded I slam myself into it and drill away.

Dakota kept twirling the vibe and slowly plunging it deeper and deeper into my pussy. I wanted her to slam it all the way in, not tease me like that. I growled into her mouth. The vibrator went still in her hand. I broke the kiss and tried to reach down to grab it for myself, but then it came to life.

My belly turned itself inside out as a thousand pleasurable touches exploded along the length of my pussy/cock and began to tickle at my clit. Incoherent noises came out of my mouth. I was helpless under the sheer volume of pleasure that was assaulting my most sensitive flesh. Dakota drove the vibe in and out of me, dragging it directly under my clit, while I twitched as another huge release grew inside of me.

When the thumb of her vibrator-wielding hand tapped my clit, I exploded again. The orgasm was indescribably strong and the still shuddering vibrator kept increasing it every time my pussy clenched around it. The pleasure grew until it became almost indistinguishable from pain. My scream could fit either.

I didn't even have the time to catch my breath before Dakota pulled the toy out of me. She knelt above me, my mistress of pleasure. Her smile was predatory. "Now we get started," she whispered.

A brief panic shot through my mind. I was on fire, every nerve ending screaming joy at my brain, and this was just the pre-game show? My fears of dying in her arms returned, only I didn't find the prospect daunting. This was the way to go.

She turned off the vibrator and put it over my clit. I flinched and frowned. It was warm and wet from my juices, but even the air felt like too much on my clit right now. Dakota scissored her legs with mine and put her own pussy over my own. With the weight of her body behind it, the vibe on my clit felt like my cockhead was in a vice. I tried to buck her off, but my pelvis was only interested in downward motions, away from the intruder.

"Dakota," I yelled.

She began to slide the vibrator between our pussies and my discomfort vanished in an instant. She threw her head back and began to moan as she rode me and the vibrator at the same time. The toy slipped into me, making me tense up and gasp, then it would fall out to rub over her clit, then slip into her, then go everywhere in our groins as her hand jerked it and her hips pumped mine. When she turned it on, we sped to our orgasms and came together, our screams melding into one as our bodies shuddered to the same vibration.

Having witnessed her pleasure, I wanted to cause more of it. I was done with being her plaything and grabbed her tits to be her partner. We wrestled on top of her bed, grasping for the vibrator and each other's tits. I rode her, then she rode me, then I pinned her down, sat on her stomach and fucked her with the vibe until she came for a whole minute straight and screamed, "Sheila," at the top of her lungs.

I even forgot my name was actually Kevin at that point.

I lost count of the orgasms we had given each other, but I do know the vibrator quit at one point and we used it as a dildo. Her hands roamed freely all over my body, showing me where all my erogenous zones were. My hands concentrated on her big, beautiful breasts. She didn't seem to mind.

The time I spent in her bed was the best time of my life, but it couldn't go on forever. Gradually, our limbs stopped shuddering with pleasure and began to shake with exhaustion. We wound up lying on our sides, facing one another and kissing each other's pleasure-giving fingers in adoration. The sheets were completely soaked with our sweat and juices. The duvet was long gone.

I wanted to stay in her bed for the rest of my life. I wanted to die with her mouth on my pussy. She was so beautiful.

She raised her head and looked out the windows. "It's getting late," she said. She turned away from me and I whimpered at the loss of her warmth. She leaned over the edge of her bed, giving me a great view of her ass. I reached out and caressed it. She sat up on the bed with her phone in her hand. "Crap. I got a client coming in twenty minutes."

"Client?" I asked. She ran an occult shop. I knew she was a little pretentious, but I struggled to accept the fact that she would call her customers clients. Or schedule them, for that matter.

"Yeah, for the artwork. I think I can unload a few of the fertility statues on this guy. He represents a lot of art dealers all up and down the east coast."

"Oh," was all I said.

She patted my arm. "You can stay up here. I meant it when I said you were welcome to stay with me. I'll be an hour-tops-with this guy and then I'll come up again. You can order some food for us. I know I'm starving." She winked and jumped out of bed.

I was hungry, too, but the mention of food reminded me of the weight I had lost when I had spent the whole of last night as Ashley. It took three pounds of my real weight to change into her and back. Being Ashley for an hour, earlier in the day, had cost me no more weight, but I still had no idea what the price of being her for an extended time was. I needed to figure that out before committing to a lengthy stay in her shape.

"Um, I should go," I said.

Dakota stopped and turned on her heel, clearly disappointed. "Are you sure?"

I nodded. For all I knew, there was a real chance that spending the night in her bed as Ashley would get me killed for real. Or make me sick. I needed to get a better handle on this transformation stuff.

"Well, ok," she said and hooked a thumb over her shoulder. "Listen, I need to use the bathroom first and get cleaned up for this guy. You're going to have to wait until I'm done."

"Oh, no, no, no, I'll clean up at home."

"Okay then." She smiled and turned around. She walked towards the blue door in the corner of the apartment and pointed at the brown door next to it. "That's the door. You have to go down the hall and through the door at the bottom of the stairs to get to the street." She opened the blue door and turned around. "The shop's still locked."

I nodded and said, "Ok."

She disappeared behind the blue door and I got up to search for my clothes. I got dressed and walked over to the blue door. I could hear the water running behind it. "Uh, hey, Dakota?"

"Yeah?"

"About those symbols?"

"What?"

I frowned. "The symbols you're going to interpret for me?"

There was a pause and then she called out, "Oh, yeah! What about them?"

"Well, when do you think you'll be finished with them?"

She opened the door and stuck her head out. "Tell you what! You come by this bar tomorrow night and I'll tell you what they're called, ok?"

"Ok, but I need you to make an interpretation of them, too. You know, what do they mean when they're arranged the way I drew them on your notepad?" She looked at me with a tiny frown. "You remember, it's for my creative writing class, for extra credit?"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, I remember." She nodded her head. "I'm helping you put that fat asshole in his place."

She gives me the best time of my life and then she opens her mouth like that. Unbelievable.

I kept the scowl off my face as I asked, "So, you'll do it?"

"Of course, of course! You come by the 'Broken Axe Tavern' tomorrow night, around seven, and I'll have it for you. Ok?"

"Ok," I said, nodding.

"Ok," she said and pulled her head back into the bathroom.

"Hey, where is the Broken Axe Tavern?"

"Corner of Warwick Avenue and Third Street."

I nodded. I didn't know Springfield, but Google Maps would definitely get me there. "Ok, I'll see you tomorrow night. Bye!"

"Bye!" I turned to the brown door and opened it. Dakota poked her head out of the blue door again. "Hey, if you think you might be cold, take that shawl!" She vanished behind the door again and I looked to where she had pointed. There was a worn-looking shawl draped over the back of a leather chair. I had never before seen that color. It was kind of a cross between a very pale pink and a light gray.

I picked it up and realized it was over five feet long. I frowned. This was a great example of the kind of clothing I didn't want. Wrapping this thing around my throat was like begging the bad guys to strangle me with it. I left it where it was and went through the brown door.

The exit was right where Dakota had said it would be and I walked down the street to where I had parked earlier. It was cold enough to make me regret leaving the shawl behind. I soon found myself questioning my memory and my sanity, because my car wasn't where I had left it. I dashed back and forth, looking for it, until I came to the corner and looked up in frustration. Mounted very high on a post, a small sign proclaimed that this was a towing zone.

I screeched out a long string of curses as I kicked at the post with the sign on it. Of course this was a towing zone. Why wouldn't it be? The very first time I go with my decision to take action before running through a lengthy mental checklist and I wound up getting my Interceptor stolen or towed. I glared at the long row of cars parked right next to where mine had been. Of course it was only my car that went missing.

After throwing me for a loop with the reality-bending sacrifice, the universe decided to go for the good, old, Kevin-sets-a-toe-over-the-line-and-gets-his-fucking-head-chopped-off-because-of-it routine. Just one deep breath of the freezing air was enough to break my fugue and get me to think options and solutions again.

If my car was stolen, there was exactly fuck all I could do about it. Even if I turned back into Kevin and reported it stolen, the cops don't find cars, they just fill out the paperwork for the insurance companies. I wasn't insured against theft, so that was pointless. I guessed that I should report the Interceptor stolen, all the same. Just so the cops don't come looking for me if someone uses it as a getaway car.

If my car turned out to be towed, I was also shit out of luck. I couldn't pay to get it out. My wallet was in it, along with my clothes and all the money I had in the world. I had been poor before, but now I was truly broke.

Both options were made moot by my inability to turn back into myself. That would lead to me walking around town naked and freezing. My Ashley clothes were simply too small for my Kevin shape. Even the sweater could barely be pressed into service as an apron.

I rubbed my sides and skipped in place as I struggled to think of what to do. I decided that changing back into me wasn't an emergency. I didn't know how much weight I had lost sleeping through the night as Ashley, but it couldn't have been a lot. It couldn't have been more than I still had left to spare. I looked around and saw nothing I could use. I thought about going back to Dakota's place and asking for her help, but I didn't know exactly what to tell her and I kind of felt bad about lying to her so much already. I decided I would give her an hour with her "client" and then knock on her door.

I walked off in a random direction, looking for a bar, or someplace with locals I could ask about the towing and a phone I could use. I was beginning to shiver and I imagined what it would be like if my clothes were warm, as if they had just come out of the dryer. I really wished they had. They became toasty warm and I was able to stand up and walk normally, so long as I concentrated.

Two blocks over, I came across a bar and went in. I stopped imagining my clothes being warm. I was a little surprised not to feel them become ambient temperature in an instant and made a note of this. What I do with my power doesn't necessarily vanish the moment I stop pumping my will into it.

The bar was dark and smoky. There were two people sitting at the bar, two more at a table, and there was a pair of guys playing pool in the back. As I sized everybody up, I saw that the place was a dump, populated by strictly men. They looked kind of seedy, but I steeled myself and walked to the bar.

The bald barkeep sported a truly ugly grin as he looked me up and down. "What'll it be, Gorgeous?"

"Could I just use your phone, please?"

He chuckled and shook his head. "Phone's for paying customers only."

The guy sitting three stools away from me said, "Give her a drink on me, Mike!"

Mike nodded at the guy and then nodded questioningly at me. I was quite dehydrated from all the fucking. "A big draught of Bud, please. And your phone."

Mike the barkeep went to pour me the beer and the guy that was buying it slid something across the bar towards me. It was a smartphone. "Here," he said, "use mine!"

"Thank you!" I picked up the phone and dialed 411. I asked the operator for the number and address of the Springfield impound lot. I called there and asked about my car. Sure enough, the assholes had it. I didn't bother asking how much it would cost to get it back. Fuck those assholes for towing my baby. I looked up the lot's address on the guy's phone. It was actually quite close, just six blocks away from the bar. I could walk there in half an hour and see about getting my Interceptor back.

I took a few really big gulps of my beer while I memorized the route to the impound lot. The beer was going down smoothly when a rough hand groped my ass. I nearly choked as I sputtered. It was the guy that loaned me use of his phone.

I knew chivalry was long dead, but I was kind of hoping that basic human decency was still on life support.

"What's the matter, darlin'," the asshat asked me, "got towed?"

I coughed as I nodded. His hand didn't move from my ass. I tried to step out of his reach, but his groping hand also forcibly kept me from doing that. I bit back my coughs as I glared at him. "Thank you for the phone and the beer, but I've got to get going now."

"Aw, don't go yet, darlin'. We's just startin' to get to know one another!"

"Take your," I said and coughed, "hand off my ass!" The man just smiled and leered at me. I coughed again and grabbed the wrist of his offending arm. I was going to pull his hand off me and use it as leverage for my following punch, but the man's arm wasn't budging a single bit.

Shit, I wasn't Kevin. I was Ashley and Ashley could barely beat up a kitten.

The guy groped my ass again and his finger slipped between my buttocks. My vision turned red and I willed myself to be as strong as I was as Kevin. I tugged his hand off my ass, but my shoulder suddenly started to hurt. I grit my teeth at the stabbing pains and put my other hand against the front of the guy's throat. His eyes went wide as I squeezed.

My glare was powered by the pain. "I said thanks for the phone and the beer, but I've got to be going now."

"Kurt, you gonna let a bitch do you like that?" someone asked from behind me.

Kurt's surprise at being overpowered by a tiny girl was swiftly beaten back by the humiliation of being overpowered by a tiny girl. With a small growl of anger, he tried to pull my hand off his throat. We were of pretty much the same strength, so he failed. That only made him more angry. He stood up and pulled me with him, like I was a rag doll. I realized the depth of my predicament. I could match him in strength, but not in mass. He would dictate where this fight went.

He illustrated the point by spinning us around. He used me to knock over a few stools and then slammed my back into the bar. The air exploded from my lungs. I lost my concentration and my limbs reverted to their weak state. I slid down the side of the bar to sit on the dirty floor. My shoulder still hurt from overpowering Kurt's arm. I could barely hear the cheers coming from his friends. Panic welled up inside me. I was going to get beaten, raped, mutilated, killed. My heart beat like a hummingbird and my whole body tensed up for action, but I couldn't think of a way to save myself.

Kurt leaned into my face. I could smell his foul breath as I gasped for air. He had a missing tooth on the left side. He said something, but I couldn't make out the words over the shouts of his friends and the whooshing in my ears. I tried to focus. A rough hand grabbed a fistful of my hair and tugged my head upright. Another hand grabbed me by the boob and my head finally cleared.

I imagined weak electrical currents running through the air between my fingers at high voltage and willed it so. I curled my fingers around Kurt's elbows and his mouth flew open as his arms locked into place. He shuddered all over. I let go and he collapsed into a ball in front of me. A chorus of exclamations followed as all the men stepped back in surprise.
I reached above me and grabbed the wrist of the hand in my hair. I heard another groan of pain and the fingers clenched against my scalp. When I let go, so did he and his limp hand fell out of my hair. I rolled over to the side and grabbed a guy's knee in passing. His leg turned as hard as stone. When I let go and stood up from my roll, he collapsed on the floor.

With Kurt and a friend on the floor and the barkeep lying atop the bar, holding his hand, the rest of the patrons were hesitant to fight me.

I smirked and held up my tiny hands. I stopped imagining the invisible currents and said, "I'm fully trained in Krav Maga nerve strikes. These hands are lethal weapons. Any of you try and touch me again, I'll prove it!"

The patrons glared daggers at me and looked ready to fight, but they stood their ground. Kurt spoke up. "I bought you a beer, you fucking whore! You think you can just get free stuff and not give anything in return? It doesn't work like that, cunt!"

Wow. This shithead thinks that two sips of beer and ten cents' worth of phone time gives him the right to spread my legs. My smirk grew disdainful. "You bought a beer, and got a few gropes in return. Fair trade. And, let's face it! A piss-poor shithead like you can't afford anything more than that." I dripped sarcasm as I smiled at him and said, "Darlin'."

After a tense second of silence, the four standing patrons burst out in laughter. They moved to help their fallen friends and one of them loudly said, "She got you there, Kurt!"

Kurt and the bartender swore at me, even as the rest of the men tried to calm them down. One of them approached me. He was a bit short, but he had very wide shoulders. His faded blue shirt was tight over his big muscles. His hair was a shaggy mane and his face was a collection of mismatched features. His smile was practically screaming, "fake". I raised my hands and imagined the currents again. He raised his hands in a peaceful gesture and said, "Hey, no one wants to call the cops. Right? Things got a little heated, but this was just a tussle between friends, right? Like you said, you're even."

These guys looked ready to rape me half a minute ago and now one of them wanted to play friends? Fuck that shit! I had half a mind to find out if I could shoot fireballs out of my ass, right then and there. I was still calm enough to know that was a bad idea. I could pass off Tazer-hands as fancy martial arts shit, but tossing around fireballs was a bit harder to explain. Since I wasn't in the mood to kill any witnesses, I decided that a simple retreat was the best course of action.

I pointed at the negotiator and said, "Anyone follows me and we're going to have trouble."

Kurt called me names as his friends sat him up on a stool. The negotiator smiled and held an inviting hand towards the bar. "Look, let's just sit down for a few rounds and talk things over."

I backed up towards the door. "Anyone follows me..." I glared at the barkeep. "And I come back here to burn this place to the ground."

The negotiator chuckled malevolently. "Now, that's not a nice thing to say, is it?"

I opened the door and felt along its edge and the doorjamb, glaring at the sweet talker the whole time. The door was solid, made of sturdy wood. The lock on it was metal, as was the corresponding part of the doorjamb.

Kurt shouted more insults at me, and the sweet talker ominously said, "I think you should stay here. Dangerous world out there."

I backed out of the door and slammed it shut. Immediately, I imagined the door locking itself and the lock welding itself fused with the doorjamb's metal fitting. I willed it so and I could see a faint, red glow coming from between the door and the jamb.

The knob half turned before I heard a pained howl from inside. "The fucking knob is hot," the sweet talker yelled out. "It burned my hand! Look!"

I was suddenly feeling dizzy and nauseous. A painful beat throbbed in my temples, radiating down to my jaw. The pain was so strong that it was making my vision dim in waves. I was having a hard time just staying conscious, but I stumbled blindly into the night. I guessed that the bar had a back door and fear made me try to get as far away as possible. Each step I took, however, made my skull explode anew. I wasn't going to get far.

I made it one block before I ducked into a side alley and gulped air to catch my breath. The pain in my head was subsiding, only to be replaced by my shoulder hurting like a motherfucker. I made a mental note to never again make myself stronger without also making my joints tougher at the same time. I had enough experience with injuries to know that this wasn't a big one. It was probably just a minor sprain. Compared to the exploding skull syndrome I just suffered through, it was a delight.

I caught my breath and got my bearings. I had stumbled towards the impound lot and away from Dakota's shop, so I decided to keep going. I kept to the side streets, just in case the assholes from the bar were out looking for me. I imagined my clothes being toasty warm again.

Half an hour later, I found the impound lot. There were two cars parked across the street from the entrance and I recognized Kurt sitting on one of the hoods. There were two other guys from the bar with him.

Shit. They were waiting for me and they were camped right between me and the front gate. A car rolled to a stop and I could just about make out the sweet talker as he leaned out the open window and shook his head at Kurt. I chuckled as I saw that his hand was bandaged. He rolled on down the street and turned a corner. I was considering going back to Dakota's and asking her for help in getting my car out of there when the sweet talker drove by again.

He was circling the lot to try and catch a glimpse of me. Of course he was. Why wouldn't he be? Why wouldn't I pick a random bar that contained criminals? Why wouldn't they roam the streets looking for revenge for stuff I did in self-defense? The universe's fist was perpetually located just underneath my asshole, after all. I couldn't beat up the cold, uncaring universe, but I could beat up these assholes some more.

I decided it was high time for them to get a fucking lesson. I circled around to the back of the lot and waited for the sweet talker to drive by again. As soon as he turned the corner, I dashed across the street, jumped up and used my power to float over the fence. I landed softly and looked around. The two white stripes on my Interceptor made me spot it right away. I crept over to it and unlocked the door. I checked and made sure that everything was still there, particularly my money. I sighed with relief, but it was short-lived. There were still assholes to tear apart.

If I was going to wreck some cars, I needed to be my old self. I didn't trust my slender, weak, Ashley limbs to wrangle the Interceptor. I stripped naked. I made the flower retract into a bud and was Kevin again. I got dressed and blew into my hands to warm them. I psyched myself up as I fastened my four-point safety harness. I couldn't keep the grin off my face when my fingers closed around the wheel. I pulled my hoodie over my head and cinched its hood strings to turn it into a mask.

I watched for Sweet Talker's car coming around the front again. When I saw it coming, I turned the ignition and floored the clutch. I swept the stick into first and worked the pedals to make the Interceptor leave its parking place without the squeal of tires. I aimed for a section of fence right next to the front gate and shifted into second. I could see the night watchman look out his window just as I shot past the front office. The chicken wire fence didn't even try to stand up to the surging Interceptor.

My timing was perfect. I t-boned Sweet Talker's car into his friends' cars. I was rattled by the impact, but nowhere near as much as they were. I had built my Interceptor as a stunt car, after all. Kurt and his friends had dived out of the way and I shifted into reverse before they could get up. I backed out of the pile of metal and reversed all the way to the end of the block.

Kurt and his friends stood up, only to grab their heads in dismay at the damage to their cars. Sweet Talker leaned out the window of his car and struggled to open his dented door from the outside, using only one hand. I did a one-eighty and tore out of there laughing. I made a few turns to shake off any possible pursuit, and then did my best to get my bearings. Again, all I could do was head east until I hit the edge of town.

I reached the city limits and the street turned into a simple, country road. It took me the better part of an hour, but I found my way back to Riverside. My dashboard clock read 21:15 by the time I was on familiar turf. I decided to keep away from the center of town, where the cops might still be examining the site of the murders.

Fuck! The cops!

It finally dawned on me that I might be in trouble. I had stolen a car and crashed it into other cars with witnesses around. Even if Kurt and the cavemen didn't want to call the cops, the night watchman was sure to do it and report the theft of a car from the lot. Yes, it was my own car, but that only made things worse. I was the first guy the cops would ask about it. I had caused a car crash.

My throat went dry as I realized I could be arrested for attempted murder. Vehicular homicide was the term, I think. I had to blink my eyes dry. Slamming into those fucks had been awesome. The potential consequences? Not so much. I had to do something to get myself out of this shit.

I thought of one of the salvage yards where I harvested free car parts. The dogs were too scared to even bark at me and the guy running the place was a drunk who didn't keep records. He bought metal whenever it was brought to him and he sold metal whenever he needed to go get more booze. I could just drive the Interceptor in there and hide it in the stacks somewhere. At least until I figured something out. The front grill of the car was busted up, so the drunk probably wouldn't even notice it among all the scrap.

That got rid of the smoking gun, but what about the rest?

I racked my brain, trying to think of what to do. Should I wipe the car for prints, in case the cops found it? No, that would be suspicious. The car is mine, my fingerprints are supposed to be all over it. I decided I needed to act like I had no idea where my car was. That meant calling the impound lot tomorrow as myself and asking about getting it back. Yeah, that would throw the cops off the scent. Make me look innocent.

With a solid plan underway, I was starting to feel much better. Well, less like I was going to throw up at any moment. I hid the Interceptor in the lot and walked home.

As I walked through town, I noticed a crowd gathering not that far ahead of me. I turned away, almost by reflex. As I shot a few looks over my shoulder, I saw that the people were carrying candles. I took another look around and realized where they were gathering. It was in front of the grill joint where Jen Malone had worked.

The vivid memories of the mass sacrifice flooded back into my mind and I nearly retched. I drew deep breaths through my nose until my stomach settled. I wanted to go home and get to sleep. The day had been a horrible roller coaster. I had woken up as Ashley, masturbated as her, switched between herself and me, gone shopping for women's clothing, nearly gotten caught by the werewolf, had a marathon fuck session with a lesbian, gotten assaulted by jackasses, gotten towed, stolen my own car, crashed it on purpose, and it wasn't even ten o'clock yet.

Despite being bone tired, I found myself moseying closer to the crowd.

"Hey, Kevin," Skip said, nearly making me jump out of my skin.

I gulped air as my heart raced for the millionth time that day. For a guy that hardly did any cardio in almost a year, I was in really good shape. "Shit, Skip, where the fuck did you come from!?"

Skip pointed off to the side. "I was standing over there, talking to John's sister."

"Who?"

"Olive Barton," Skip said, as if that name should mean something to me. "She went to school with us. She was a year younger. You remember her, right?"

I frowned as I stared at him. "No."

"Oh, I thought you knew her," Skip said. "She had a crush on you, back in the day." He smiled. "But you only ever had eyes for Ashley."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah..." I didn't like to be reminded of Ashley, or my last conversation with Skip, but it brought to mind the medical lawyer he had mentioned and I could use a lawyer of any kind in dealing with the Springfield cops. "Listen, Skip! Could you give me the number of that medical lawyer you mentioned the other day?"

"Sure," he said and dug his phone out of his pocket. He worked the screen. "I was going to swing by John's place tomorrow. Care to come with me?"

I honestly had no idea who the fuck this John Barton was, or why Skip would care about him. "Um...why?"

Skip looked up at me like I was stupid. "To make him feel better."

"Well, what's wrong with him now?"

Skip shot me a you-gotta-be-kidding-me look. "He handled..." Skip trailed off and looked over the crowd. They were mostly quiet as they stood their candlelight vigil. Skip leaned in and whispered, "He handled the bodies."

My mouth fell open. "He did? Why?"

"Because he's the coroner's assistant, Kevin. How do you not know this? The whole town has been hounding him for info all day today. Him and the Doc."

Finally, a source of information! "Um, I was busy today. Out of town business." I needed to know everything. Well, anything would be a marked improvement to my current knowledge. The old Skip had been a very taciturn fellow. I had no idea if he knew anything, or how to get him to talk.

"Olive says both John and Doc Hampton are all messed up," Skip said.

Oh, cool, he's a gossip when he's not doped up.

"She says that not only is everything they say on TV true, but that there's even more to the story and it's all freaky as hell," he said.

"Go on."

He shot another furtive look around before continuing in a whisper. "I mean, John and the Doc are both pretty shook up, you know? They've both handled bodies of people they knew before, but...it was never anything like this."

"What was it like?" I asked. Skip frowned and shot me a look. "I mean, what was it that upset them the most?"

Skip sighed. "Well, Olive says John was as pale as death itself when she saw him." He shook his head. "That man is going to need some serious help when all this is over."

I was desperate for any info, so I tried to fish for it. "I get that it's thirteen dead people, but I don't think it was as bad as all that. Particularly not for someone as experienced as Doctor Hampton."

Skip snorted in disbelief at my words. "That's why it was so horrible, man. Ten of them were Hampton's patients, for crying out loud. He knew each and every one of them."

"All thirteen were from Riverside?"

"No, just the ten. The other three were a drifter and a young married couple that was just passing through. Feds think those three were just in the wrong place at the wrong time." He tapped my stomach with the back of his hand. "The goddamned Feds think that we've got some kind of 'Breaking Bad' situation going on in this town. They think that this was part of a war over meth." Skip looked me over, squinting at my middle with a small measure of suspicion.

I shook my head in disbelief at the news. I had half a mind to make an anonymous tip to the Feds and set them straight, but what could I possibly say to make them take me seriously? Half the time I was all but convinced I had hallucinated the whole thing. "This is fucked up," I muttered.

Skip looked around again and spoke in a low voice, "You have no idea. Olive said that John said that the bodies really did have their heads cut off by the knives they were holding. Doc Hampton matched the blades to the cuts. But that's, like, the only thing that makes any sense."

I was all ears.

"Apparently, Doc Hampton says that the heads were cut off with several cuts and only the first cut was done while they were alive. The rest of the cuts were made post mortem. And the angle of the cuts?" Skip took another look around to make sure no one was listening in. "The angle makes them look self-inflicted. Can you believe that?"

I actually could, but I shook my head no.

"They cut their heads off after they died. The Doc was completely freaked out. And their other hands?" Skip shook his head and let out a low hoot. "That's where it gets really weird! The dead people were clutching their own hair. Seriously clutching it." He tapped my chest with the back of his hand. "And rigor mortis only set in after they brought them in."

I frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, and this is what Olive told me happened, John told her. Apparently, the corpses had their heads clutched in their hands, you know, by the hair. And the knives, too. The rest of their bodies were completely loose. Just the fingers were clenched. After they brought them to the morgue, the entire bodies went into rigor mortis. That's not supposed to happen. Doc Hampton told John that rigor starts with the face and hands and then spreads out. He said the heads were severed so their rigor goes at a different pace, or something, but John could tell the Doc was just saying that. Neither of them had ever seen rigor set in the hands at least three hours before setting in the wrists."

I had seen those people murdered on Stony Mountain. I had seen the Asian chick revive their corpses and use them as litter bearers for their murderers. Hearing Skip's words still made the hairs on the back of my neck rise.

"And that's not all," Skip said. "Doc Hampton did temperature measurements to determine time of death. It came out that they all died early last night. Their rigor should have fully set in long before they were discovered. The Doc now thinks that the bodies had been chilled, or something, to gum up his measurements."

I knew they had been killed hours before midnight, but I wasn't going to chime in with that information. "What's...what happened to the bodies?"

"They're still at the morgue. The FBI is bringing in some experts of their own to take another look at them tomorrow. They even chased John and Doc Hampton away."

"Why?"

"Well, Doc had John cut off the hair the dead people were holding their heads by, so he could examine the heads. Later, he had John carefully burn the hair away with a lit match, so he could examine the hands themselves. He was looking for, like, uh, needle marks, or electrical burns, anything that could explain why their hands had been clenched before rigor set in."

"And?" I asked impatiently.

"And they couldn't find anything. The Feds got annoyed and told them to take a hike. So now, John and the Doc are sitting on their asses. They're probably freaked out by the gruesome deaths of people they knew. I know John is freaked out by the rigor discrepancy. Made him doubt everything he ever learned." Skip drew a deep breath and took another look at the crowd. "Their phones are probably off the hook. I know people have been calling all day long. Despite all that, I'd say that the thing that bugs those two the most is that they're unable to keep looking for answers." Skip shook his head. "It's unfair, man. Fucking unfair."

Since I knew that had been the work of black magic, I didn't expect anyone to find any reasonable explanation. John and Doctor Hampton would just have to suffer. I heard a voice and looked up. An older man was standing in front of the grill joint and addressing the assembled crowd. I nodded at him and asked Skip, "Who's he?"
"Jen's boss."

I looked the crowd over. There was around fifty people standing there, holding candles. Jen's boss hugged a weeping man and talked about her little girl and her family. "Why is this happening here? Why is Jen's boss talking about her? Where's Jen's family?"

"You don't know?" Skip asked, genuinely surprised.

"I was out of town today," I said.

"Everyone was talking about it everywhere."

I shrugged, somewhat irritated. "Yeah, well, I guess I just missed it. So...what did I miss?"

Skip sighed. "Well, Jen's family..." He looked around again to make sure no one could hear us. "Jen's folks didn't like her fiancé because he got her pregnant and they were only going to marry after she had the baby next month."

"Oh," I said, nodding with a sour grimace on my face. Most Riversiders would proudly say that they stick by good, old-fashioned values and traditions. I would say they're mostly a bunch of inbred bigots. Tomato, poh-tah-toh. I wasn't surprised in the least to hear that the parents would keep the fiancé away from the funeral.

I was floored to hear that Jen had been eight months pregnant. Last night, she had looked no different than any other time I had seen her before. Just her usual, chubby self.

Skip interrupted my train of thought by saying, "That's him there, crying." I looked at the man Jen's boss was holding up. Skip shrugged. "I guess people didn't know where else to do this. The Sheriff and the FBI aren't letting anyone near the square yet. The bodies are still at the morgue. Man, I really feel for Jen's little girl. First her dad gets blown up by an IED in Iraq and now her mom gets killed like that, right in our backyard. Fucked up shit, man. Some fucked up shit." He shook his head. "And the poor dear will be raised by her grandparents who had disowned Jen when she told them she was pregnant before marriage. Unfair."

"If they disowned Jen, then how come they're handling the funeral?"

"They never did anything official. They just told her she was a harlot and pretended she didn't exist. In the eyes of the law, they're her next of kin, not her fiancé."

I drew a deep breath and slowly let it out. "Unfair."

Skip talked some more about how John needed cheering up, or distracting, but I hardly listened. Those monsters had slit Jen's throat and killed both her and her unborn baby. They had done that and I had just sat shivering on a branch, watching them do it. I felt worse than a festering turd. I made some noncommittal grunts whenever Skip's tone of voice indicated a question. I think he was asking me if I was going to join some group that was forming to patrol the streets at night.

When the people that supported Jen's fiancé bowed their heads in prayer, Skip followed their example. I quietly took my leave. I had no right to be there. I had no right to offer my condolences or spout platitudes. Not after abandoning Jen and those people to their deaths.

I knew, intellectually, that I couldn't have possibly done anything to save them last night, but that knowledge didn't give me a lot of comfort. It just made me angry at myself. I had been powerless that night, but that was no longer true. Power had been given to me and I started to feel like I was supposed to use it to stop the evil butchers. Hell, I might even get the universe to stop pounding me.

As soon as I turned a corner, I stomped off home. I was exhausted, but tomorrow I would begin training. I was going to figure out this power I was given and I was going to use it to find the thirteen assholes and put an end to them. By any means necessary.

I went straight to my bedroom and started undressing. It was only then that I noticed my belt hadn't been on the third hole. When I had dressed myself in the darkness of my car, I had tightened it more. And it fit nicely.

I stood before the full length mirror and I could see that I had lost weight. My belly didn't sag and there was no loose skin to indicate a sudden weight loss, but it was definitely smaller. I stripped naked and stood on my scales. My eyes bugged out. The scales read two hundred and seventy three pounds. I had lost thirteen pounds by spending less than five hours as Ashley. My weariness vanished in the wake of this discovery.

I already knew it cost me three pounds to turn into Ashley and back, so that left ten pounds for five hours, and the first hour was free. I tried to work out a logical way for the transformational magic to charge me weight for being Ashley, but I still lacked the necessary data to draw any conclusions. I didn't time myself when I had spent the night as Ashley and I hadn't weighed myself for quite some time before that, so I couldn't possibly know how much weight I had lost last night.

I stood before my mirror and gave myself a critical look. The more I looked, the more certain I felt that I had lost just as much weight today as I had last night. And then it hit me. What if the weight wasn't taken from me in exchange for the time spent as Ashley? What if it was in exchange for the spells I had done?

When I did my one hour test and took my new measurements, I hadn't done any magic. Last night, I had made magical sounds and floated down the side of a mountain, a vertical distance of at least a third of a mile. And today, I had telekinetically slammed my car door, warmed my clothes for more than half an hour, tazed a few guys, locked and welded a door shut and floated over a fence.

I postulated that the weight was taken from me in exchange for doing magic and thought of a way to test my hypothesis. I decided to do the hovering thing again. I found my tape measure and measured the height of one meter off the floor on the side of my closet and on the adjoining wall. I taped a length of twine between the two marks and made the flower bloom in my brain.

I didn't watch myself transform this time. Brr, that had been an ugly sight.

I set my egg timer to one minute and willed myself to float at the height marked by the twine, with my toes just touching it. When the egg timer went off, I floated back down to the ground and stood on my scales. I still weighed a hundred and six pounds as Ashley. I stepped off, made the flower contract and was Kevin again. I stood on the scales. They read two hundred and sixty-nine pounds. I had lost four and a half pounds. Three for the transformation and one and a half for defying gravity for a minute.

I changed back into Ashley and hovered for two minutes, which resulted in the loss of six pounds of Kevin. I looked up how much energy was stored in a pound of fat and how much would it take to defy gravity by one meter. The numbers checked out. I lost weight to power my magic and it was a process that occurred at one hundred percent energy efficiency.

I was elated at finally getting a handle on my magical power.

It also gave me a handle on the sudden, sharp headache that had nearly incapacitated me as I left the bar. I did a rough estimate of how much energy it took to weld the metal lock shut in an instant. It took most of the ten pounds I had lost. It seemed that expending so much energy in an instant had consequences. If I was going to use magic, I needed to use it carefully and in small doses.

Then I got depressed at realizing I had so little weight left to convert into magic. My ideal weight was a stone cold two hundred pounds, due to my big-boned build. I only had sixty-three pounds of fat left to safely do magic with. I didn't know what would happen to me if I started converting weight other than my fat into magic and I didn't want to find out. This meant that, if I wanted to fight the bad guys with my magic, I needed to get fatter.

I laughed at the realization. My laughter turned almost hysterical before it was interrupted by a couple of yawns. I went to bed, still giggling and shaking my head in disbelief. I make a firm decision to lose weight one day and the very next one I learn of a valid reason to gain weight. Typical.

The next morning, I woke up and stuffed my face for breakfast. I didn't have anything fattening on hand and I decided to go to the supermarket to stock up on high calorie food. I checked my gangsta roll and slumped in my seat. I was running out of money. I needed to figure out a way to make some more cash right away. I needed to find out who the crazies were and stop them. I needed to call the Springfield impound lot and throw the cops off my trail. I still needed to get my life in order.

I grabbed my head and groaned. There was a million things to do and no time to get them all done in. I reminded myself of Skip's lessons. One thing at a time. After some consideration, I decided to first make the call to the impound lot, then go shopping for food, then try and make some money. The search for the evildoers would start tonight, at the Broken Axe Tavern, where Dakota would tell me all about the symbols. Those were my only real lead on the bad guys, after all.

I picked up my landline and called the impound lot. I nearly laughed as they transferred me from one extension to the next. They were trying to get me off the phone to avoid admitting that my car was stolen right out from under their noses. Then I realized my reaction should not be relief, but outrage. I spewed venom at the next person to field my call and was finally given a number to call.

A detective with the Springfield police department answered my call and asked me all about my car. I kept up my outraged act and the man finally admitted the car was stolen last night. Then we had a verbal tug of war where he tried to get me to cough up an alibi for last night while I threatened to sue the city. In the end, I told him I had been home all day, except for attending a candlelight vigil for Jen. The detective chatted with me for a few more minutes and only then asked me why my car had been in Springfield if I had been in Riverside.

My asshole puckered up as my throat went dry. Why the fuck had I not thought of that? It was a hole in my story the size of a football field and I completely overlooked it. Unbe-fucking-lievable.

I faked a cough as I tried to get my voice to not sound panicked. "I loaned it to a friend," I said and winced. God, I'm a sucky liar. I could almost hear the detective smile on his end of the phone.

"Who is this friend of yours? I'm only asking because he could be held liable for getting your car towed in the first place. You know, so you wouldn't have to pay the fine."

"Pay a fine?" I yelled into the phone. "Are you fucking kidding me?! You take my car from me, get it stolen and then you expect me to pay you?! I will fucking ruin you all! I'm hanging up and calling my lawyer!"

Goddamnit, I forgot to get the fucker's number from Skip last night. Talk of the dead people had distracted us both.

"If you hang up the phone right now, Mister Hewitt, there will be complications."

"Oh, you're goddamned right there will be complications," I said, ominously. "I'm gonna have my lawyer choke you all with the complications."

"If you don't tell me why your car was twenty miles away from you, I'm going to have to assume there was foul play involved. We would be obliged to investigate further. Now, who's this alleged friend of yours?"

"You'll talk to my lawyer," I growled and slammed the receiver down.

Well, that went brilliantly. Instead of convincing the cops I had nothing to do with it, I made myself into suspect number one. I hollered out a, "FUCK," of rage and barely kept myself from crushing the phone. I shot a glare at my reflection in the hallway mirror. "You decided to stop overanalyzing things! Not to stop thinking altogether!"

I had done some things I wasn't proud of in my life, but I had never acted this stupid before.

I managed to calm myself down by looking at the bottom line. They had no eyewitnesses, no evidence, nothing to prove I did anything wrong. I just had to keep my fucking mouth shut and have a lawyer do my talking for me and things would go my way. I'd probably get a lot of money from the city, too, when everything was over and done with.

I guessed that any settlement money would only come in next year, at the earliest, but I needed to hire the lawyer at once and get things started. I went out and walked to the supermarket. I filled my cart with high calorie processed foods and went to Skip's register. There was a line of people there and more joined as soon as I got in it. When it was finally my turn, we didn't really have time to chat. Skip still took the chance to reproach me for my unhealthy eating habits and ask when I was available for patrol duty.

I stared blankly at him. "Patrol duty?"

There was a long line of impatient people behind me. Skip called into his microphone for another register to be opened and then quickly gave me my change. "I'll text you the guy's number and the watch schedule."

I didn't contradict him on his idea that I would patrol the city and left the supermarket, laden with groceries. I stopped by an electronics store on my way home and bought their cheapest phone. When I got home, I took my SIM card from my broken phone. I slid it into the new one and it came alive. I got five texts. Four were commercials I immediately deleted. The last one was from Skip.

I wrote down the contact information of his lawyer and ignored the part where he asked me which nights I would be free for patrol duty. With everything on my plate, I just couldn't be bothered with a neighborhood watch project. The conversation with the lawyer went smoothly. He agreed to meet with me the next day to take a look at my case. He said he'd definitely do my medical bills for me and only charge me twenty percent of the amount he knocked off my bills.

He asked about the car and I told him a lie I had concocted on my walk home from the supermarket. I said I had met a hot chick two days ago and spent a night and a day with her in bed. I claimed not to know her name and that I loaned her my car to go into Springfield to get her things and move in with me. I didn't know if he bought it, or not, but he agreed to run it by the cops, all the same. He gave me strict instructions to not speak to the cops again and to tell them to call him, instead. He also told me that I needed to be at his office tomorrow at noon, to give him copies of my medical documentation and pay him his retainer.

I agreed and thanked him. My situation was looking up, provided I could pull twelve hundred dollars out of my ass by noon tomorrow.

I sat down and ate again, stuffing myself until my stomach started hurting. I only had three hundred and fifty bucks. Twice that much if I wanted to risk next month's rent and utilities. It wasn't enough. I racked my brain trying to think of a way to make more.

The only thing that would pay out before noon tomorrow was the casino on the Indian reservation that was across the river and some ten miles north, past the woods. I rummaged around for a deck of cards and turned into Ashley.

I first tried blackjack. I did my level best to imagine the image of the next card and willed it to appear before my eyes, or in my mind's eye, but nothing happened. I could project an image onto a card, like an illusion, but I didn't like the idea of doing that in the casino. Blackjack was played with five decks, so five identical cards in one hand would be extremely unlikely, but not impossible. If a sixth identical card got dealt face down shortly thereafter, there would be serious trouble. In the wake of my police call, I wanted to do things that were a hundred percent risk free.

I moved on to the big game. Roulette. I took a ping-pong ball and an empty egg carton and imagined the air being impenetrable over all the slots except the one I wanted the ball to go into. I tossed the ball onto the carton and it rolled into the slot I left open. It worked. I'd need to test in on a proper, spinning roulette wheel, but it worked in theory.

I dressed in the clean set of Ashley clothes I had left and put the one from yesterday in a big bag to take to the Laundromat later. I also put my hiking clothes in it.

I took a cab to the casino and soon found myself sitting at the roulette table with the highest limits. My three hundred dollars in chips would only last me for fifteen minimal bets. There were only four other people playing at this table and I tested my idea. I made a circle of force around the edge of the wheel, except next to the number two, that no one had bet on. The croupier spun the wheel and the ball. I willed my wall of force to spin along with the wheel, still covering all the numbers but the number two.

When the croupier said, "No more bets," I held my breath and waited. The ball slowly lost energy and then rolled down to the wheel, where my wall of force kept it from falling onto the wheel, despite it losing its momentum. It was beginning to look suspicious as almost half a wheel spun past the nearly immobile ball and I stopped my efforts. The ball landed on a random number, not two, but I was elated all the same. My method worked, I just needed to make more slots so it wouldn't look so odd. Everyone at the table had shot suspicious looks at the wheel.

For the next spin, I made six holes in my wall of spinning force appear over numbers that were equally distant from each other on the wheel. The ball landed in one of them and I could barely keep from jumping in my seat with joy. I placed my bets as soon as the chips were cleared off the table. I selected the same six numbers and put fifty bucks on each. My low wall of telekinetic force spun with the wheel, awaiting the ball to come down. I held my breath, even in cheating. The ball landed on one of my numbers and I sat there shocked as the croupier put a transparent weight atop my chips.

She collected all the rest of the bets, including my other five, and then pushed a heap of chips my way with her rake. I did a very quick count. I had eighteen hundred dollars. Enough to hire the lawyer and have more or less the same amount left over as I had when I came in here. I picked another six numbers and put three hundred dollars on each. I erected a new wall of force that would keep the ball from falling into any of the other numbered slots.

Predictably, the ball landed on one of my bets and I got ten thousand and eight hundred dollars. My smile went from ear to ear. A small voice in the back of my mind told me to quit while I was ahead, but there was no way I was going to pass up on this. I was unstoppable. I picked six new numbers and walled the rest off. I kept eighteen hundred dollars for myself and tried to place fifteen hundred on each number. The croupier kindly reminded me that the top limit was five hundred dollars. I nearly wilted, but complied, putting five hundred on each of the six numbers and keeping seventy eight hundred in front of me.

I won again, unnaturally, and the lady slid eighteen thousand dollars my way. Some onlookers had gathered around the table by then and they began to cheer me on. Quite a few of them matched my next bet and each of my six numbers had a pile of chips on it. I was a bit uncomfortable with the attention, but I figured the increasing improbability of my winnings would be drowned out by everyone else winning. My wall of force guided the ball and we won, of course. I got another eighteen thousand dollars and everyone cheered as the croupier pushed large piles of chips their way.

Complete strangers were cheering me on, calling me their "pretty lady", or "lucky lady". I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, especially when I noticed two dour guys in expensive suits come over to stand behind the nice croupier lady. I had forty thousand and eight hundred dollars. I thought I should leave, but the crowd that was gathering around the table was cheering me on. A part of me missed that. Granted, they weren't chanting "kph", but they were my cheering fans.
With a goofy smile, I lay down another bet. Three thousand dollars on six numbers, while I telekinetically fenced off the rest of the wheel. People shoved around the table to place their bets on mine. The scene nearly turned into a riot and my elation at being cheered on quickly evaporated. This was going to be my last bet.

When I looked up at the dark, inscrutable eyes of the casino suits staring deep into me over the croupier's shoulders, I decided that this would also be a losing bet. I dropped my wall and the ball soon landed on twelve, just one slot away from the twenty-nine I had bet on. Everyone around the table groaned in disappointment and a few choice curse words were muttered. I barely kept myself from smiling with relief.

Half the crowd was egging me on, saying I was "still hot" and that this was only a setback, but I had had enough. I signaled the croupier that I wanted to cash out and she handed me a plastic rack to help me carry all my chips back to the cashier. Everyone moaned in protest and a couple of guys nearly screamed for me to get back in the game. The rest of the crowd apparently decided the magic had been in the table, rather than me, and the green of the layout was quickly spotted with chips of every color. I loaded my rack and squeezed away from the table.

The two dour suits moved away from the croupier and I could hear another exclamation of exasperation from the crowd when the next spin of the wheel paid out to none of them. I was at the cashier's by then and I handed in my rack of chips. The man counted thirty seven thousand and eight hundred dollars. I couldn't keep the grin off my face. The cashier's eyes flicked over my shoulder and he asked for my identification.

My heart skipped a beat. I was Ashley. How could I possibly give him an Ashley ID? "Why?" I asked.

He affected a bland smile. "We just need to make sure you're old enough to gamble in this state."

"Oh, bless you for thinking I'm that young," I said, smiling. He wasn't budging. I opened my mouth, thought it over, and said, "So, you're ok with people being potentially underage when they're coming in here to buy chips and bet with them, but you ask for ID when it's time to pay them their earnings?"

The cashier's eyes flicked over my shoulder again. His face was blank as he said, "The casino reserves the right to verify the age of all gamblers at any time."

I huffed as I beat back my panic. I reached into my pocket and slowly pulled out my wallet as I assembled a mental image in mind. I dug through my wallet with exaggerated care until I fished out my driver's license. I imagined Ashley's face over my own. I also imagined her information replacing mine. It worked. I was holding Ashley's driver's license. Well, an illusion of it, just like I had done with cards earlier.

The cashier took it from me and it took all of my concentration to keep up the illusion while he held the license in his own hand. He began entering Ashley's data into a computer and I frowned. "What are you doing?"

He smiled another fake smile as he said, "We're just adding you to our Loyalty club. Members of the Loyalty club-"

"Cut that out! Stop it! Give me back my license! I won't have you selling my information to Big Data, or whatever!"

His fingers kept typing during my protests. By the time he said, "Ma'am, it's just standard procedure-" and held up my license for me to snatch away from him, he had already entered Ashley's data into their computer. Ah, well, fuck it. Whatever happens is on Ashley now. The long-nailed, cock-stabbing bitch deserves all the trouble I send her way.

"Fuck your bullshit spiel," I told him, anyway. I didn't like the idea of them keeping me from my ill-gotten money. "Pay me my winnings! If I get so much as a single spam email I can trace back to this place, I'll have my lawyers sue you for invasion of privacy!"

The cashier's eyes flicked above my shoulder again and he said, "Please give me the number of an account where we can transfer your winnings to."

I turned around. One of the suits from the roulette table was standing behind me and a little off to the side, watching me with dead eyes. The cashier had been glancing up at him for cues. I turned back to the cashier and shook my head at him, disapprovingly. "I'll take cash." If any money got in my account, Uncle Sam would probably garnish it into pocket change faster than I could spit.

After another glance at the dead-eyed man, the cashier nodded and counted three hundred and seventy-eight crisp, one hundred dollar bills on a machine. I made a point of counting them by hand right there in front of him. The dead-eyed man moved away at some point, but I kept counting until I was done. Even with a long line of impatient gamblers grumbling behind me.

The cashier sounded annoyed as he wished me to, "Have a nice day, Ma'am!"

I smiled sweetly and flipped him off on my way out the door. A quick cab ride later, I was back in Riverside. I had the cabby drop me off near my place. I didn't want to risk the casino knowing where I lived. The cabby grumbled as he barely had enough change to break the hundred I gave him. Fuck, it was good to have pockets that were literally bursting with money. I swaggered all the way home.

I had never before in my life had as much money as I did then. I had never even seen what thirty eight thousand dollars looked like before. I fished all my cash out of my pockets and tossed it into the air above my bed. It settled into a beautiful, green blanket.

The best part of having all that money, I decided, was that I had taken no risk to get it. Ashley did.

Ashley, the lying, cock-stabbing bitch. I owed her trouble and humiliation and I had a few minutes to spare. I stripped naked and turned my laptop on. I turned it towards the bed and aimed the camera at the blanket of money. I crawled into frame and rolled around in the dough, rubbing it into my skin.

I sat up and faced the camera. I put on the filthiest smile I could and posed lewdly. "Hi there," I said, in my most breathy voice, "I'm Ashley. Ashley Williams. I fuck for money." I lowered my hands to the cash and grabbed fistfuls to spray all around me. "This money! I love money and I especially love fucking for money." I giggled. "I'll suck your cock. I'll ride your cock. You can pay me to take your cock up the ass. I'll do anything for the green. I'll do anyone for the green. I'll eat your bitch's pussy while you ream me out." I made a phone with my hand and held it up to my ear. I winked at the camera. "Call me!" I posed some more and then reached down between my legs. I ran a finger over my labia and then brought it up to my mouth to suck on. I blew a lewd kiss at the camera and waved goodbye.

I got up and reviewed the recording. It was so fucking awesome. If I ever released it, Ashley would be forever ruined. There was no way she could ever prove it wasn't her.

It felt strange, having the power to destroy a life in the palm of my hand. Strange, but also good.

I quickly came to my senses and abandoned my intentions. I was never going to release this tape. I would never stoop so low. My finger hovered over the delete button. Instead, I pressed play again. The clip was short, but really, really hot. I had put Ashley's great body into some truly spectacular poses.

I put the clip on a loop and changed into myself. My cock was hard in no time and I jerked off while watching the girl of my dreams on a bed of my money.

In hindsight, that may have been a sign I needed to talk to a shrink. All I know is that the clip had me going twice in a row. After I was done, I saved it in my porn folder. I took a quick shower and had a big lunch.

I spent lunch thoroughly chewing up my food and reviewing everything that had happened. While I was chewing my second steak, I figured out what I was missing. Waiting for Dakota to tell me what the symbols mean was all well and good, but I had a real clue about the thirteen murderers. I knew when and where one of them had been yesterday.

I called 411 and got the number for the Springfield Mall. The call to the mall was very similar to the one I had made earlier in the day. I was bounced from one extension to another, with everyone refusing to comment, or denying any knowledge of any kind of incident where a man had been sniffing others on the mall's promenade. I didn't know if no one had reported anything, or if they were just doing their PR thing. When a manager began spouting propaganda at me, I gave up and ended the call.

I had to see the mall security tapes from yesterday. There was no way around that. On those tapes, I could probably see the werewolf's car and license plate. I'd also be able to track him as he had walked through the mall. Maybe he had seen one of the others there. Maybe he had been doing some business. I had no idea. I had no idea about any of them.

I needed information. Planning? Careful consideration? Those were my shticks, but they only worked when I had a library, Wikipedia and some people in the know at my disposal. I was utterly blind now. There was no one I could turn to. The internet couldn't possibly provide me with any information. Even if there was anything about these murderers online, how the hell would I be able to find it in the abundance of sites devoted to cults and magic? At the very least, I needed a clue to start searching with.

I needed to get to the mall and get the tapes. If I went in after closing, the risks would be minimal. I could lure the graveyard shift rent-a-cop into a store with some phantom sounds and lock him there. Come the morning, I'd be gone and he'd look like a doofus. Heck, I could even let him out just before I left. I nodded. The tapes were definitely within my reach.

I heaved a big breath and shook my head to myself. There were always things that could go wrong with any kind of heist, including this one. Staying put and waiting for a windfall was the equivalent of going backwards. I'd already established that. Still, it wasn't like I would run into the crazy cultists at the mall after dark.

My throat went dry. I hoped I wouldn't run into the crazy cultists in the mall after dark. A chill went down my spine as I realized the werewolf could also use the tapes to track me down. He had smelled me. He knew I had been there. If he had the tapes, he could find me in the same way I meant to find him.

The only thing that could keep him from succeeding was not knowing which one of the people on the tape I was. He'd have to narrow it down from a pool of dozens of suspects that had passed him on the promenade around that time. That thought calmed me down pretty quickly and I thanked my lucky stars for having been able to keep my cool yesterday.

I told myself not to go to the mall. There hadn't been any murders in the mall's security team, so the cultists had likely not been there to retrieve the tapes. "Huh," I said aloud. Perhaps there was no reason for me to go to the mall at all. Perhaps the cultists wouldn't think of doing that.

I didn't even know of there were any tapes to begin with. Lots of businesses have broken cameras, or just camera shells attached to their walls to act as deterrents. Granted, those were mostly small businesses, not the kind you find in large malls, but even so, I shouldn't assume things about the tapes. I had no idea what the cameras covered and what they didn't. Perhaps there were no cameras on the parking lots. Even if there were, they most likely didn't have the resolution needed to read a license plate.

Those were all valid reasons for me to doubt the necessity of sneaking into the mall and getting those tapes. I shook my head again. I couldn't let things rest on those ifs and maybes. I had to know. I had to sneak in and see for myself.

But what if one of the cultists worked in the mall's security?

I knew all their faces. They were etched into my brain. If one of them was working in the mall security, then that would be my first lead. I'd follow them, instead of stealing the tapes. No matter how I twisted it, I needed to get inside that mall's security office.

I decided to sneak into the mall tonight, after it closed. I made my plans. First, I'd go to the Broken Axe Tavern. Dakota would be there and she would finally give me some kind of explanation for this whole transformation thing. Then, we'd have some wild sex back at her place. After that, sneaking into the mall.

I tried to poke a hole in the theory that thirteen murderous lunatics with magical powers were pouring over security tapes, trying to identify me. I didn't quite manage it. For all I knew, they might be watching me right now, plotting my gruesome murder. I forced those thoughts to the back of my mind. I didn't know if they had seen those tapes. I didn't even know if such tapes existed. Until I knew that, there was no point in worrying, now was there?

No amount of logic and reason could fully evict my fear, so I grabbed my bag of laundry and went to the Laundromat. I think I did it to project an appearance of normalcy to any eyes that might be watching. If the werewolf was around, he could identify my scent on the stairs leading up to my apartment. But if he wasn't, if there were only his friends checking me out, then appearing normal would put my name on the bottom of their list.

While the machines did their thing, I went to a nearby burger joint and had two big hamburgers with three large orders of fries and an extra large milkshake. I sipped a second shake on my way home from the Laundromat and tried desperately not to look over my shoulder with each step I took. I mostly succeeded.

I stopped by the electronics store again. I bought a powerful smartphone and had them stick the flip-phone I had bought that morning into the recycling. I got an incredible thrill from casually discarding something I had bought earlier that very same day. It wasn't something I had a chance to ever feel before. It made me feel like a high roller, or a spoiled rich kid. I grinned like an idiot exiting the store.

After I turned a few corners, I remembered the thirteen dead people and my spirits sank again. I brooded all the way back to my apartment, sneaking glances all around myself, wondering if the next person I saw would have one of the faces that had been etched into my memory on that clearing.

I spent the rest of the afternoon customizing and upgrading the smartphone's software. Just after sunset, I changed into Ashley, got dressed and went out. I was shivering in minutes. I jogged to a nearby clothing store and found a coat that fit me. I bought it, and a knit cap, and walked towards the bus terminal. I didn't want to spend my fat on keeping myself from freezing. The energy it contained was a precious resource.

I boarded a bus for Springfield. Not five minutes into the ride, a young man in a worn leather jacket sat in the seat next to mine. "Hello," he said, sporting a smile.

"Hello," I replied after a moment.

"Where are you headed?"

"None of your business."

He nodded. "Ok."

We sat in silence for a few more seconds. He was staring at me and grinning the whole time. It was fairly annoying. I looked around. There were plenty of empty seats. Including the one he had probably moved from. "Why don't you move to one of the other seats?"

He smiled a confident smile. "But that would take me away from you."

I blinked. "Yeah, that's kind of my point."

"I'm afraid I can't do that." His smile grew a little.

I stared at him. "Are you superglued to that seat?"

He considered my question for a few moments. "I guess you could say that."

I had no inclination to deal with him, so I faced forward and tried to come to grips with what I was going to do tonight. The mall heist, as easy as it sounded, was still a big heap of unknowns. A veritable mine field of fists ready to explode right up my ass.

"I think you should come with me," Leather Jacket said, apropos of nothing.

"What?"

"You look worried. Lonely. Sad. I think you need some cheering up. Luckily, I am available for cheer-up duty tonight," he held up a finger, "and I'm willing to perform my duties tonight free of charge." He winked. "Just for you, of course. Don't tell anyone else. I have a reputation to protect."

"Look...thanks, but I don't need any cheering up, ok?"

"Your mouth says one thing...your eyes say the opposite."

"You leave my eyes alone and listen to your ears. I'm busy tonight."

"Maybe," he said in an utterly dismissive, practically patronizing tone.

I almost rolled my eyes. What was that supposed to mean? I chose not to take the bait and settled in to ignore him. The bus didn't make stops between Riverside and Springfield. We'd be there in ten more minutes.

"I'm getting off this bus at Bunker Hill. I'm going to a party a friend of mine is putting together. I'd like for you to come with me."

"No, thank you."

"It's going to be a great party. There's a live band and my friend's girlfriend works part time as a DJ."

"Is that so," I said, noncommittally.

"Yes. The music is going to be great. You're going to love it. There will be plenty of room for dancing, too." I looked out the window at the dark countryside as it passed by. "I think you need to cut loose and have some fun tonight. All work and no play, you know?"

I remained silent as he described the many features of the party that were supposed to make it more appealing to me. There would be cool people, great food, all the drinks I wanted. He leaned in towards me when he whispered about all the drugs that would be on offer there.

I could feel his breath in my ear and I turned to face him again, my scowl front and center.

He pulled back a little and smiled his easy smile again. "Look, I don't mean to be a nuisance, but I really believe that you could use some cheering up tonight. Come with me! Forget your worries for a night and have some fun! What have you got to lose?"

I made no response and kept looking out the window. I livened up a little when I saw that we had entered Springfield. We'd be at the bus stop in just a few more minutes.

"See? You're starting to see the truth of what I'm saying."

"No, I'm starting to see my stop."

"So, Springfield is the source of your annoyance."

No, I thought to myself, you are.

"Come with me."

"No."

"You don't have to do anything. Just stay in your seat for a few more minutes. The bus will put all your worries behind you."

I craned my neck, hoping to see the bus stop in the distance and the end of my annoyance.

He took my hand in his and I immediately yanked it out. "Sorry," he said. "I just don't want to go through life with regrets. I knew that I'd regret it for the rest of my life if I didn't come talk to you. I knew it from the moment you stepped on this bus." He shrugged. "I mean, what are the chances I'd ever come across another girl like you?"

I frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"

He chuckled. "Oh, come on! You're not going to make me say it out loud, are you?"

I stared at him blankly.

He rolled his eyes. "Fine. You're absolutely gorgeous. There. I've said it. And I don't think I'll ever see a girl half as pretty as you for as long as I'll live."

I felt one of my eyebrows rise. "Does that line really work?"

He smiled and leaned in. "I'll tell you in five minutes." He winked.

I rolled my eyes and saw the bus stop. We were pulling in. I made to stand up. He wasn't a very big guy, but the seats were packed close enough together to make me unable to reach the aisle unless he got out of his seat first. "Let me out!"

He drew a sharp breath and slowly let it out. He shook his head. "No. Can't do it. Goes against my better judgment." He faced forward and acted like nothing was amiss. "You'll thank me in the morning, you'll see."
"Move!"

He shook his head.

"Dude, I don't want to go to any party. This is my stop. Get up and let me out!"

"Everyone wants to party. You'll change your mind once we get there. Trust me. I know about these things."

The bus parked. "Seriously, get up and let me squeeze through!"

He put a hand over his chest. "I'm not doing this for me. I'm doing this for you."

The PA system came on with a crackle of static. "Springfield," the driver curtly announced. "One minute stop!"

"Ok, let me out!"

"Come to the party for just fifteen minutes. I bet you'll change your mind."

"Dude, I'm on the rag tonight and in no mood to party. Now move, or I'll hurt you!"

He just shook his head and crossed his legs, increasing the barrier between me and the aisle. "You need some adventure in your life. Come with me. This night could turn out to be magical. No, scratch that! I know it will."

I growled and rolled my eyes. Everyone else that was going to Springfield had gotten off the bus and new passengers were climbing on. We'd be leaving soon. "Listen up, jackass! Here's three things you need to know! First, you don't know shit about women, so get that idea out of your head! Second, I know you think you're being cute and charming with your persistence and shit, but if a girl's willing to say she's on the rag, then you've blown past persistent and landed squarely in irritation central. Third!" I took his hand between my thumb and index finger and tazed him slightly. "You're going to move out of my fucking way in three seconds flat, whether you want to, or not!"

Most of the people on the bus, including the driver, were now staring openly our way. Leather Jacket yanked his hand away from me with a yelp of pain. He shook it and noticed all the attention. "Geez, I was just trying to be nice," he grumbled as he reluctantly rose from his seat.

"Thank you," I said, venomously. I got up and made my way down the aisle. He mumbled behind my back. I could only make out words like cunt and bitch. I drew a deep breath and let it go. I had better things to do. I got off the bus and walked to the taxis. The bus passed me after it pulled out of the station. Leather Jacket and I smiled as we exchanged middle fingers.

A short cab ride took me to the corner of Warwick and Third. I looked around for the Broken Axe Tavern. A flashing neon sign of a double-bladed axe, with its long shaft blinking from whole to broken, drew my eye. It was on the second floor of a brick and mortar building that had a bookstore occupying its first floor.

I saw a pretty girl in dark, form-fitting clothes climb an outside staircase and disappear around the back of the building. I guessed that the Tavern was up there, so I followed her. The staircase led to a wide porch that extended along the entire back wall of the building.

About halfway along the length of the porch, a very big woman sat on a stool, preventing access to the far half of the porch. Her arms were folded across her chest and she looked just about willing and able to rip someone's head off and shit down the resulting hole. The worn leather clothing and short, spiky hair really made her image. There was a baseball bat leaning against the back of her stool. A big, wooden door was just in front of her and I guessed that it might be the tavern's entrance.

I walked forward, wary of the woman's appraising eyes. She didn't make a move, or a sound, as I grasped the door's handle and opened it. Typical bar noises came from inside and I relaxed. This was the place. I stepped in and looked around. The bar ran along most of the length of the left wall. The far wall, the one facing the street, was the only one with windows. To the right of the entrance were pinball machines, pool tables and darts machines. They took up nearly a third of the large space. The other two thirds were tables and booths.

At one of the booths, I spotted Dakota. She looked gorgeous in a black turtleneck. Her short hair was swept to the side with gel, just like yesterday. She was one beret away from looking like a stereotypical French intellectual. If they had really big tits. I smiled and walked towards her, taking my cap off. I shook out my hair and unbuttoned my coat.

She saw me coming and her face lit up. Then her eyes took in my clothes and her face fell. I was a bit confused to see her reaction, but I walked over and leaned in to kiss her. She turned her face and I wound up planting a kiss on her cheek. She didn't return it. "Hey, Dakota! It's good to see you again!" I sat opposite her.

She didn't look happy as she asked me, "Are those the same clothes you wore yesterday?"

They weren't. Those clothes were back at home, airing out. But the stuff I now wore was identical to them. I had committed a little social faux pas, appearing to wear the same clothes two days in a row. "Uh, no," I said. "These are identical to those, but not the same, you know?"

Dakota looked annoyed. I suddenly found myself wishing I had spent my afternoon shopping, instead of tinkering with my new phone. Wait, what was it that I told her yesterday? "I couldn't go home and get my clothes because I didn't know if that guy was watching the place. I just bought these yesterday, two identical pairs of zip-up sweaters and sweatpants."

"Well, it's too late to do anything about it now," Dakota said in a quiet, bitter voice.

I stared at her, unsure of her meaning. Two gorgeous girls walked up to our booth at that moment. They were both tall, an inch or two shy of six feet. One was a round faced blonde with big, bright blue eyes and thick lips spread into a wide smile. She was wearing a dark violet dress that just flowed down her slender frame, all the way to her ankles. Her arms were left bare and when she put them on her hips, I just knew she was a model. She definitely had the build and the stance for it.

Her dark-haired friend was also slender, but had slightly bigger curves. She was wearing form-fitting tights and a T-shirt, both in black. Her body was amazing and practically on display. Her face was heart-shaped and nicely framed by her straight hair. She had a really sexy mouth and a dimpled chin.

"Hello, Dakota," the blonde said. "This must be Sheila."

I nearly asked her why I must be Sheila, but I remembered that was the alias I used with Dakota. "Uh, hello," I said and extended a hand. "Nice to meet you..."

The blonde giggled and put her hand in mine. "Flora."

I noticed she had long, rounded fingernails that extended half an inch past her fingertips. "Flora," I said, halfheartedly. "A lovely name for a lovely lady."

Flora looked me up and down and I had never before in my life felt so carefully scrutinized as I did in that second. Not even when I had been picked apart by an unknown entity that gave me my power. When she finished her sweep of my appearance, she smirked. I disliked her already, on account of her nails. Now, I decided I hated her.

"Yes," Flora said, "I heard about you. You're not quite how Dakota described you."

Dakota looked to be barely suppressing rage at that point and I started wondering what the hell was going on. At a loss for words, I decided to just repeat hers. "Dakota described me?"

"Yes," Flora said and squinted her eyes in mock concentration. "What was it that you said, Dakota? Artistic, sophisticated, free-spirited and open-minded?" She reached over and touched the lapel of my coat. "It's amazing what you've started to consider sophisticated nowadays, my dear. I clearly remember you having exacting standards, once."

My fists flexed and I barely kept myself from knocking this gangly bitch out cold. I did deduce from her scathing tone of voice, as well as from Dakota's seething rage and the brunette's annoyed expression, that Flora and Dakota used to be an item.

Flora and Dakota then proceeded to engage in that abhorrent practice of trading veiled insults and sarcastic compliments. They were the kind that, if you read a bare transcript of them, they could totally pass for civilized conversation. It was the tone of the voices that delivered those backhanded compliments that infuriated me so much. Wars had been declared over milder insults. I will never understand how that kind of behavior can be acceptable in civilized society. I'd find more honor in a pistol duel.

I barely managed to keep my cool. If I hadn't been waiting for both the meaning of the symbols and a night of sex with Dakota, I totally would have slugged them out cold and dragged them to a dark basement somewhere to reprogram their behavior.

As it was, I just sat and listened. I learned that the brunette was named Bianca and that she was a fashion model, just like Flora. Dakota was all smiles when she chided Flora for cheating on her with Bianca. Flora sweetly put Dakota down by pointing out she wouldn't have had to go looking for happiness elsewhere if Dakota had been able to provide her with any.

My fists were starting to hurt.

Some insults later, Flora and Bianca moved over to the bar, to get some drinks with friends. I sighed with the kind of relief you feel after a particularly nasty bout of diarrhea had passed. I rubbed the blood back into my fingers.

Dakota said, "You couldn't have dressed up a little?" in a low growl, surprising me.

"Well, I didn't know that..."

"That what?! That we were going to be around other people? Look at you! You're a disgrace to be seen with!"

She had tried to use me to make her ex feel jealous, or something, and now she's pissed at me? I guessed that Dakota wanted to get slapped around a little and I nodded to myself. After all the faint praises and half-concealed insults that had been thrown my way over the last few minutes, I was in the mood to dish out some violence. I sighed and reluctantly let it go. There was business to attend to, first. "About the symbols, I-"

"I'm so disappointed. You just humiliated me in front of...and all you seem to care about is your high school drama. This is the real world, Sheila. Where you hurt real people." She was practically in tears when she finished saying that and got up to leave.

I stared after her. A part of me wanted to follow her and beat any and all information out of her. On the other hand, I didn't know that she knew anything helpful. I had no reason to believe any of the thirteen murderers had ever even seen her shop, let alone found anything of use in there. It might be best to let her go and proceed to the mall.

I'd have to wait until the mall closed and that was still a while to go.

While Dakota was putting on her coat, I looked around the bar. I noticed that there were no men here. Furthermore, none of the women were alone. Most were in pairs, the rest in groups. I saw one pair of girls kissing at the bar. In a booth beyond them, I saw another pair of girls kissing.

Kissing girls, no men, the axe sign...holy fuck! My mouth fell open when it finally dawned on me that I was in a lesbian bar! I had found El Dorado! The Pearly Gates had opened and I was in Heaven! I was a girl who liked girls in a bar for girls who liked girls. I gaped around, smiling at all the nubile females.

I saw Dakota storm out of there in the edges of my vision. My elation at being in a lesbian bar gave way as my shame for not saving Jen and the rest of the sacrifices resurfaced. I was a man on a mission, so I got up to follow Dakota.

Besides, the Broken Axe wasn't going to go anywhere. I was sure I'd be coming back there very often.

Dakota was out of sight by the time I set foot outside the door. I ran down to street level and looked around. She was getting into a dark car across the street and she didn't react when I cried out her name. Cars zipped past, preventing me from crossing the street and getting to her. I yelled out her name, jumped in place and waved to get her attention. Cars honked as they whizzed by, reminding me to stay on the sidewalk. When the nearby light turned red and I was finally free to run across the street to her, she was also free to pull out and drive away.

I stamped my foot and growled after her retreating car. Why was she acting like such a bitch? She definitely heard me calling after her, as well as the cars honking. Another car honked as it passed me by and I jumped up onto the sidewalk. I buttoned up my coat and put my cap on. I walked in the direction she had gone. I checked on my phone and saw that her apartment and shop were that way, too. Just seven blocks away. I stuffed my hands into my coat pockets and marched on, keeping an eye out for a cab.

Two blocks later, I was shivering and cursing after an occupied cab that had passed me by, when my phone rang. I didn't know the number, but I answered, all the same. I was hoping it was Dakota, calling to apologize and come pick me up for a night of wild lovemaking.

Before I could even open my mouth, a computer-synthesized voice spoke in my ear. "They know who you are. The werewolf has smelled you at your home. Lose your phone and log in to a chatroom titled 'Coriolis'. Call yourself Asker."

The line went dead and I took the phone off my ear to stare at it in shock. It was a nightmare come to life and I found myself earnestly praying that it was just a prank call from Stephen Hawking instead. The number the call had come from had a New York area code and I searched my memory for anyone I knew from there. I was coming up blank.

The message they gave me thundered through my mind, just as my heart thundered in my chest. The crazy, magic-wielding murderers had identified me. My hands shook as I grew increasingly numb and I dropped the phone.

I crouched to pick it up. My hands clutched at the flat piece of plastic uselessly for half a minute before I finally managed to get my fingers to grab it. I immediately heeded my mysterious benefactor's warning. I took the battery out and put it in one pocket, the device in another. I looked all around me, desperate for any clue as to what to do.

The city of Springfield went on about its business, unheeding of my panic. The cars glided over the tarmac, streetlights blinked and people walked in and out of the nearby buildings. I stood up from my crouch, hoping to fill my lungs. The flow of nearby traffic seemed to have stolen all the fresh air from the street.

Some pedestrians stared at me as they passed me by and that snapped me back into a semblance of sanity. I needed to do something. I needed to stop attracting attention. According to the mystery call, they knew who Kevin was, but I was Ashley at the moment. I straightened out my coat before continuing to walk in the general direction of Dakota's place. I remembered the instructions the call ended with and decided to follow them. It didn't seem logical that it would be some kind of trap. Whoever made the call had my number. They could have easily tracked me. Instead, they warned me to get rid of my phone.

At an intersection, I saw a coffee house down one of the side streets and I jogged that way. I bought the fastest beverage they could pour and grabbed the receipt with the password for the computer screens next to the front door. I weaved my way over there and typed as fast as I could on the touchscreen. I made many typos and only found the chatroom on the third try. I logged in as Asker and found only one other person already logged in. Their handle was Mentor. As soon as I was in, they shot off some text.

Mentor: I am here to give you guidance and answer any and all questions you have about The Thirteen. Know that they are not as powerful as they seem. Know that you are not alone in this. Ask me anything you want, if you are alone. I will tell you much and more.

My eyebrows rose at the capital lettering of The Thirteen. It was as good a name as any for the murderers. My fingers hovered over the touchscreen as I struggled to decide which question to ask first. As appealing as the idea of answers was, I still had no idea who was on the other end. Whoever they were, they shot off another line of text.

Mentor: First tell me if you're free to type openly!

I hesitated, but decided I was going to ask away. A quick glance over my shoulders confirmed that none of the dozen guests, nor the two employees, were paying me any mind. I typed away hastily.

Asker: i asm

I rolled my eyes and groaned softly at the typos. Caps were engaged with a separate icon on the touchscreen. I made a more deliberate effort and retyped my response.

Asker: I am.

Mentor: The first thing you must know is that their powers are limited. Just as yours is.

Asker: They lose weight to poiwer their magic?

I squinted at my typo and then shook my head to myself. Murderous magicians were searching for me by name and a typo was irking me. Way to keep my priorities straight. Again I wondered if this was The Thirteen typing at me, fishing for intelligence data before they made their move against me. I bit my lip as I regretted my last line. There was a lull in the chat.

Mentor: Lose weight?

I drew a deep breath and slowly let it out. The cat was out of the bag, but I wasn't going to go run after it.

Asker: i ask the qwuestions here. what are their limitartions?

Mentor: Just like you, they are limited by the number of minds that perceive their magic.

My eyebrows rose. I didn't have that any such limit. I had welded a door shut in front of seven asshats yesterday. And I had tazed three of them, plus Leather Jacket on the bus earlier. What this person was typing began to reek of manure.

Mentor: The ritual gave them magical power, the ability to bend reality to their will. However, reality is reinforced by every mind that perceives it. The Thirteen can't cast spells that are disbelieved by thirteen minds.

Asker: why not?

Mentor: Because that was the limit set by the ritual. May I explain things in order?

Asker: sure

I shifted in my seat and looked around again. No one was paying me any mind and I sipped my shake, barely registering its taste. When I turned back towards the screen, a big block of text was on it. It must have been pre-typed. I put my chin in my hand and settled in to read it all.

Mentor: The Thirteen jointly own a dangerous tome of magic. The tome is an indestructible conduit for an otherworldly entity that grants magical power in exchange for lives taken in its unholy ritual. However, any and all breaks to reality are fundamentally opposed by the minds that perceive them. This causes a feedback to be experienced by the mind that is trying to affect a change to reality. Currently, The Thirteen (and you) can freely use your powers when you are perceived by a few minds. You would only notice the feedback when you shattered the reality of several minds. The feedback would cause a headache and fatigue. It would be proportional to both how big the break from reality was, as well as to how many minds perceived it. A tiny change perceived by twelve people would hurt you as much as a very impossible change perceived by just a few. And neither would be possible if there were thirteen people seeing it happen. So take heart, The Thirteen effectively cannot use their powers when they are seen by more than several people. Just as you can't, either.

My mouth opened. This was a whole new take on the headache that had nearly made me unconscious yesterday night. I had welded a lock shut in an instant, without any equipment, and it was perceived by seven rape-happy asshats in that bar, one of whom even burned his hand on the doorknob. Shit, if that was the feedback from seven minds, I was pretty sure I'd never like to feel the feedback from a dozen. I returned to my reading.

Of course, there is a work-around to this. If your change to reality is seen as the result of something mundane, there is no feedback, regardless of the number of minds perceiving you. If you can convince a crowd you're doing a magic trick, you get no feedback, even if your "trick" fills them with awe and wonder. Also, any magical creation you can accomplish unseen must not be considered impossible by thirteen other minds when it is used, or it would be dispelled. If you were to create a unicorn and ride it, if more than a few people saw it as an impossibility, rather than a white horse with a glued-on horn, you'd feel feedback and risk the unicorn getting dispelled. This limitation can be overcome and that is why I am contacting you. The Thirteen will repeat their ritual during the next full moon and sacrifice another thirteen people.
My fists tightened as I grit Ashley's perfect teeth. I couldn't believe this news.

This second ritual will expand the limit of their power times thirteen. Their cut-off will be at one hundred and sixty-nine disbelieving minds, while the feedback would become unbearable at over a hundred, depending on the improbability of the spell.

My insides traded places at the idea of The Thirteen casting mass effect spells. That must never happen.

They can repeat the ritual during each of the next twelve full moons. With each repetition of the ritual the limit of their power would increase by a factor of thirteen. If they repeated the ritual nine times, their limits would be extended beyond the number of people on Earth. They could change the world, while experiencing manageable feedback. If they repeated the ritual ten times, humanity would never be able to rise from under The Thirteen, who would doubtlessly install themselves as the rulers of the planet. I cannot stress enough how bad this would be. With nine or ten repetitions of the ritual, they would have the power to make everyone in the world explode if they talked about rising up against their magical overlords. The Thirteen could do any damn thing they pleased, no matter how ludicrous. They must be stopped at all costs.

Mentor was preaching to the choir. I really wanted to stop The Thirteen. But how? Wanting was one thing, getting it done was something else, entirely.

There are only a few ways of stopping them. The first is to take the book from them. If they lose joint ownership of the book, their string of rituals is broken. The power they had gained by then would remain with them, as well as the limitations, but they couldn't increase either. The second way is to stop them from sacrificing any more people on the nights of the full moon. That might be tricky.

Might be tricky? This guy, whoever he was, had a gift for understatement.

The third way is to obtain and hide the corpses after they do their ritual.

After they do the ritual? After they kill more people? Option C sounded like the c stood for crap.

The ritual ends with leaving their sacrifices out in the open, where the world can surely find them and soon. It's a sort of gruesome notice that the supplicants are making a power play and an invitation for the powers that be to stop them. It's a requirement of cosmic balance. The residents of a reality must have their chance to stop the rituals, or the powers gained by it fade away. I suspect that they guard the corpses until they're discovered, so this is an unlikely option for you. The ritual was initiated with thirteen supplicants, which defines how many times it can be performed, but it doesn't have to continue with all thirteen supplicants. If there were less supplicants making sacrifices during the next twelve full moons, the limitations to their powers would be increased only by multiplying it with the number of sacrifices, but they would continue to grow. Even a smaller number of supplicants could reach world-changing power with thirteen repetitions. Thus, the fourth way of stopping them is to kill them all, not just one. That might prove to be beyond you.

Yeah, it might, but that didn't necessarily disqualify option number four. I might be able to do it, if it meant no more people would be murdered. The thirteen victims I could see every time I blinked were more than enough for me. I didn't want to add any more.

Most of The Thirteen had not chosen magic as their power. They had chosen specialized powers. The more specialized the power, the stronger it is. For instance, the pyromancer's powers cannot be overcome with your magic, no matter what you do. His power is limited to fire, yours isn't. You will never be able to cool his flames, nor will you ever be able to match them, unless if you were to participate in more rituals and increase your power and limits, while he didn't.

I pressed my lips together in anger. I wanted to scream that I had NOT participated in the ritual. I wanted to scream that I had nothing to do with it. I heaved deep breaths and kept reading, instead.

If the pyromancer chooses to participate in more rituals (and the fact that most of The Thirteen chose specialized powers gives me hope that they might not), he will gain immunity to all fire and even the most extreme temperatures. Eventually he would be able to simply dictate the exact temperature of each and every square inch of the planet, regardless of the sun and the seasons. If you ever get into a conflict with any of The Thirteen, you will have to be creative. Blunt force can not prevail.

Wow, this guy was doing wonders for my self-confidence.

Ask me anything you want to know! I'll tell you the truth.

I rallied myself and tried to crack my knuckles. Ashley's hands were too dainty for that. I blew on my fingers instead and tapped away.

Asker: so, if i plant claymores at the clearing and detonate when they gather, it's game over?

Mentor: They are not bound to any location for the ritual. They only have to do it under the light of the full moon. They can ever erect walls on every side, they just have to have no roof overhead.

Well, fuck. So much for option four. I needed to think of something else. I needed more information.

Asker: can they join their powers to overcome the limits?

Mentor: No. Each of them is limited to less than thirteen disbelievers. They can work together, but they all lose their power when seen by thirteen people.

Asker: what if i only did one kind of magic from now on? would i be as strong as them?

Mentor: No. Definitely not. Your magic is versatile. Open for any and all utility. If you chose to only use it to freeze things from now on, you would still be vastly inferior to any of the specialists among The Thirteen in any regard. Your only hope is to get creative.

How the fuck did this guy know that my power was versatile? A pang of dread shot through me.

Asker: how do yoiu know my power?

Mentor: I overheard The Thirteen say so. They seemed pretty convinced.

Asker: what are the powers of the thirteen?

Mentor: I haven't been able to determine all of them. There is a werewolf, a weretiger, a pyromancer, a necromancer, a pair of vampires, a pair of all-round versatile magicians (those will definitely do more rituals) and a manipulator of electromagnetism. There are two women whose powers I haven't been able to determine, as well as two guys.

Vampires? Fuck. Me. Sideways.

Asker: vampires?

Mentor: Yes. Unaging, superstrong, superfast, life-draining monsters. They might be a tough nut to crack.

Might be? Yeah, sure. Why not? They're only superfast and superstrong and immortal. Fuck, this guy was very chill.

Asker: do they burn in the sun? does garlic turn them away?

Mentor: No. When they took the powers of their archetypes, they didn't take their weaknesses, too. It was supplicant's choice.

Well, that's just not fair. Not fair at all.

Asker: so how the fuck does one kill them?

Mentor: The ritual grants no weakness, only power. They can be vampires that tan and eat garlic and laugh at wooden stakes. That was probably the whole point of choosing the specialized powers. Anyway, I would prefer it if you stole the book from them, or disrupted their ownership of it. Interrupting their rituals might also prove feasible. No offense, but trying to kill them all would lead to you dying before you could get each and every one of them. I strongly suspect that interfering with the corpses or ritual would also prove fatal for you.

I rubbed my temples in frustration. I didn't know if I could believe this person and I was beginning to hope I couldn't. The Thirteen being immortal was sounding way too depressing.

Asker: if i got a vampire in public and blew their head off?

Mentor: If you had thirteen or more witnesses who stuck around after a murder, then the vampire would remain dead. Its immortality would be dispelled by the disbelievers.

Murder in plain view of the public. Thirteen counts of it. As far as plans went, it sounded un-ideal.

Mentor: Just to clarify, you don't count. You accept magic as fact. Both your magic and theirs. You need thirteen witnesses, who do not accept people rising from the dead as a possibility, to stay and watch the vampire for as long as it would take a regular human to die.

Regular humans. That was one thing The Thirteen were not. I rubbed my temples as I tried to think of creative things. I was too stressed to come up with anything, so I fell back on some clichés.

Asker: what if i make something invisible?

Mentor: Things remain invisible only so long as less than thirteen minds are fooled into not seeing them. You can't use magic to overcome its own limitations.

Asker: what about mind control? can i make one of them steal the book and end this?

Mentor: Your question gives me hope. You are creative. Alas, the answer is no. Mind control isn't really possible. To establish control over another's mind, you would have to know exactly what was going on in it. To exert control, you would have to be able to imagine that person's mind doing every single thing you wanted them to do, in excruciating detail. Even if you could do that, the moment the controlled person perceived something new, your control would be broken by their unforeseen reaction.

How splendid. I couldn't make myself invisible, walk up to the bad guys with a gun and end it. Nether could I make one of the bad guys my bitch. This was sounding more and more difficult with every passing second. I needed to know more about my enemies.

Asker: they changed. they looked differebnt after the ritual. only the weres were the same.

Mentor: That was deliberate on their part. They chose sacrifices that resembled them so that they could destroy their own forms in effigy. The weres had to do it to gain their transformational powers. The rest did it to make themselves prettier. They can sacrifice anyone in future rituals. They only need one sacrifice per supplicant.

Vanity. What a motive for killing other humans.

Asker: who are they? can you tell me anything about them?

Mentor: I've identified several of them. Susan Hamilton is the necromancer. James Horton is the electromagnetist. The weretiger is Daniel Sturbridge. One of the girls whose power I don't know yet is named Lisa Tuttle. At least, those were their names before their transformations. They don't look like their old selves, excepting Sturbridge and the werewolf, so they will most likely take on new identities.

My eyebrows rose in surprise. That was fairly specific information. Even if they didn't go by their old names anymore, those were still an asset to me. I could investigate their pasts, see what they were really like. I grabbed my receipt and willed those names to be written upon its back. Nothing happened. I willed for the print on the receipt to move around until it depicted those names. No one saw the writing magically shift around on the receipt, so I took no feedback. I folded the piece of paper and placed it into a pocket. There was one identity I needed to know.

Asker: who are you? how do you know all this?

There was a brief pause before they wrote back.

Mentor: I used to own the book. Susan used to run with me. She murdered me, took the book and gathered The Thirteen.

Asker: you type versy well for a dead man. what hapopened?

Mentor: I survived my death in a different form. I can't do anything to fight Susan's gang directly, but I can spy on them, from time to time. And I can help you stop them.

Asker: why sghould i trust you? you used to have the book

Mentor: Since I've died, I've gained a new perspective on things. Let's just say that I'd like to see my wrongs righted. And I'd really love to see Susan suffer.

That actually seemed to me like an answer that was on the level. I'd definitely like to get some payback on anyone that murdered me.

Asker: how did you survivde your murder?

Mentor: I won't tell you that. If you were to fall into Susan's hands and get interrogated, you might tell and then she'd finish the job properly. Can't risk that. Not before she's stopped and the book made safe again.

Well, ok. That sounded fair enough. Then I frowned. What about me? Would I be safe?

Asker: your call said they knew who i was. how?

Mentor: The werewolf had smelled you at the mall and they got a copy of the security tapes. At least one of The Thirteen is very good with computers. They made a list of people that might be the intruder from the clearing and went visiting. When they came to your place, the werewolf confirmed it was you, by your scent.

Well, that was fucked as all fucking fuck. My hands trembled, but I managed to tap out a question.

Asker: whgat will they do?

Mentor: Find you and kill you.

Asker: how exactly?

Mentor: The instant you turn your phone back on, or call anyone you know, they will trace it to your location and show up to kill you. Do not hope to be safe in crowds. They're not above using mundane means of murder. They will be keeping a continuous watch on your house, from now on. They're certain to tap the phone lines of anyone you know, as well.

Asker: so if i get a new phone and don't call anxyone i know or go back to my plasce i'm safe?

Mentor: Relatively safe, yes.

I wiped my hands on my sweatpants repeatedly. If I couldn't go home, then I was cut off from most of my money. I only had a thousand dollars on me. The rest was hidden in my bedroom. All my Kevin clothes were there, too. Changing back into me was suddenly unfeasible. Shopping for Ashley was annoying, but it was nowhere near as trying as shopping for Kevin was. Most stores just don't carry clothes that big.

Plus, every link to my old life and college education was back at my place. In light of The Thirteen hunting me, those seemed irrelevant. I only wished the video of Ashley rolling around on my cash wasn't in the porn folder of my laptop. I identified her by name in it. If The Thirteen saw it, they'd recognize her as the blonde from the clearing and know where to find her.

Mentor: As a matter of fact, we should use a code to identify ourselves every time we chat. Do you know any poem by heart?

Asker: yes the national antghem

Mentor: Good. From now on, every time we start chatting, we'll identify ourselves with the anthem. Next time, you'll start our chat by typing the second verse of the anthem and I'll respond by typing the second-to-last verse. The time after that, you'll start with the third verse and I'll reply with the third-to-last verse. That way, we'll know it's really us in the chatroom. If we're under duress, we simply omit the verse, or choose the wrong one, so pay attention to the anthem and the order of the verses. We don't want the computer geek among The Thirteen to get in on this.

Asker: ok

A fresh fear came over me and I asked about it.

Asker: can't they just cast a tracking spell or something? they know my name. they have my clothes and stuff

Mentor: No, they can't. Magic gives you the ability to reshape reality according to your will, but you have to conceive the change in your mind, first. Magic cannot be used to gain knowledge and information out of thin air.

Oh, that made sense. I couldn't read the faces of the cards I hadn't seen earlier today. And if magic could be used to gain knowledge, they would have known who I was and where I was hiding long ago. This made me feel relief. The Thirteen weren't all-powerful and all-knowledgeable. I could hide in their blind spots and strike out at my leisure. A lot of text showed up on the screen while I tried to come up with a plan to use this restriction to my advantage.

Mentor: This is a hard limitation that cannot be overcome no matter how many innocents are sacrificed. The mind that is altering reality must have the entire alteration fully worked out in its imagination in order to be able to enact it in the real world. It is for this reason that you will probably not see the mages among The Thirteen conjure complicated machinery, or organic materials out of thin air. They could do that, but only if they could imagine each and every part of the thing they are conjuring and that is far more intellectually difficult than it would seem. For instance, to conjure a gun, they would have to know the exact shape and chemical composition of each of its parts, no matter how small, as well as how those parts worked together. To conjure organic matter, they would have to know each type of cell it was made of and how they worked together to create a whole, down to how biomolecules interacted. If they failed to imagine any single part of their creation, they would wind up with a faulty creation. To sum up, the mages among The Thirteen have the power to create live human beings armed with guns out of thin air, but they surely lack the intellectual capacity to conceive of it properly.

I gaped at the words on the screen. Conjure humans out of thin air? "Fuck me," I muttered in astonishment. This was the power of creation in its raw form and I had it, too? My mind immediately ran in the direction of making an ally for myself. I couldn't even hazard a guess as to how much weight that would cost me. Maybe, I'd make a small, flying bug, armed with a poisonous sting, and send it at The Thirteen.

Fuck, that was a good idea! I hastily typed up a question.

Asker: how much weight does creating a live being cost?

Mentor: This is the second time you've mentioned weight loss. I have absolutely no idea what you are referring to. Please explain yourself!

I frowned. How could he not know about the weight price?

Asker: for every change in reality that i make, i lose weight of my true form.

Mentor: I have never heard of this. I assure you that The Thirteen have no such limitation. No one that ever participated in the rituals had. You must tell me everything there is to know about your power and its usage! Leave nothing out!

I again worried that this might be The Thirteen chatting with me, fishing for an explanation as to why and how I had piggy-backed onto their ritual. I shook it off. If this was them, then they were toying with me and I was fucked no matter what I did. If this wasn't them, if this was truly an ally from beyond the grave, then holding back would only hurt me and my chances. I explained everything, making many typos along the way.

I muttered curses directed at whichever idiot had thought up of typing on touchscreens. Yes, I was actually scared for my life and more than a little embarrased at telling a stranger that I turned into a woman and those were the real causes of my anger, but it still felt good to vent. Touchscreens suck balls. Keyboards rule. I quieted down when I noticed people giving my muttering ass funny looks.

Mentor gave me an email address and asked me to send him pictures of the symbols, arranged as they were on the petals of my flower.

Mentor: But open a new email account that can't be traced back to you! Do not send it my way from any of your existing accounts! Those are watched! Tell me you've seen this!

Asker: relax dude i wasn't going to. i'll open a new email i just gotta find me a way to scan and upload the pictures

Mentor then sent me the link to a site that let people draw online and share the drawings. I went there and drew the symbols as they appeared on my flower. I sent Mentor the link to the image. He quickly replied.

Mentor: Those are symbols used by the secret language of the book. When the book was first brought into existence in our world, hundreds of symbols from all the known civilizations of the time had been appropriated and used to denote syllables of the secret tongue. It was considered the perfect code, both because the symbols no longer meant anything even remotely similar to their original usage, and since everyone would see the combinations of the symbols as gibberish and disregard the book because of it.
I nearly punched the screen in frustration. Why won't people just tell me what they mean?

Asker: thanjks for the hisdtory lesson. what do the symbolks on my flower mean?!

Mentor: The inscription on your flower reads: "The price paid for this power had been incomplete. The bearer shall pay the price of flesh for each use" (of it). I guess you do lose weight for every spell you work. This might prove to be a disadvantage.

Might prove to be a disadvantage? Might? Seriously, this guy and his fucking understatements...

Asker: i am dubbing you mentor understatement

Mentor: Glad to see you've retained a sense of humor in these trying circumstances.

Yeah, it wasn't easy. First this guy tells me the bad guys know me by name and that I have to abandon all that I know if I want to stay alive. Then he tells me my power is limited in ways theirs are not, cause it came at the expense...

I bent over to one side and hurled chunks as I realized my power came at the expense of Jen Malone's unborn baby.

I mean, murdering pregnant women? That's a whole new low. Not that it would have stopped them from doing it, but they probably hadn't even known she was pregnant when they killed her. I certainly hadn't. Jen had been plenty chubby on her own.

I forced myself to sit up on my stool when I realized the entire coffee house was staring at me. The patrons were pushing their cups away and squinting at their complimentary cookies with suspicion. The employees behind the counter jumped into action. One ran my way with a bucket and mop. The other disappeared into a back office. I wiped my mouth with my sleeve. It would soon be time for me to leave.

I sighed and processed all the new information. I had been so focused on the symbols, hoping they would lead me somewhere, and it turned out that I had already deduced their meaning. I sighed and tried to come up with a plan to fight the bad guys while I still had Mentor online to advise me on it.

A fresh text interrupted my frantic thoughts.

Mentor: I went to check on The Thirteen while you were drawing. I have some terrible news. They have your parents. I'm so sorry. They will try to get you to surrender in exchange for their lives, but it is a trap. A lie. They will murder your parents either way. They've seen their faces and The Thirteen deal with all complications in the same way. I'm so sorry, but you're powerless to save your parents.

I shook my head in silent denial. There was no fucking way I was going to run and hide while these rabid cunts murdered my parents. My folks might not have been the most warm, fuzzy and loving of people, but they were still blood. My blood boiled and I felt ready to kill each and every one of these thirteen fucks.

Mentor: I can only imagine how painful this news is for you, but I beg of you to not go to your house, or your parents' house. The Thirteen will see you and kill you. Are you in Springfield right now?

Asker: yes

Mentor: Five of The Thirteen have just flown to Springfield. They have seen where your cellphone was last active. They will be there in no time. You need to move!

Asker: i'm not in the same place now i still have questions

Mentor: Doesn't matter. One of the five is the werewolf. He will track you. You must go! Open a new e-mail and contact me as soon as you can.

Asker: the werewolf can fly?

Mentor: No, but one of the mages can make them all fly. I've lost sight of them. They will land on the outskirts of Springfield at any minute. Then Horton will open and start a car for them to drive to your last known location. The werewolf will track you by scent from there. You must move and cover your scent as you go!

Fuck, flying was way too expensive for me, energy-wise. I'd need to run. The employee was mopping up my vomit. I groaned out a feeble, "Sorry," at him as I leaned to cover the screen with my body. He grunted in response and didn't even look up. I typed out another question.

Asker: why don't they just teleport here?

Mentor: Teleportation is possible, but extremely difficult. The mage must know the place they are going in every detail and be able to recall it perfectly. If anything changes in the place they're teleporting into since they've last seen it, they cannot teleport there. Even the tiniest change prevents it. Hurry! They could be in Springfield already.

Asker: ok, i'm going, bye!

Mentor: don't try to teleport the flesh price would kill you!

Asker: i wasn't going to

Mentor: Good. Erase this conversation and go, they could find your scent at any moment. Make a new email and contact me as soon as possible!

I logged out of the chatroom, erased the browser history and closed it just as the assistant manager, a bearded bear of a man in his thirties, came over to me. "Ma'am, are you alright?"

"Yeah," I said and jumped out of my stool. I ran out of there, unheeding of the strange looks cast my way. I barely felt the cold night air as I ran blindly down the street.

The Thirteen were tracking me and my parents were held hostage. I was cut off from my old life and my only ally was a chatroom-haunting ghost. The only thing I really had going for me was my power and that had been gained at the expense of Jen's unborn child. I hadn't killed it, but I felt guilty over it, all the same. It was hard to keep it together under such circumstances.

I needed to come up with a plan, but I was too emotional to do it. Fear, loneliness, panic, hopelessness, guilt. They all worked together to drown out my intellect. My eyes teared up and my vision went blurry, no matter how hard I blinked.

I wept and bawled openly as I ran for my life. The Mentor's words to cover my scent rang hollow in my head. How was I supposed to do that? I ran faster, though I knew that the distance didn't matter so long as there was a werewolf coming after me. I just couldn't think of anything else.