Bikini Beach: In The Beginning free porn video

A little over a year ago, I started the epic tale of the old woman of Bikini Beach, in an attempt to answer some of the questions that had arisen about her. Where did she come from? What secrets does she keep? Why are her powers limited? It's been over a year, and though the tale isn't quite complete, I felt a need to force the issue. The sections that I'm adding are nearer the end, and by dribbling out the earlier sections, I'll be putting pressure on myself to complete those sections that have languished too long. I would like to thank RL (wherever he is) and Ellie for their assistance in keeping the Beach. I'd also like to thank those authors who have chosen to play in my little story universe, especially Danielle J, who has not only written so well, but has also been a great inspiration to my own stories. Also, Bill Hart has given me permission to use the SRU wizard in the manner I describe herein. Last, and certainly not least, I'd like to thank Steve Zink for his editing and addition of polish. I hope you find this tale enjoyable. ElrodW Bikini Beach: In the Beginning There are a lot of questions I've left open about the old woman. Where did she come from? Why is her power limited to gender changes? What is the secret she is concealing from Anya? How does she know the SRU wizard? After much time with the BB story universe, I felt it was time to answer some of the questions. ********************************************************************** Bikini Beach: In the Beginning ***** Prologue ****** Greg glanced one more time at his watch and grimaced. He had just enough time to grab a card and a present for Anya's birthday - if he hurried. Inwardly, he cursed himself for procrastinating. He _should_ have had a present weeks ago. It wasn't like Anya's birthday was a secret from him. As he rounded a corner, he spied a little curious shop. 'Funny,' he thought to himself. 'I thought that was the card shop.' Instead, he was looking at a little curio shop, complete with a storefront and a wooden door. Greg's curiosity rose, and then he felt the grip of panic at his throat as he read the sign over the door. "Spells R Us". He remembered what Anya had said - the old man was a friend of grandmother, and he was also a trickster. After Anya's last confrontation with grandmother, they both knew she had a secret that she didn't want Anya or Greg to know. And Anya had specifically asked Greg never to go to this shop, because the old man might do something to protect the old woman's secret - or even just to amuse himself. Still, Greg's feet moved as if they were animated beyond his control. His eyes widened with fear as his feet shuffled ever closer to the wooden door, and the unknown and reputedly unpredictable man within. He wanted to cry for help, to stop his feet from moving, to do _something_ to not enter the store, but he was powerless. Overhead, a bell tinkled as the door opened and Greg felt himself carried inside, betrayed by his own legs. "Ah, I'm glad you decided to visit." The voice was warm and pleasant, belying Anya's warnings. But then, it could just be a trick to lull him into a false sense of security. He glanced around, and his eyes quickly settled on the little old man wearing the bathrobe. The man chuckled. "Oh, don't worry, Greg," he laughed. "I promised the old bat that I wouldn't do anything to hurt you." He waved his hand and two stools appeared. He climbed onto one and gestured that Greg should sit at the other. "Besides, it wouldn't be any fun transforming you into a girl! Not after some of the capers you've pulled at the park!" He grinned. "I have to say, I admire your taste in women, though!" Greg frowned. "I don't follow!" The old man waved his hands, and Greg felt his body shift. Weights tugged at his chest, and he looked down, spying a crevasse of cleavage caused by the enormous breasts on his chest. Only a tiny bikini held the orbs, and just barely. Greg looked up at the old man, ignoring the blonde locks swirling around his face. "Very funny," he said acidly. "I thought you said no tricks." The old man laughed, then he waved his hands and Greg was Greg again. "Sorry, but I couldn't help it. When the old woman told me you'd once appeared in her park as Pandora Peaks, I just had to see what that must have looked like!" He grinned. "As I said, I share your appreciation for...curved bodies." "What...what do you want?" Greg asked hesitantly. He was truly frightened, and despite the old man's promise, the wizard had turned him into a girl - if only momentarily. "I've got a little story to tell you," the wizard said simply. "A story you need to hear - if you're going to help Anya when she learns the truth." He waved his hand, and two sodas appeared. He handed one to Greg. "I believe you prefer root beer?" he asked. Then he smiled pleasantly. "Oh, and don't worry about the present you need to get. This won't take long." ********** A few miles away at Bikini Beach, Anya turned off the register and tucked the day's receipts under her arm. With a quick glance around the parking lot to ensure it was safe, she stepped out of the ticket booth, pausing to lock the door behind her, before she trudged across the still-warm asphalt. "Anya, wait up!" Anya turned at the sound of the voice, momentarily concerned, but her face lit up when she saw Jana, her friend and a detective on the police force, approaching. "Hi," she said with a smile. Jana hastened her steps until she was beside Anya. "I haven't seen you around for a while," she said between breaths. Anya shrugged. "Grandmother sent me to a trade show. She said I need to learn more about the business." Jana frowned. "That's why I couldn't get in touch with you." She fell in step beside Anya. "Was it any good?" "Huh?" Anya seemed distracted for a moment. "Oh, the show." She shrugged. "Big amusement park and attraction show. Lots of people, lots of vendors. Most of them had nothing to do with water parks." She shook her head. "No, I really didn't like it. It's more fun running a park than studying one." Jana laughed lightly. "I believe that." "So, did you find anything yet?" Jana frowned. "That's why I wanted to talk to you. I can't find _anything_!" She shook her head. "A case like that, it should be easy for me to get something. Hell, I even got the chief to sign an official inter-agency request." Anya glanced at her friend. "Nothing?" Jana shook her head. "Nothing. It's like the files don't exist. And for a murder case like that..." She sighed. "I don't get it." Anya started to speak, but before she could utter a word, she stumbled and her eyes widened. Jana saw her reaction. "What?" She glanced around, wondering what had so stunned her friend. Anya shook her head. "I've got to go," she stammered. With a look of panic, she raced across the parking lot to the gray office building, leaving Jana standing alone on the asphalt. ********** "Grandmother, Greg is in trouble," Anya insisted as she burst through the office doors. "He's gone into that old man's shop!" Grandmother looked up at her. "Oh?" Anya felt a surge of panic. "The old bastard is probably going to hurt him," she pleaded as she leaned on her grandmother's desk. "You've got to do something!" The old woman sat impassively, considering Anya's words. "What should I do?" she finally asked. Anya felt her frustration overflow. "I don't know!" she yelled. "Stop him!" "Anya, Greg is going to be okay. Now, sit down." Anya's eyes narrowed. "But..." "Sit down!" Warily, Anya sat down across the desk from her grandmother. The two sat in silence for a few seconds, and Anya suddenly realized that something was wrong. Grandmother seemed so...serious. "There's something I need to tell you," the old woman finally said, her voice soft and her words carefully spoken. "The old man is _not_ going to do anything to Greg. He promised me." Anya's eyes narrowed. "How can you trust that old bastard?" she asked bluntly. Grandmother drew back as if struck. "That's no way to talk about my friend," she chided. Grandmother bit her lip. "I know I should have told you a long time ago. But I couldn't bring myself to. Now..." she paused and glanced out the window at the park entrance, reduced to mere shadows of gray in the rapidly fading light, "now, I _have_ to." Anya frowned. "I...I don't understand." The old woman shook her head. "No," she said simply. "But it's time you did. You're almost 23, aren't you." Anya was confused by the sudden change in direction. "Yes. But..." The old woman shook her head sadly. "When you turn 23, you're going to gain a very special ability - the ability to move between realms like...like I used to be able to do." There was a hint of sadness in her eyes, as if the words had stirred a painful memory. "You'll have a chance to...learn...a lot more than you already know." Anya shifted uncomfortably in her chair. "But...I'm happy learning from you." The old woman shook her head gently. "No, you're not." She shook it again to cut off Anya's protest. "Lately, you've been questioning my judgement - a lot." There was no recrimination in her voice, only a strange empathy. "But...you said I need to use my own judgement," Anya said, suddenly worried _where_ this conversation was going. If grandmother was unhappy that Anya was questioning her judgement, did that mean that...Anya was through here at Bikini Beach? She felt a foreboding chill. "If you're not happy with..." The old woman shook her head. "No. That's not it." She turned away, staring out the window, to where patrons were slowly wending their way out of the park. "You thought I was too harsh with Alison. And those racist punks. You set up a BB Anonymous support group, against my wishes. You didn't agree with my punishment for Carter." Anya's eyes narrowed. "No, I didn't. I thought..." The old woman cut off Anya's comment with a wave of her hand. "That's not the point," she said softly. "The point is, you have every right to question me and my actions. You _have_ to develop your own judgement. It's part of growing up." Anya was as confused as her face showed. "Then...what?" The old woman suddenly looked ancient, as if the weight of the world had stripped away every remaining vestige of youth. "It's a dangerous time for you," she said cryptically. "You're on the cusp of new powers. Your values and judgment are going to be tested in ways you could never predict. When you travel to the other realm, you'll be confronted with forces and people who are...black as night. They'll test you, trying to turn you to their own evil ends." Anya frowned. "Are you afraid that I'll give in to evil?" The old woman surprised Anya by nodding. "The forces of darkness twist facts, distort the truth, lie, anything to try to get you to use your power in anger." "But...you've never lied to me! I already _know_ the truth. So they're..." The old woman's eyes closed, and her head shook side-to-side, slowly and methodically. She bore a pained expression the likes of which Anya had never seen. "No, dear," she said softly. "There's one truth you need to know. One truth I've kept from you for...for too long. I _have_ to tell you now - so that you'll be prepared." She pulled a thick manila folder from a desk drawer and dropped it with an audible 'thud' on her desk. "There's a reason Jana couldn't find what you asked her to find. And that's what we have to talk about." ************************************* ***** THE OLD COUNTRY **** ************************************* The girl glanced nervously around her, peering up and down the narrow cobblestone streets of the town. As late as it was, there wasn't much activity. Still, she had a reason to smile. The shop had done quite well that day, selling the baubles and trinkets and jewelry that the locals believed were imbued with some mystical powers. What occasional tourist made it to these remote parts found the tales charming, and with her pretty smile and a sweet voice, she was able to easily separate them from their money. So had today been; a rather wealthy English couple and their entourage had come through, riding in a train of those smelly, noisy automobiles. And yet, they had stopped. The girl had turned her charms on full. The woman looked down her nose at the girl, muttering something like 'Gypsy peasant'. She was a typical aristocrat, with her lofty disdain for 'ordinary' people even as her curiosity drove her to seek out adventure among the lower classes. Every mannerism, every stitch of clothing, fairly screamed of Victorian nobility. Corseted under the tight bodice of her dress, with its high neckline and long sleeves doing their best to hide even a hint of her white skin, and a wide-bottomed skirt, all adorned with lace and frills, she was the image of perfection. Immaculate white gloves covered her hands, and what shoes she wore were hidden by the flowing fabric of the skirt. The girl peered into the woman's mind, and was surprised. The woman was lonely; her marriage to the gentleman was more a prison than a union. Her stiff attitude was less from a feeling of superiority than from a sense of isolation. The gentleman, on the other hand, had been charming. As perfect a Victorian lady as his wife was, he was the matched bookend in gentlemen. Attired just so, with a dashing moustache and a glint of adventure in his eye, he was warm and outgoing and friendly. The girl knew that she'd caught his eye, what with her teenage innocence and well-developed figure. The simple peasant blouse hung loosely about her ample bosom, its low neckline giving a generous hint of the charms it concealed. He'd stared, oh, how he'd stared longingly at her, and she knew that he'd have given much to be with her, to be intimate in a way that his wife's demeanor plainly demonstrated that she wasn't. Even without her powers, she could clearly divine his wishes. The girl understood far more than her youthful appearance indicated; the woman, as the wife, was boring to the man. He longed for forbidden fruit, a taste of unattainable passion. The girl knew the power she could have had over the gentleman. And yet, she knew the limits of the power, how using it in _that_ way was deeply frowned upon. It led to darkness, the elders drummed into her head. The power was never to be used in that way. She decided, on an impulse, to humor the Englishman - in a way. He wanted her charms? Well, he would have all the feminine charm he could handle. She'd sold the woman a brooch that would make the woman very attractive and desirable to men. And the man? She smiled to herself. When he put on the ring, and then made love to a woman, he'd find himself swapping bodies with her. That was one of the reasons she'd sold the woman the brooch. If she had a lecherous husband who ignored her, maybe having the tables turned would teach him a lesson. The girl knew that her teacher - to say nothing of her mother - would want to know why she'd chosen the spells she had. She smiled to herself. She was going to get another one of _those_ lectures about how she was not exercising her powers more broadly, that she was too focused on her childish fixation with spells that 'altered the man and the woman' as they would say. Simply put, she _enjoyed_ toying with the genders of her 'customers', if not at least in part because the spells were so easy for her. And that would be the subject of her chiding - other spells would be easy as well, if she would only refrain from using the easy spells and practice those in which she was weak. Perhaps, the girl thought, she'd practice her spell of sight and watch the man and the woman as they received the shock of swapping bodies. As she walked, the girl's long red skirt flowed and swirled in time with the gentle swaying of her hips, and the bangles and earrings and necklaces she wore chimed in time to her movements. Perhaps she did look like a Gypsy to outsiders, but the locals knew better. Each piece of jewelry had a very specific purpose; it wasn't the haphazard and overdone display of gold that _they_ wore. Each was important to help her concentrate, to focus her powers on the tasks she was learning to perform. At fifteen, the girl was developing more feminine curves, and it was now hard for her _not_ to have her hips wiggle when she walked. At first, she'd found that annoying; now, as she thought of her mother's advice on men, she knew it was just another element of control. To control a man, her mother had told her, she didn't need her power. She just had to know how to use the tools nature had given her. But the matron had also warned her - with her newfound feminine charms came danger. Her pert little nose wrinkled, as if offended by a foul stench, and her big brown eyes narrowed to slits. Something had disturbed her sense. She focused her mind, as she'd been trained to do, searching, seeking that which had disturbed her. It was too late. She'd allowed herself to become distracted as she walked, and before she could focus on the potential danger, it was upon her. Rough hands grabbed her from a narrow alleyway, three pairs of powerful, manly paws that had her instantly immobilized. Even as she sucked in air to scream, a hand clamped across her lips, cutting off her alarm. "Oh, damn," one of the men spat as he recognized her. He was a dirty sort, his beard unshaven and rough, and his breath reeked of the local spirits. The girl glanced in terror at the man, sensing what was on the minds of the man and his compatriots. She fought, but couldn't free her hands, held firmly as she was. "Hold tight on her hands," the man called. Something sharp touched her delicate throat; the man grinned wickedly. "No sounds, got it?" Whimpering, her eyes wide with fear, she nodded slightly, barely, for fear of the knife at her throat. The man ran his fingers roughly through her long dark hair, then grasped it firmly and tilted her head back. His vile breath made the girl want to gag as he forced a kiss on her, his teeth sharp on her lips as he demonstrated his power over her. He pulled back, gazing at the girl, at her suddenly swollen, bruised lips, at the terror in her eyes, and the man laughed cruelly. "In the shed," he barked, and his companions dragged her, fighting for all she was worth, through the narrow alleyway into a tiny shack. The girl knew what to expect; still, her eyes widened as the two companions pinned her to the ground, while the leader unhitched his belt and dropped his pants, exposing his erect member. She tried to scream again, to no avail; one of the men stuffed a rag in her mouth, effectively gagging her. The leader's face drew closer, and she turned her head to avoid seeing his cruel face, those wicked eyes, the scruffy salt-and-pepper beard and moustache. She desperately fought to avoid the stench of his foul breath, even as he leaned closer. She felt her legs being pried apart, and then her clothing being torn viciously from her. Her mind retreated, seeking refuge from the atrocity being committed upon her innocence. But she was young and naive, and didn't know how to block the horror. All she could do was to experience the full brunt of the physical and psychological attack. The men were drunk, and their inebriated state contributed to both increased desire and incredible clumsiness. They were far from gentle, leaving her bruised and humiliated as the repeatedly had their way with her. As the third man withdrew, grinning wickedly at the pleasure he'd just taken, something inside the girl snapped. She was angry now, her terror having faded, only to be replaced by a slowly waxing fury, a white-hot rage that seethed and grew as the men had her. And as the man stood, his companions still holding her arms lest she be able to wave them and cast some spell, she realized what the men had come to know - their fear of her magic meant that they intended to kill her. They couldn't take any chance on her casting any magic as they tried to flee. To their sodden brains, the only option, now that they'd taken her innocence, was to take her life as well. Sudden desperation flooded her mind; she had to live. She _had_ to find a way out of this. Fear clawed at her, fear of death, fear of pain, fear of an endless abyss of nothingness. She wanted so desperately to scream, but the gag held her sounds to tiny whimpers. She wanted to cast a spell, but her hands were held fast. In her desperate fear, a tiny spot of calm black intruded on her thoughts. Curious as to the strange island of calm in the raging torrent of her frantic emotions, she let her mind examine the spot, and without warning, her latent rage and desperation had her holding the blackness fast, grasping it with every fiber of her being. She found a perverse calm within the blackness, even as her own anger helped it expand within her. She opened her eyes and focused on the leader, the drunken, filthy slob who'd dared to assault her. Her eyes narrowed, and she felt the blackness sharpen, growing more intense, more encompassing. And suddenly, she knew. She didn't need those silly gestures or mumbled little words. She had this - the boundless energy within her. She narrowed her eyes more, and her lips tried to form a wicked grin around the rag. The leader stared drunkenly at the girl, wondering why she was peering at him like she was, when sudden pain shot through his body, a searing agony like his entire body was being consumed by flame. He opened his mouth to cry, and to the horror of his mates, his body gave a few sharp spasms, while his skin darkened and dried, cracking horribly. His body and clothing turned black, crumbling to the consistency of ash as his body was consumed from within by a power that none of them, least of all the girl, understood. And yet she controlled the power. She sat up, her hands suddenly free as the men backed away from her, their mouths agape with their terror. With one hand, she tore the rag from her mouth, while she focused the narrow slits that were her eyes on the second of her assailants. This time, she extended her finger, outstretched and pointing, toward the man, and a ball of energy leaped to the hapless man. Like his partner, his body shriveled, incinerated, and crumbled to a pile of ash. The third man cowered with fear in a corner, having the bad fortune of having the girl between him and the narrow shed door. He crossed himself, praying frantically, as he closed his eyes and hunched down, expecting the same obliteration that his pals had just suffered. Softly, mumbling, he whimpered cries of fear and pleas for his life. A finger extended toward the man, power surging within the girl as the dark energy built to consume another victim. Her mind was nearly consumed with blackness, but in the tiny flicker of light left, she heard the pleas for mercy. Something, however tiny the impulse, made her tremble suddenly, her finger wavering in its aim. To her dying day, she would never know what had given her pause, a tiny waver in her determination to exact revenge. And she would never know that it was her salvation. All she saw, in that briefest of moments, was the incredible contrast between the absolute soul-devouring blackness and the intensity of the light, however small it was. And she realized that the energy, though white-hot in its intensity, was icy cold, chilling her through to her very core. It had no warmth, no humanity. Only its seductive lure of raw power. She sank back toward the door, staring in horror at the mess on the floor, the two ash heaps that had until recently been men. True, they had ravished her, stealing her virginity and innocence, but they had been human. And she had allowed the blackness to nearly consume her, using its vile energy to destroy. She'd nearly fallen prey to the lure of its power. She felt her entire body shaking. The blackness started to fade. Slowly, unwillingly, it let go its icy grip on her being. The man pried his eyes open, and saw the girl, the dangerous witch, trembling in the doorway. The effects of the alcohol were long since gone in the adrenaline rush of pure terror; now, he merely stared in fear at the girl, wondering why she'd paused and not smitten him as she had his friends. "Please," he whimpered softly. The girl seemed shaken from a trance by that one simple word. "You...you raped me!" she screamed, venting her anger in words instead of lethal energy. "You bastards raped me!" She felt the darkness regaining a foothold. "Why shouldn't I just burn you?" The man cringed. His respite was apparently short-lived. "I'll confess," he whimpered. "Call the constables, and I'll confess." The girl sneered. "Sure, and as soon as you think you're safe, you'll go back to your ways." She fought the blackness which had suddenly reappeared and was renewing its fight to consume her, a struggle far greater than any she'd ever undertaken. The stygian blackness, with its promise of hideous revenge, tempted her, enticing her to accept its icy grasp. She could have easily given in, surrendering herself to the dark forces. But even as the evil tried to seduce her, years of careful training and warnings gave her strength. It was feeble, but it was enough. All the warnings from the elders and teachers about the darkness swam through her mind. The fate of a human being hung in the balance, until at last, her lessons pushed back the black force. She shook visibly at the effort the silent battle had taken. She gazed at her attacker. "No, you need to be punished." The man's eyes widened. Had it come to this? Was he to become a smudge of ash on the floor of a dingy shed? He crossed himself again and began to pray the 'Our Father', desperately seeking repose for his soul as his end neared. Blackness swelled once more, seeking an outlet. Again, the girl joined the battle; it would have been so easy to give in to the darkness and its seductive power. She was genuinely surprised, however, that she wasn't giving in. Firmly, she grasped the lessons of her elders, clutching them tightly to her soul, using them as a shield and sword to fight. Every fiber of her cried out for vengeance, so this vile scum wouldn't get away without punishment, and that feeling gave strength to the darkness; still, she fought. After painful seconds, which seemed an eternity to both the girl and the rapist, she raised her finger again. This time, however, no dark flame erupted to consume him. Instead, she began a complicated chant and series of hand motions. As the sound sank into the man's mind, his eyes widened. He hadn't been instantly fried, but she was weaving some spell. For what? What was she doing to him? He felt a tingling in his groin, and he glanced down fearfully. His hand slowly moved to the sensation. Even as he felt, he could tell his manhood was shrinking, his testicles pulling painfully upward into his body. And still the strange sensations continued, spreading outward. Audibly, his bones crunched, but painlessly, as his body began to rearrange itself. He felt his pants tighten around his hips, while the tug of his large belly against the waistband suddenly vanished. The ill-fitting tunic he wore became even less tailored, except where two growing bulges in the front pushed it out. The man stared, horror-stricken, as he watched the breasts bud and develop in mere seconds. His preoccupation with his crotch and chest distracted him from seeing and sensing the other changes; his slightly balding head sprouted new thick luxurious growth, hair which quickly spilled off the man's shoulders, splitting as part went down his back and the rest cascaded down on his chest. Had he been standing, he might have lost his balance as his legs shortened, unevenly, but in his position, he barely noticed. The stubble on his face fell out, leaving incredibly smooth skin in its wake, while his cheekbones migrated higher and his lips filled. His eyes appeared to be growing larger; in reality, his head was rearranging to match the new proportions of his body, leaving the impression of larger, softer eyes. As suddenly as the changes had begun, they stopped. The man took one last glance at the impossible growths on his chest, then gazed fearfully at the girl. "What have you done to me?" he cried, his eyes widening at the incredibly feminine sounds ringing in his ears. "You've turned me...into...a girl!" he wailed. The girl's eyes narrowed, staring at her creation. "You'll go through the rest of your life as an object of men's desires." She grinned wickedly. "Every man who sees you will want you, even to the point of wanting to rape you to have you. And no matter how vile or wretched your suitors, you'll never be able to say no." She stepped forward and reached a hand, taking the new girl's chin in her hand. "You'll spend the rest of your life loathing every man's touch, yet unable to resist it!" She laughed a sinister laugh, then thrust the girl's head down and turned away. She fought to compose herself, shaking uncontrollably as she stepped out of the tiny shed. Her blouse was torn, and with one hand, she held the tattered neckline together. Her once pretty hair was a matted mess, and her lips, ruby and sweet, were blackening from the attack. She hobbled painfully, her body sore and bruised. She desperately wanted to change, to heal herself and mend her clothing, so as to at least appear normal, unviolated. But try as she might, even such a simple spell as altering her clothing wouldn't come to her. She couldn't focus, she couldn't remember the words and the gestures. It was as if the trauma had robbed her of her power. As she stumbled from the alleyway, she glanced about, ashamed of her appearance and what had happened to her. She wanted no person to see her humiliation as she crept through the darkening streets. The gas lamps, few and far between, left shadows for her to hide. Still, an occasional window would open, as some resident peered outside to see who would possibly traverse the streets this long after shops had closed. She hid her face, scurrying in her shame away from the onlookers; she was convinced, in her mind, that they knew all, and their inquiring gazes mocked her as a foolish little slut who hadn't the sense to get home. As the girl left the village, she sharpened her senses. If such an assault could happen in the town itself, then how much more likely that others would do such a deed here, in the dark hills and woods of the countryside. Each shadow became an attacker, each woodland noise a threat to her safety. The relief she felt when she reached the door was palpable. Glancing over her shoulder at imaginary threats, she ducked through the door, slamming it shut and leaning heavily against the sturdy wood. Safe at last! "You're home," a gentle woman's voice called, not turning from the kettle on the stove. "You're late, you know. Now run and fetch..." The voice stopped suddenly. The woman had sensed something, without having even looked at her daughter. Now, however, she turned, and shock registered as she understood what evil had befallen her little girl. "No!" the woman screamed, her mouth open as her ladle slipped from her hand and clattered to the floor. "Not my little girl!" She clutched the girl tightly, tears streaming down her cheeks. Softly, as she cried, she sang a little tune, a familiar melody that had once comforted the girl, and now seemed a desperate attempt by the mother to restore the innocence of her daughter, even as the tears flowed freely. The girl held close. "Mama," she wailed softly, over and over. Her mind, shocked by the horrors of the rape, could not get past the one word. For long minutes, the girl held tightly to her mother, crying and shaking as she said, "Mama," over and over. Finally, the older woman stepped back, her eyes widening. "You...you touched the darkness!" she exclaimed, her hand raising to cover her mouth. Despair swept into her eyes, and the tears fell even faster. "No!" she wailed plaintively as she backed away fearfully. "No!" More than anything, she felt it, the unmistakable inky stain on the girl's magical aura. The girl tried to hug her mother, but the older woman wouldn't let her. "They were going to kill me, mama," she cried. "They feared our magic, and they were going to kill me!" The woman turned away from her daughter, steadying herself on the rough oaken table as she dropped her head. She wailed painfully, "They did, my daughter!" Sobs wracked the older woman as she realized that something precious had been destroyed. "When they made you touch the darkness, they did!" The girl tried to approach her mother, grasping her shoulder. "I didn't give in to the evil," she said softly. "I made it go away!" The woman sobbed again. "You must go, my daughter. You know what will happen now!" The girl dropped her head. Everyone knew. When someone touched the darkness, the elders could feel it. And they would be coming. It was a law among her people - anyone who willingly used dark magic to kill was a danger to all. There was but one punishment. Death. The elders had no choice - to preserve their community, and to protect themselves from unspeakable horrors, they had to remove the offender, like excising a tumor. In the old days, when superstition among the non-users was stronger, use of the black magic had stirred fears that nearly destroyed the community of the users. Even now, in these more modern times, the elders reminded everyone constantly of the danger; black power caused fear, and fear caused hatred. The girl fled to her room and gathered a few belongings, pausing only to change her soiled clothes. Then she returned, and with an eye on her mother, she walked trembling to the door. But the older woman stood over the table, crying aloud, unable to look at what had once been an innocent, happy, unsoiled daughter. In one vile attack, the men had stolen her daughter's innocence, and in pushing her, they had made her forfeit her life. But as the girl was about to leave, she turned to her mother one last time. "Good-bye, mama," she said softly, her voice nearly cracking. "I know I'll never see you again." The older woman sobbed, then her grief overcame her fear. She ran to her daughter and wrapped her arms tightly around the girl. As mother hugged daugher for what both knew would be the last time, the old woman began to rock gently back and forth. She softly began to sing an old lullaby, the girl's favorite, as if she were trying to comfort a much younger child. After much too short a time, the old woman stepped back, her cheeks stained with tears. "Go. Go quickly, before the elders come here for you." She watched as her daughter paused. "Go!" she pleaded. "I...I will do what I can." "I will run, mama," the girl said from the door. "And I will not let myself slip into the darkness. You will see. I will not become evil." She watched, but her mother remained motionless except for the tiny tremors of her sobs. The door closed with a loud thunk, a sound of utter finality. ********** The girl fled far from her home, uncertain of just how far the elders would pursue her. Legend told of a pursuit to the streets of Paris, of a duel of unspeakable powers as an elder fought to stop one who had sunk completely into the grip of the dark force. Shuddering at the thought of being pursued like that, the girl walked quickly through the first night, her fear of death outweighing her fear of the forests and hills and the crisp air of late autumn. Without suitable cloak or coat, the chilly air seemed more like the dead of winter to the girl. At first, as she walked, her senses were sharp, but as the light of dawn began to brush the treetops, she felt herself wearying. The cold night air had assaulted her relentlessly, in her lungs and throat with each breath, at her legs with each step, and even as she shivered, pulling her cloak tightly about her, she knew she'd have to find some place warm to rest. Besides the cold, the pangs of hunger tormented her empty belly; she knew she had to get some rest and food. But with what? She had nothing with which to barter. True, she had her jewelry, but she _had_ to keep that - it was the key to her magic. And so she really had nothing to trade. Nothing - except... The brief horrifying thought she pushed from her mind. No matter that the men had taken her virginity; she was not a whore, and would not trade her body for food or shelter. There must be a way... She paused on the narrow road, standing between the well-worn ruts, and peered down the path before her. There - up the hill a bit and just off the road she spied a small cottage, with a barn and another farm outbuilding nearby. The barn - she should be able to curl up in the barn for a nap, and maybe, if she were lucky, she could find something to eat. Through frosty breath she hastened her step, anxious to get into the barn and to escape the chill. She crept around the back of the barn, the ice-tinged grass crunching softly under her shoes, and carefully she peered inside. It was dark and gloomy, but there were no animals, and more importantly, no people inside. She glanced around the outside of the farmyard and saw a man in the distance, walking hunched over beside a horse-drawn wagon, bending over frequently to pluck something from the ground and load it onto the cart. It looked like the back-breaking labor of harvest; the merest thought of the work made the girl realize just how tired she was. At the same time, the sight of harvest reminded her of her empty belly. She crept inside the barn, closing the door behind her. After a few moments, she could see in the dim light, and she began to search the interior. There! She felt like fortune was with her. A string of onions, interwoven and hung through the winter. And a sack of potatoes! And carrots, and apples! This barn was a veritable treasure trove to her hunger, already stocked from the harvest. She ravenously consumed of the fruits and vegetables until the hunger was gone. Her stomach temporarily satisfied, she found a snug corner in the rear of the barn and settled down, burrowing into the hay for added warmth. Within seconds, she had fallen asleep. ********** She awoke with a start, her eyes wide open and ears perked. Something had awakened her; she slowly lifted herself until she was sitting, her senses alive and alert. But it was nothing; as she probed with her magic senses, she sensed a field mouse scrambling across the floor of the barn. But her magic wasn't sharp; she wondered if her terror of the dark force was making it hard for her to use her powers. Her eyes narrowed slightly; it was nearly black inside the barn. How long had she been asleep, she wondered? As dark as it was inside the barn, she was certain that it was dark outside, which meant that she'd slept for over ten hours. Panic leapt to her throat; the elders would be searching for her by now. She had to leave, and quickly! She scrambled to her feet, and was startled by a low neigh. The horse! It was in the barn, and she'd startled it! She tried to laugh at herself, but her nerves were taut. Working quickly, she went into the storeroom and gathered some food, then sidled to the door. Easing it open a crack, she peered out, confirming that it was indeed night. Not dusk, nor twilight, but dark night. She slipped from the barn and stepped cautiously onto the road, her mortal fear of being caught by the elders helping her to ignore the cold. The sky was deep indigo, studded with sparkling jewels. A pale yellow moon shone down, casting its faint but precious light on the Earth; without the moon, the girl realized, she'd have had to use her powers to navigate through the blackness, and that would tire her quickly. She shuddered at the thought of using her magic, but she knew she had no choice. Struggling to use even the simple sense, she watched for danger as she trudged silently along the road, the crunch of her teeth biting a crisp apple punctuating the still night air. ********** And so went the journey for the first eight days. By day, she found a dry place to sleep; by night, she walked. The miles slipped by with agonizing slowness; she realized that she was still perilously close to her village - and the elders. Hunger and cold were constant companions, save for what meager food she could steal from a farm and warmth she could glean from a haystack. Villages and towns she avoided; if the elders were looking for her, she reasoned, they would search the villages first. On the ninth day, however, as she gazed from a hilltop down into a bustling town, she chided herself. The elders would have no need of the local constabulary to find her; they would seek her aura, using her own magic against her like a divining rod. How she wished she had learned to mask her aura, like the more powerful of her people. But she was a child, a neophyte practitioner of the arts, and _that_ was a skill she hadn't even begun to learn. She cursed her stupidity; she should have long since gone into a town and sneaked aboard a train. She could have been halfway across the continent by now. Tired, dirty, hungry, she nonetheless tried to maintain some dignity as she walked across the plaza. From balconies and windows, eyes stared at the girl, her hair disheveled and strewn with hay, her cheeks tinged with grime. She ignored the staring strangers and marched to the train station. Up to this point, the girl really had no idea of where she was going. She only knew that she had to get away from her home, from the wrath of the elders. Now, as she stared at the train schedule, she began to contemplate her destination. Imperial Russia and Moscow. She shook that one off; the Russians had a reputation for intolerance of foreigners, and from what she knew, if her powers were ever discovered, a hideous death awaited her. Warsaw? Same story. Istanbul. She rejected that outright; Muslims were known to be intolerant of infidels, and women ranked low in their world. That left west - toward Paris. Or London. Then she suppressed a shudder; the stories of the elders giving chase to the streets of Paris shook her to the core. If Paris weren't safe, then London would give her no safety, either. America. Like a thunderclap, the answer hit her. America. It was called the land of opportunity. The elders would not waste their efforts chasing her across an ocean, and she could use her talents in America. She scanned the train schedule, then glanced around. The station was barely a whistle stop, but she found a map. It took her only seconds to find which direction she wanted to go. Budapest, and from there, to Paris, then London. And from London? One of the ports, obviously. She'd figure out the next leg when she got there. The stationmaster looked bored as he listened to her request for a ticket. Budapest? He quoted a price, still bored. The girl flinched visibly. The ticket - it was so much. And she had nothing! But she had to go! Her very life depended on it. Somehow, she had to get away from here. In the recesses of her mind, a dark spot emerged from hiding. Use the power - touch the mind of the stationmaster and make him give you the ticket, it beckoned. Such a simple task. The girl shuddered again. She'd defeated the darkness! And now it was back, tempting her again, promising an easy solution to her problem, if only she'd touch the power. She flung her will at the darkness - light battling black, until finally the spot was gone, retreating once more into her mind. She wouldn't - she couldn't! - use the dark forces. She started to turn away, and then realized that she did have something of value - her precious jewelry! It cost her dearly. The gold itself had no power of its own, but the arrangement of the rings and baubles were reminders of the order of gestures and syllables needed to work various acts of magic. If she sacrificed a piece of jewelry, she knew that she'd begin to lose contact with her magic. It was a cost that she knew she couldn't bear, especially since her connection to her magic seemed so tenuous. And yet, she had to escape. With a heavy sigh, and little besides her determination, she turned and left the station. The road to London promised to be long if she had to travel on foot. ********** "What are you doing here?" The girl sat up suddenly, startled by the sound of the voice. She glanced around quickly. Like so many previous cold winter nights, she had been sleeping in a quiet barn. She saw the face staring down at her, a young man of perhaps seventeen, with mussed hair and worn, dirty clothing. "Who are you?" she asked warily. The young man grinned. "I asked first," he laughed. The girl eyed him cautiously. She sensed no magical aura from him, so she allowed her power to reach out, to probe him. "I'm...traveling." The young man laughed. "Are you running away?" The girl frowned. "That is _none_ of your concern," she said angrily. "Well, _I_ am!" the boy said proudly. "I'm going to America, where I can make a living doing what _I_ want to do." The girl permitted herself a smug smile. The boy was so transparent in his motives. "You are fleeing a demanding master, because you think he gives his apprentice no respect." The boy's eyes widened, then he dropped his gaze and nodded slowly, clearly ashamed at having to flee his trademaster. "My parents would not approve if I returned. I...have to go to America." The girl nodded. "It is as good a reason as any." The boy looked up, surprised by her answer. "I am called Joska," he said after a brief pause. A noise came from outside, and the boy spun to look around. "It is late. We must leave before we are caught." He peeked through a crack out the door. "Hurry!" he insisted. The girl pulled herself to her feet. She decided almost instantly to follow the strange young runaway from the barn. Through the open door, the dim glow cast by the rising sun was slowly brightening as the sun began its climb into the sky. A dog growled at them from the barn door, and Joska froze, forcing the girl to careen into his back. "What...?" she hissed. "The dog!" Joska whispered back. He stood rooted in place, facing the snarling canine that had them cornered in the barn. With the noise the infernal mutt was making, the girl knew that the farmer would be out in moments. She pushed Joska rudely aside, and as the dog's growling intensified, she began to chant softly and gesture. In seconds, the dog lay on the ground, its chest heaving slightly in its magic-induced sleep. "Come on," she said insistently. "Before the farmer catches us." The boy needed no prodding. Together they ran from the farmyard down a winding path, and onto a larger road. Only when they were safely away from the farm did the girl stop, collapsing under a tree by the roadside to catch her wind. Joska sat down as well, but a good distance from her. "How...how did you...?" The girl shrugged. "It's an old trick," she said lightly. Still, her eyes were studying the young man carefully, watching for any sign of danger. "But...you're one of the..." Fear flooded his eyes as he realized _what_ the girl was. She shrugged noncommittally. "Perhaps." She was not willing to give away all her secrets. The boy was eyeing her warily. "So now are you going to turn me into a toad or something?" The girl laughed aloud. "Is that what you think I'm going to do?" "I...I don't know," the boy answered, his voice trembling with just a hint of fear. "That's what the old women in my village say your people do." "Don't believe everything those old women say! They're mostly jealous because they don't have any powers." "Oh." The boy lapsed into silence as he contemplated her words and rested. "Where are you going?" The girl shrugged. "America." Joska eyed her carefully again. "Oh? Is that just a coincidence?" "I...got into some trouble," the girl spoke a half-truth. "I must go to where I can start over." He laughed at her feeble answer. It was clear that they had more in common than she was willing to admit. "Then perhaps we can travel together," Joska suggested. "It would be a much more pleasant trip than traveling alone." The girl's eyes narrowed for a second as she seemed lost in thought. In actuality, she focused her mind and probed, searching for hidden motives and intentions in the young man. After a brief search, she nodded with a slight smile. "Yes, I think that would be pleasant." "Since we are to be travel-mates, perhaps you would tell me your name now," the boy prompted. The girl flinched as if struck. Her heart was overwhelmed with an unexpected ache; being cast out from her village had taken more from her than her home. Being an outcast from her people left her with no name. She was unworthy. Such were the rules. She hadn't considered _that_ part of being on the run until this moment, and the totality of her loss hit her like a freight train. "I...don't have a name," she managed to stammer through her anguish. Joska laughed. "Everyone has a name," he countered. "You can tell me!" The girl looked down at the brown earth between her feet as tears welled up in her eyes. "You don't understand. In the eyes of my...people...I'm not worthy of a name...anymore!" ********** In her sleeping mind, where her dreams were occasionally interrupted with frightening scenes of fleeing relentless demons pursuing her, the girl sensed something. Still only partially awake, she chased away the wispy images of the dream world, allowing her magical senses to fill the vacant space with the real world. Even with her eyes closed, her magical powers painted a vivid and accurate picture of the world around her. Her eyes opened with a startling suddenness. Even as her eyes focused on his face, she felt his hands grasping her arms, holding her down against the straw of the haystack. His breath was hot on her face, and a fire burned in his eyes. She wondered, for the briefest of moments, if this were another nightmare into which she'd awakened, but the pain in her arms and belly as Joska sat across her, his knees pinning down her arms to free his hands, the sudden chill on her breast as his hands tore at her blouse - these things were real, even if they seemed a nightmare. "Joska!" the girl screamed, pleading and crying in the same voice. "Leave me alone!" The boy didn't answer. He pressed his lips down on her, even as she moved to avoid his unwelcome kiss. His rough hands pawed at her bosom, and his breathing was a rapid panting, matching the arousal he must be feeling. "Joska!" the girl cried again. "Stop!" He didn't listen, and the girl felt helpless. Her sense of helplessness lasted but a moment. Even as she struggled to free her arms, to incant some magic to stop him, she sensed _it_. It was afar, but drawing rapidly near, the inky blackness that, even now, promised her salvation from her tormenter. "No!" she screamed, more at the evil impulses trying to gain control of her than at the boy. If he had known the tiniest shred of the power that tempted the girl, he would have fled in terror, running for his very life. As it was, he thought she was screaming at him, and he ignored her pleas. He moved slightly to unfasten his fly, and the girl got an arm free. She clawed at his face, scratching so deeply that blood flowed from the parallel gashes. He winced in pain and clutched at his wounds. In his momentary confusion, he let the girl get her other hand free. The girl knew she had to act quickly. The boy was larger and stronger than she, and now that she'd injured him, he could become dangerous. Without even thinking, she cast a spell. The boy froze astride her. Dancing motes of light swirled from the girl's fingertips to his body, circling him briefly and then settling onto his skin and clothing and vanishing into his body. He tried to pull back, but he found he couldn't move. His mouth was frozen, dropped open in horror at what was happening to him. Slowly, the dancing lights faded, leaving the boy outlined in the pale moonlight. From the corners of his eyes, he saw hair cascading down around his face. He felt his face move as if giant hands had grasped it and were remolding it, pushing his nose in and up, moving his cheekbones higher, smoothing his jaw. His lips seemed to swell to enormous proportions. He couldn't see, but he felt his chest being squeezed as well, constricting and narrowing his chest...and now his waist as well. Slowly, inexorably, the pressure continued, forcibly shrinking his bodily dimensions. Now he felt his rear moving, lifting slightly from atop the girl's stomach, as if small pillows were inflating beneath him. It was only his imagination, but he thought he heard his hips crack as they widened. His legs seemed afire, burning from within, as the muscles shrank around the contracting bones. His arms, too, felt the same ache as they became less strong, finer, more feminine. Joska glanced down at his hands, and wanted to scream. No longer the rough hands of an apprentice blacksmith, they were rapidly becoming fine and delicate. His nails were growing as quickly as the rest of his hands were shrinking, until they were longer and much more female. He could see, from the corner of his eye, the still-swelling protrusions on his chest, even as he felt an unfamiliar pair of weights tugging at his once-broad shoulders. Even his clothing was, impossibly, altering itself. His pants legs had fused together and ballooned outwards, while the fabric changed from dark tan to a medium bright red. His shirt was transforming itself into a peasant blouse, a match to the one the girl was wearing. Slowly, Joska's peripheral vision was blocked as his hair grew in minutes what should have taken months or even years. Dark locks cascaded off his shoulders, some falling in front and the rest tickling his neck as it continued to creep down his back. Finally, he felt the hands holding him in place loosen their grasp. He nearly collapsed atop the girl. As he glanced down at his chest, he slowly climbed from atop her, his eyes wide with fear and uncertainty. "What..." his eyes widened even further at the soft feminine sound echoing in his ears, "what have you done to me?" he asked softly. His hands were tentatively touching the orbs on his chest, as if to confirm that they were real. The girl glared at him. "You were going to rape me," she hissed. "So I stopped you." "But...you made me into a...a girl!" he protested. The girl nodded slowly. Her eyes contained much less anger and fear as she refocused her thoughts. "Yes. A girl is less likely to try it again." "I don't want to be a girl!" the former Joska wailed. "I want you to make be a boy again!" The girl stared impassively at her. "Then you shouldn't have tried to...take me against my will." "But...I didn't...I couldn't..." Joska shut up, wondering what she was really trying to say. "Something was making me." The girl frowned, then she focused her eyes on Joska. For a moment or two she concentrated, then she relaxed. Her face bore a perplexed look. "What?" Joska asked in her new soft voice. The girl shook her head. "There's something...magical...around you." She frowned. "But I can't tell what it is." Joska's eyes widened, then she nodded. "So you see, it wasn't my fault! Now you can change me back!" The girl frowned, looking a bit puzzled. "No. I don't think that would be wise. Whoever - whatever - did this once might do it again." She shook her head. "You stay a girl." Joska frowned, then she screamed. "No! You _have_ to change me back! You _can't_ leave me a girl!" "It's much safe for _me_ to travel with another girl." "But...others would leave you alone if we pretended to be married," Joska countered. "That would protect you." "From others," the girl agreed. "But not from you." She made a small incantation, and Joska instantly calmed down. "What...what did you do to me?" Joska asked warily. The girl shrugged. "It wouldn't be any fun to travel with a screaming, hysterical girl. I just calmed you down a bit." She read Joska's expression and chuckled. "Oh, don't worry. All I did was make you more comfortable being a girl. It'll be a _lot_ easier on you that way." She laughed aloud. "And on me!" ********** "You can just sell some of your jewelry," Josella whispered to the girl. In the nearly four months since Joska had been changed to Josella, they'd walked and ridden their way across the continent, a long journey with only what little money they could scrape up doing whatever menial jobs they could get. With little money, food and shelter were scarce, and the winter had been harsh and trying. More often than not, they'd spent the night in the hay of a barn, grateful for any warmth and willfully ignorant of the farmyard smells around them. Most of the time, they were tired, dirty, and hungry. Occasionally, they were aided by a passing traveler offering them a ride. Like now - they rode in the back of a horse-drawn cart that was nearing Paris. The girl smiled smugly. "I _told_ you, I need my jewelry to help me work my magic." She glanced up and down Josella. "Unless you _prefer_ to stay a girl, I need to keep it." Josella frowned, then she shut up. The girl had a good point. "So what do we do? I don't know about you, but I don't speak any French. And I don't think it's going to be easy to earn any money if no one can understand us." The girl smiled. "That's no problem." She bit her lip and stared at the ground for a moment, lost in thought, then she looked up and started an incantation. She made some motions with her hands, then she touched her own throat and ears, and the throat and ears of Josella. "Now," she said easily, "tell me what you hear from the driver." Josella cocked her head to one side in bewilderment, then she turned an ear toward the cart's driver. "He is singing a song about his pere and mere," she said after a moment of listening. "It is a happy song about their little village." As Josella listened further, her jaw dropped in astonishment. "How is it that I understand this crazy old Frenchman?" she asked. The girl smiled. "It's magic," she answered softly. She glanced around, at the buildings of the small town, with one eyebrow raised quizzically. "Pardon, monsieur," she said in perfect French, "I think this will be a good place for my friend and I to stop." The cart driver glanced over his shoulder, then he nodded. "Of course, mademoiselle." He tugged the reins, and the horse stopped. The girls clambered from the back almost before the cart was halted. "Merci," the two said in unison. "Merci." "Now what?" Josella asked as the cart clattered off down the cobblestone street. The girl smiled and pointed to an inn by the roadside. "That inn," she answered. "There are jobs there waiting for us." Josella frowned. "_I'm_ not going to work in a tavern," she protested strongly. "Not again! If the inns are anything like the old country, they will pay poorly and we will have to work very hard." The girl shrugged. "Suit yourself. There is a much quicker way to earn money," she said. Josella's eyes lit up in anticipation. "But I didn't think you were yet desperate enough to sell your body to any passing man for a franc or two." Josella's face paled as she realized what the girl was implying. "No," she said quickly. "No! Not that!" The girl smiled and nodded. "Nor I." She marched toward the inn, to where her magic had told her jobs awaited. ********** "How much longer must we work like this?" Josella protested as she laid down on her straw mat. The two girls had been working for nearly a month. It was hard work for low wages, and part of their pay went for this tiny room in the attic. It wasn't much of a room, but it kept them blissfully dry and warm. From the few francs left each week, they were saving for passage - to London and thence to America. The money seemed to accumulate far too slowly - especially since the girl was nervous about being found by the village elders. Already, she and Josella had moved from jobs and towns several times when the girl had sensed a magical aura nearby. The girl shrugged, an unseen gesture in the dim light. "Another week or two, perhaps." "It would be easier if you just sold your jewelry," Josella grumbled. "At least we're no longer sleeping in barns and stealing food," the girl countered. "In a short time, we will have saved enough money to travel to England. But I fear we will have to work more there before we can afford to purchase tickets on a steamship." Josella sighed. "I know. I just wish you would use your magic to persuade the innkeeper to pay us better. Or to not work us so hard." The girl trembled inside. She'd thought of that, but had decided not to. It seemed too easy, and too tempting. It _felt_ wrong. She wasn't going to tempt the blackness, not again. She shuddered inwardly at the thought of the ever-present blackness. Every time she used her magic, it seemed to be there, lingering, waiting to tempt her. Unknown to the girl, her fear of the blackness was still keeping her from using all her magic by making it harder for her to concentrate properly. At times, only the ritualistic reminders of the carefully arranged jewelry and baubles gave her a tenuous link to her powers. "Sleep well," the girl said simply. She rolled over, turning her back to Josella across the attic, and let the bliss of sleep wash over her. ********** The girl sat up with a start, and she glanced around in the dark attic. The lack of light was no hindrance to her senses. She frowned when she realized what had awakened her. Josella was sitting up on her mat. Her soft sobbing disturbed the silence of the attic. The girl rolled over and crawled to Josella's side. "What's wrong?" she asked as she put her hand on Josella's shoulder. Josella collapsed into the girl's arms. Her sobbing increased, and the girl could feel Josella's tears soaking into her nightshirt. "He...he..." Josella was trying to speak through her sobs. "He...Monsieur LeBlanc...did...things...to me!" Her sobs broke into outright anguished wails. The girl's eyes narrowed. "You'll be okay," she said, trying to sound soothing to Josella while she herself seethed with anger. "He...tricked me!" Josella continued. "He lured me to an empty room and...and..." She couldn't continue. The girl calmed her mind, then focused on Josella's thoughts. Almost immediately, she understood, and once she knew the source of Josella's anguish, the girl fought to control her anger. How _dare_ he! To take advantage of