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This may be archived/posted anywhere. Just give credit where credit is due, thanks! Sacrifices By Pretzelgirl Author's Note: My apologies in advance if this story flows a bit disjointedly. The entire thing came to me in a vivid dream (I'll leave as an exercise for the reader to guess which character I "played" in the dream!) The morning after, I dashed this off as quickly as I could, trying to recapture the whole surreal experience before it faded away. I've since edited it for grammar and spelling, and tried to put a bit of "polish" on it. But I've left the plot itself unchanged in hopes that it still captures a strange, somewhat dreamlike feel for the reader. * * * "It is not what we take up, but what we give up, that makes us rich." -- Henry Ward Beecher Doctor Aaron Bonesteel fidgeted nervously with a game on his cell phone and mused on the poetic justice of an MD having to impatiently sit in somebody else's waiting room. It wasn't as large as his waiting room at the clinic, but it was furnished more opulently, albeit with an eccentric taste. Golden-framed original oil paintings with occult themes graced the walls. A statue of a nude, pregnant woman carved out of some metallic blue material sat on an end table. The carpet was a thick, luxurious shag with a geometric pattern of dizzying intricacy woven across the floor -- like some colossal "magic eye" puzzle. The magazines on the coffee table were all genuine, legitimate publications ... just ones that Dr. Bonesteel had never heard of before: "The Cauldron," "Moon Shadows," "Indigo Sun," "The Fortean Times." Somehow the whole place struck Dr. Bonesteel as decadently weird. He felt intensely uncomfortable slumming like this, rubbing shoulders with low-income, new age kooks. True, the slight weirdness of the whole place would've normally captivated Dr. Bonesteel. On any other day, he would've felt compelled to gawk, like a passing motorist rubbernecking the twisted remains of some horrible car crash -- uncomfortable, disturbed, yet fascinated. Today his mind was elsewhere. Today he reflected and re-lived yesterday. The trial had been held. The evidence had been presented. His daughter had bravely testified. And a jury had rendered its verdict: not guilty. The man who'd brutally raped and beat his daughter walked away free yesterday afternoon. The no good, low class street punk escaped justice. Today, the doctor was filled with nothing but yesterday's rage. The trial had been too much "He Said/She Said" and not enough "beyond a reasonable doubt." They had been friends, maybe more than that. Perhaps she had consented and later changed her mind? Ha! Who "consents" to a beating like that? The jury had to have known that poor piece of shit had really done it -- the way he'd sat there smirking during her testimony. But having done wrong is not the same as being guilty in the eyes of the law. "Innocent until proven guilty" -- there's very little solace for victims in that axiom. Hate burned in the good doctor's heart. But hate had brought him little relief either. Doctor Bonesteel's ex-wife had suggested this place, several weeks earlier in fact. Evidentally her faith in the judicial system had never been as strong as her faith in vibrating crystals and spiritual healing. Bonesteel and his ex enjoyed an amiable, platonic relationship these days, sharing dinners once or twice a month. The trial had been an ordeal on both, and they tended to lean more heavily on one another for comfort. She said she'd already visited this so-called "Sorceress" but found the price more than she was willing to pay. At the time, Bonesteel had no reason to believe in the self-proclaimed powers of these charlatans. But now, he was at the end of his rope with nowhere else to turn. Doctor Bonesteel promised himself he'd pay the price -- any price, whatever The Sorceress asked in exchange for justice. * * * Joanne Fabian carefully adjusted her dark sunglasses and watched the nervous man fidgeting across the room from her. It looks like he's never been here before, she thought. Boy is that rich son-of-a-bitch in for a surprise! Joanne reflected back on the first time she met The Sorceress -- of course, back then everyone just called her Gera. It was before she'd discovered magic. It was before Joanne had become a "Fabian." A couple years before she'd even met Jimmy. Yesterday was so good. And so far away. Joanne tugged absent-mindedly at the hem of her skirt with one hand while the other went back up to adjust the sunglasses again. She hoped the big glasses were enough to disguise the bruise. She'd put up with a lot from Jimmy over the years. His rise to the top was rough. That's the music business for you. Nobody ever said being the wife of a rock star was an easy thing. But mostly he'd avoided hitting her in the face... bad publicity for both of them. Guess things change though. In just the last six months, everything had started falling apart for Jimmy Fabian. His last record had flopped -- a commercial and critical failure. He'd always been a heavy drinker and casual drug user, but these days ... well, Joanne couldn't remember the last time she'd seen him sober. Morning, noon, night, weekdays and weekends, Jimmy was perpetually sloshed and/or stoned. And angry ... always very angry. Once upon a time, he burned with artistic passion ... not rage. Joanne had stood by him, in all the lean years. But she deserved better than this now. Middle-aged and starting to show the lines of age, she didn't want to leave Jimmy and find some other man. She sagged. She had crows feet. Her glass was only half-full. Besides, a big part of her still loved Jimmy, through all the anger. Or was that also yesterday? Now she somehow wanted ... she needed an out. She knew Gera -- The Sorceress -- would charge a heavy price for this miracle. There ain't no such thing as a free lunch, after all. Gera had helped her before, with minor changes here and there. But this request was pretty major. Joanne just hoped The Sorceress could do it. * * * Nick Rattigan shifted his heavy weight in the plush, waiting room chair. Pretty comfortable, he thought. He couldn't figure why the other folk in here seemed so antsy. Probably have some big personal worries. Nick supposed he had his own problem, too. But then it wasn't really so much of a problem as question. If The Sorceress said no, well then Nick would just have to save up a little more. Plastic surgery and liposuction were expensive. It wasn't so much the savings that drove him to visit The Sorceress first, though. Her path seemed more ... well, natural. Nick shuddered thinking about surgical knives, operating rooms, and blood being spilled everywhere. That was so medieval ... so yesterday. If the Sorceress had a 21st century solution for Nick, then that's the path he'd go down. Plus there was the simple fact that Nick liked The Sorceress. She'd been a darn good client of his, all these years. Plenty of folk used Nicky's Waste Disposal Service, but The Sorceress had always given him a little gift each year at Christmas ... and even on his birthday! How she knew his birthday, Nick never did figure out. Must've just been magic, Nick thought matter-of-factly. A'yep -- if anyone could work this kinda fix, it'd be The Sorceress. Nick knew she'd charge a steep price, but also knew her prices were ... well ... different. She wouldn't ask more than Nick could afford. Maybe more than he expected or felt comfortable paying. But nobody put a gun to your head and forced you to do business here. If you didn't like the price, just don't make the purchase. Nick had known The Sorceress for long enough to know all the clients who came through here COULD achieve their wishes ... but only if they really wanted it badly enough. Nick wondered what The Sorceress would charge him for this request: a magical makeover. He was pretty sure that one way or another, he'd be surprised by the bill. * * * Julien M?tayer sauntered into the waiting room and eyed the supplicants with scornful disdain. He tapped an ornately carved wooden cane on the carpeted floor and pulled off an expensive, silk cap. His bald, head glistened with tiny beads of sweat. He stroked a carefully groomed goatee and selected a seat. Despite the magical safeguards in the room that dampened his own powers, Julien instinctively knew The Sorceress would decline his offer. No matter, he thought. Although he'd never admit it, he knew precognition wasn't 100% accurate. Perhaps while he sat here waiting, he could think of some way to sweeten the deal. Julien was a smooth operator. He would somehow make The Sorceress the right offer. And she'd have to agree. Julien also sensed The Sorceress would make him wait, seeing everyone else in the room first. Bah! An amateurish trick. But this was her parlor. He could afford to patiently play by her rules. The wait would provide him with more time to fine-tune his pitch. Although Julien and The Sorceress differed radically in both philosophy and modus operandi, they offered the community similar services. Both businesses catered to the distraught, the downtrodden, the destitute with nowhere else to turn. For many years, M?tayer's Magic had successfully competed with the quiet, little Sorceress at the other end of the district. But lately, word of mouth concerning her "miracles" had begun to spread like wildfire. Julien's business was not yet threatened. But he knew the timing was now pivotal. He and The Sorceress must arrive at some understanding ... or come to a head. War was a thing to be avoided. A disgusting relic of the past, it shone an unwanted, public light on activities best conducted in the shadows nowadays. There would be questions asked that never ought to have been brought up. Prying eyes, police, and paranormal researchers must be kept away. But if The Sorceress refused his generous offer, Julien would be left with no choice. Julien would just have to make sure she could not refuse. * * * Lucy ran happily into the waiting room, enthusiastically slamming shut the front door. The attached wind chimes jangled with a joyful, sharp tinkle. She shook her head and a heavy mane of spiky, neon pink hair jostled in unison with the wind chimes. Pausing to catch her breath, Lucy surveyed the room's occupants and suppressed the urge to whistle. Big crowd today, she thought. Gera's gonna be busy. Lucy looked down and examined her combat boots, with a chunky high-heel. Not too dirty, she reflected as she stepped onto the carpet. She chose a seat at the far end of the room. Lucy knew Gera would be willing to see her right away, but felt it would be more respectful to let the clients go first. Business first, then pleasure! Tightly clutching a box wrapped in plain brown paper, Lucy sat and hoped Gera would like her gift. Gera was always a bit sentimental and would be touched Lucy had remembered this, the tenth anniversary of her becoming The Sorceress. Lucy crossed her fishnet-clad legs, and let her mind wander nostalgically back to those days when she was just a kid. Ten years ago ... but it still felt just like yesterday. * * * "Gera, are you ready?" asked a smart looking woman in a sharp, professional business suit. "Yes," said The Sorceress with a smile. "I think I'm ready, Andrea." Andrea Bixby looked down at The Sorceress, seated cross-legged on furry pink rug on the floor. The Sorceress had a sharp, angular, masculine face framed by long, luxurious, flowing white hair. Dressed in a shimmery, iridescent white gown, her thick arms and legs betrayed the open secret of her original sex. Rising to her feet, she pulled on a pair of pearly white, spiked heels. "How's my makeup?" she asked. "You look like a million bucks," replied Andrea. "Too bad the bills are all counterfeit," quipped Gera with a wink. "Who's first?" "Your choice," said Andrea, looking down at a clipboard. "A lot are routine, small requests. You've got a couple biggies though. That includes Joanne Fabian. You might want to see her first. She looks worried. Oh, and also, Lucy just snuck in the front door." "She'll want to go last," Gera smiled. "After Julien, of course." Andrea cleared her throat nervously. "I was getting to that. I figured you knew, but ... I was looking for a nice way to broach the topic." "Tsk tsk," said Gera. "Andrea, don't sugarcoat bad news. You know I like salt with my tequila." "What will you tell him?" Andrea asked. "How can I know that until I hear what he has to say?" Gera said with a mischievous smile. * * * Andrea ushered Joanne Fabian into Gera's sanctum. The Sorceress beamed and wrapped her beefy arms tightly around Joanne. "Girlfriend, where you been?" asked The Sorceress. Joanne forced a weary smile onto her face. "I'm sorry I haven't called," she said. "Never mind that," said The Sorceress with a wink. "You could've at least emailed! I finally made that great leap into the 20th century y'know." Joanne laughed. Gera motioned her towards a soft, leather armchair. "Something to drink?" asked The Sorceress. Joanne shook her head and sat down, stiffly smoothing her skirt a bit and again adjusting her sunglasses. "Jimmy do that?" asked Gera sadly. Joanne nodded silently. The smile evaporated from her face. "That's too bad," said The Sorceress. "I always liked Jimmy. And I always thought the two of you were good together. Ahh, that was so long ago. I never see any of the old crowd any longer." "I thought I saw Lucy out there," said Joanne. "Well, of course there's Lucy," Gera said. "She's still my Girl Friday." Andrea, standing silently in a corner of the room, cleared her throat. "One of my Girls Friday, of course," The Sorceress said rolling her eyes. "But Joanne, you didn't come back here to reminisce, did you?" "No," Joanne said, finally removing her sunglasses. "I need your help." The Sorceress nodded patiently and motioned for Joanne to continue. "I still love Jimmy," she said. "I don't want to leave him. But ... I can't continue like this. He's on a self-destructive path. He's going to wind up killing himself. He kills a tiny part of himself every day. He has no friends any longer. They're all just sycophants and toadies now. Suck-ups too stupid to see he's got nothing left to give ... or wolves who smell weakness and want a piece of his corpse." Joanne wiped a tear from her bruised cheek. "I don't care about the fame or the fortune," she continued. "I'm willing to give up the live completely. I just want my old Jimmy back. The one who didn't live at the bottom of a shot glass or a bottle of pills." The Sorceress frowned, her eyes glazing over momentarily. The room was silent. "You won't like my answer," she finally said, her face grim. "I just need this nightmare to end," Joanne answered in a quiet, flat voice. "I know the way this works. Tell me what I need to surrender." "Jimmy's addiction runs deep," Gera said. "Her soul is sticky, his karma is stained. He needs you more than you think. Are you willing to shoulder his burden?" Joanne nodded a firm, courageous affirmative. "And you will have to give up the money, the success, the celebrity," Gera continued. Again, Joanne quietly nodded. "Then here is the bargain I can strike with the cosmos on your behalf," said The Sorceress. "You and Jimmy will switch bodies and reality will be re-woven around that fact. Only you and I will remember the old history. In your new actuality, you will both be ten years younger and without any of your current wealth or fame. As the new Jimmy, you must remain chained to his demons. Be strong and you can conquer his alcoholism, drug abuse, and violent anger. He will become Joanne, a decade younger and very much in love with you. The two of you remain a couple and Jimmy, in your body, will be safe from temptation while you clean up his old life. Is this transaction acceptable to you?" "I'll do it," Joanne said. The Sorceress swiftly lifted her arms high in the air, pointing down at Joanne, still seated in the arm chair. The air in the room became heavy and wavered, as though from a heat mirage. Joanne felt her body tremble and looked down in time to see her legs sprout body hair and grow thick and muscular. Her breasts disappeared into her chest. A painful sensation of pins and needles burned in her crotch as Jimmy's manhood erupted from her groin. Her long hair disappeared, and her face reshaped itself -- hard, angular, and stubbly. But young. When the transaction was complete, a handsome young man with short dark hair, striking blue eyes, and a five o'clock shadow sat in the arm chair ... still dressed in a skirt, blouse, and high heels. "Sorry about that," laughed Gera. "Sometimes the Cosmic Jokester sneaks one past me." Joanne looked down at her new, cross-dressed body and laughed with The Sorceress. "It's okay," answered the new Jimmy. "I got everything I asked for. I'll ... uh ... just tell Joanne I lost a bet or something." "Now remember," said The Sorceress. "The new Joanne remembers nothing of the past. Be gentle and don't repeat Jimmy's crimes. I don't want to see the new Joanne coming to me in six months with a black eye." "You won't," promised Jimmy, hugging The Sorceress. "Is there any way I can repay you for saving my marriage?" "Just email me now and again," said Gera. "Don't be a stranger." * * * Andrea ushered in Nick Rattigan next. Nick furrowed his brow in a perplexed frown passing the young man in a skirt. Sure, the guy looked happy. But he'd come back out looking the same way he had going in. Had The Sorceress been unable to help him with whatever his problems might've been? Nick had nothing against cross-dressers. Hell, rumor had it The Sorceress was some kinda gender confused person herself. And Nick had always gotten along swell with her. Maybe the guy in the skirt hadn't wanted to be transformed into a dame after all. He went in all worried and came out happy, so maybe he just wanted The Sorceress to help him stop worrying about his dressing like a chick? At any rate, it wasn't any of Nick's business. Live and let live, he always figured. The world needs big, beefy blue collar guys just as much as it needs fruity dudes with high heels. Somebody's gotta put plays on Broadway, just like somebody's gotta pave the street itself. There's a place for everybody in this big old world. "Hello Nick," said The Sorceress. "Please, sit down." Nick turned around and saw a comfy looking leather arm chair. Settling his heavy frame into it, he got right to the point. "Ma'am, I need a makeover," he began. "No, dear Nick," answered The Sorceress with a wink. "I'm the one who needs a lipstick intervention. Your own look is fine as is." Nick laughed, looking at The Sorceress's masculine face with its carefully applied yet strangely out-of-place makeup. "It ain't for me," he finally said. "Ma'am, I need a makeover for my daughter Maura. Since her momma died, I done everything I can to give her all she needs. My business does well. She doesn't want for anything material. But ... well ... you seen her, ma'am. She takes too much after me. She's heavy and ... well ... she ain't a pretty face. She's almost done with high school and still ain't never had a boyfriend, ain't never been kissed, and ... well ... it breaks my heart, ma'am. She's my only daughter. I want her to be happy. I want her to find a good boy, fall in love, and live happily ever after. But she can't do that being so big and homely-looking, like me. It ain't fair, but a fat slob of a man can still get by if he works hard and has a good heart. But there ain't but no hope for a gal in the same boat. Is there ... Is there anything you can do with your magic?" "It's not my magic," said The Sorceress. "All I can do is plead your case before The Powers That Be." "If there's anything you can do, I'd be most appreciative," answered Nick. The Sorceress stared into space, growing silent for a moment as her eyes grew glossy and distant. "Your magnanimous devotion to your daughter more than outweighs your superficial preconceptions about beauty," said The Sorceress. "Your heart is good, Nick. You just don't always recognize beauty when you see it." "I know I ain't perfect," said Nick. "And I don't mean to be shallow or nothing. I just want Maura to be beautiful and fall in love." "Your daughter may yet fall in love with no help from you or I," she finally said. "I can make no guarantees, but Nick ... your sacrifice might not be necessary." "No," answered Nick. "I want my little girl to have every advantage -- including beauty. I'm willing to bet she'll be happier this way than the other." "Okay," said The Sorceress. "Here's the proposed contract. Your daughter Maura will become strikingly beautiful and remember always having been that way. She'll easily be the prettiest girl in her peer group. But she'll retain the humility, sincerity, and compassion she's always had. You're a good friend, Nick -- I didn't want to see your daughter become some vain, mean-spirited airhead. However, Mother Nature's ledger sheets must still balance. If Maura Rattigan is no longer an overweight, unattractive woman ... then you must become one. Nick, you will become Maura's mother -- not her father. There will be a new history where her father died years ago and you, her hardworking, heavy-set, horse-faced mother, lovingly raised her all these years. Only you and I will ever recall the original history. Everything else can remain the same. Your business, your friends, your relationship with your daughter. But if she is to become a beautiful girl, you must become a homely, obese woman. Think carefully, Nick. Is this transaction acceptable to you?" "It's not what I expected," replied Nick. "But for Maura, sure. I mean, yeah. Yes, it's acceptable. I'll do it." The Sorceress held aloft her arms again, this time directed at Nick. Again, the atmosphere in the room seemed to flutter and sway. Nick felt his body shiver. A particular prickle ran across his chest and he looked down to see swollen bosoms suddenly stretch forth from beneath his flannel shirt. He felt his hair suddenly cascade down his neck and shoulders. A sharp pain tugged at his groin as he felt his gender forcefully restructure itself. His hips flared out and his already ample ass ballooned into a femininely proportioned yet mammoth sized rear end. His clothing then also shifted, weaving into a frumpy looking blue dress that hung down just below his knees. He noticed his feet were smaller and clad in a pair of scuffed navy blue pumps. His hairless legs were sheathed with nude tinted pantyhose. "It really worked!" said Nick in a lighter, high-pitched voice. "I'm a lady!" "Yes," The Sorceress smiled. "And your daughter can now start winning beauty pageants." "How can I ever pay you for this?" Nick asked. "You can't," answered The Sorceress with a laugh. "And what would I want with money anyhow? No amount of plastic surgery is going to beautify my face!" Nick, now a dumpy, middle-aged, fat woman, hugged The Sorceress before heading out the door, eager to meet the new and improved Maura Rattigan. * * * Finally Andrea ushered in Doctor Bonesteel. He nervously surveyed his new surroundings and glanced with guarded skepticism at the mannish woman in the white dress. He resisted the urge to frown or turn his head with disgust. "You're 'The Sorceress,' I presume?" he said, offering stiffly to shake hands. "So I'm told," she answered, gesturing him to be seated. "I ... I guess I'm not sure how to begin," he stammered. "You don't believe in me?" The Sorceress said. "No," confessed Doctor Bonesteel. "Perhaps I don't. But still ... I'm here, aren't I?" "Believe it or not," continued The Sorceress. "I already know your problem. I know why you're here. And I know your cynical, condescending attitude is going to make this transaction far more difficult than it needs to be. The universe doesn't want to fight for you, doctor. You've spent most of your adult life wrapped in a selfish, empty world of material luxuries, insulated from people with real problems. You've never shared your wealth with the needy. You've never offered comfort to the lonely. You've never offered to feed the hungry or clothe the naked. Your cold, distant behavior alienated even your wife, a kindred spirit also born to privilege. Only when your world was shattered by an act of unspeakable barbarism, did your heart begin to truly soften. There is hope for you, Doctor Bonesteel ... but our transaction here today will not be anything like what you imagine." "What I imagine is justice," said Bonesteel. "You claim to know everything and see into my heart? Then you know what that fucking bastard did to my daughter." "The court has already dispensed justice," said The Sorceress. "That's not a discipline I claim any expertise in." "I didn't get justice!" cried Bonesteel. "Justice is all about consequences. Justice is about having to face up to what you've done. Justice is about your past catching up with you. The piece of shit who hurt my little girl didn't face any consequences! I haven't seen any justice." "Doctor Bonesteel, I can help you," said The Sorceress. "But listen again to my words... literally. I can help you ... not your daughter. What's done is done. Her wounds must heal on their own. And they will. But you - - your soul is frozen, rigid, and beginning to crack. I can help you before it shatters. But you won't necessarily like my offer." "I'm not interested in your offer," snapped Bonesteel. "Just tell me whether or not you can punish the man who beat and raped my daughter." "Yes," said The Sorceress slowly. "The universe will permit that, providing you accept my proposal to rehabilitate yourself as well." "What do I have to do?" Bonesteel asked. "This is what I propose," said The Sorceress. "On your behalf, I will petition the cosmos to restructure itself around both yourself and the man who hurt your daughter. You will switch bodies with a trouble teenage girl. And so will the rapist. He will become a recent rape victim herself -- a runaway who has gotten in over her head with a street gang that uses and abuses her. You will become her best and only friend -- the gang leader's girlfriend. Only you will have the power to help save her ... and yourself. This is an opportunity to redeem your soul, to make something of your life ... and to exact punishment on the criminal who wronged your daughter. Only you and I will have any memories of what has taken place. The girl you change with will be saved from a wretched life and take over your existence, believing she is really you but behaving with the same compassion and free-spirited kindness she formerly possessed. Likewise, the girl who becomes the rapist will believe she is really him. But she will now act with greater humility, feeling empathy and understanding towards women. The criminal himself will need your help -- he will completely believe he is a frightened, broken shell of a teenage girl. You will have punishment ... yet also an opportunity to do great good. Is this transaction acceptable to you?" Bonesteel stood silent for a long while before answering. "Yes," he said with quiet simplicity. Once more, The Sorceress lifted her arms and the room swam dizzily with undulating waves. Doctor Bonesteel's body shuddered briefly. The new Doctor Bonesteel slowly rose from the arm chair, rubbing his hand along his forehead. "I am sorry I could do nothing for your pain," said The Sorceress. "It's all right," mumbled the new Bonesteel. "I ... I guess I have to be going." Andrea again emerged from a dark corner of the room and stood with The Sorceress, watching Bonesteel leave. "That's it for the big requests," Andrea said. "You want me to send in Lucy?" "No," said The Sorceress. "Let's get Julien's visit over with now." "I know that's what you said earlier," replied Andrea. "But I thought, after this unpleasantness ... well ... maybe you could use some cheering up?" "Send in Mister M?tayer," said The Sorceress. * * * Julien M?tayer swaggered into the working sanctuary of The Sorceress. "Good day," he said, crisply bowing at the waist. "We have never enjoyed the pleasure of a personal meeting. I felt it was high time we two professionals corrected that deficiency." The Sorceress acknowledged M?tayer with a brief curtsy, then motioned him to the arm chair. "I know you are a very busy ... woman, with an operose schedule," M?tayer said. "I shan't waste your time with banter and badinage. I come to you with a business proposition. You are, I believe, a woman with a reputation for being able to negotiate exacting yet equitable transactions." "What's your deal?" interrupted The Sorceress. "Here is what I propose," said M?tayer. "United, we are stronger than we could ever be divided. Let us ally ourselves in a business venture, combining our two operations into a single synergy of sorcery. Separately, we each do a brisk trade. But together, you know we would be a force to be reckoned with in this city. Indeed, we may even be able to extend our collective influence out into new territories, perhaps establishing a mighty magical franchise -- a web of shops across the nation or even the globe. A 'Magic, Inc.' or a 'Spell-Mart' or a 'Thaumaturgy-R-Us' that dominates the market. By co-ordinating our efforts and aligning together our brilliance, we could easily achieve such ends while still maintaining the requisite subterfuge to avoid detection and discovery by those mundane, ignorant fools who would hunt and fear us." The Sorceress ran a burly hand through her long, flowing snow white hair. Her brow wrinkled in a frown as she stared silently for a moment at M?tayer. "Julien," she began slowly. "You and I have very different philosophies - - both of magic and of business. To begin with, I don't even consider myself to be 'in business.' I do not charge any of my clients money for the services I provide." "Ah!" interrupted M?tayer. "Yet most of your clients reciprocate with gifts, often quite lavish ones." "True," admitted The Sorceress. "But I don't require such payment. In fact, I very often try to discourage it. Look Julien ... many years ago, I was very interested in making money. I wanted to be successful and powerful, wealthy and famous." "Back in your 'Rock Star' days," said M?tayer with a smile. "I have researched your history quite thoroughly, I assure you. I know all about your past with Monsieur Fabian." "Yeah," said The Sorceress with a sad, distant smile. "Back when I used to play with Jimmy Fabian, I ... wanted to be rich and famous. But some things happened back then that changed me ... changed us all." "I know the story about the 'accident' that changed you," said M?tayer. "The wild, drunken orgy. The woman scorned. The curse she uttered. The dirty steak knife she used. The new bassist Monsieur Fabian had to recruit. And the strange, wonderful new powers you subsequently discovered you possessed, post-accident." "I didn't gain anything," said The Sorceress. "I lost a very important piece of ... my anatomy. But in sacrificing that part of my life, I wound up with a new vision of reality. Like how a blind man gains a heightened sense of hearing." "You gained power," said M?tayer. "But that's just it," said The Sorceress. "That's where you and I are different. I didn't gain any powers. I gained ... well, I guess you could call it insight. I don't perform magic, Julien. I strike bargains, I make deals, I negotiate with the cosmos. I'm like a lawyer who represents a client pleading before the judge of all judges. I don't always get my clients the deals they want. But ever since my accident, the universe itself ... the very fabric of reality will speak to me ... and sometimes even listen to my client's pleas." "I am familiar with your masquerade," said M?tayer. "But you aren't," said The Sorceress. "Julien, you very likely tap into the same source of magical powers I do -- but you do so in a radically different fashion ... and for radically different reasons. You manipulate the fabric of space and time for profit. I mediate between unhappy people and an imperfect universe, hoping to negotiate better versions of both. Happier lives for my clients, and a better possible version of reality itself." "Enough!" snapped M?tayer. "Your reply to my most reasonable offer is negative?" "I'm sorry," said The Sorceress. "But my answer is no. If I joined with you in trying to make a profit from what I do ... well, I suspect I'd no longer have the power to do what I do. The universe wouldn't like it." "I beg to differ," said M?tayer, calmly rising from the chair and pulling from his pocket a small, ruby and gold amulet. "What's this?" asked The Sorceress cautiously. "You are not familiar with the legendary Medallion of Zhaka?" grinned M?tayer. "Truly, I am surprised at your lack of defenses, m'lady. So easily I have managed to smuggle this mystical trinket into your inner sanctum. Your wards and abjurations may dampen my natural abilities -- but you will soon discover they do not negate the energies contained in an artifact of this magnitude." From a dark corner of the room, Andrea Bixby tried to creep towards the door. "Not so fast," laughed M?tayer. "You and your assistant will find you are now in my power -- or rather now in the power of him who controls the Medallion of Zhaka. Neither of you may move your arms or legs." Near the door, Andrea suddenly collapsed to the floor in a tangled heap of her own limbs. The Sorceress remained stiffly motionless where she sat. "Since you are so reluctant to cooperate with my most generous offer," said M?tayer. "Now it has become necessary that I 'absorb' your powers and your business. With the Medallion, I can issue hypnotic-like commands that you are impelled to obey. When I order you to 'negotiate' with the cosmos, you will do so ... and you will negotiate a complete and total merger of the two of us, with my personality the dominant one. Do you understand?" The Sorceress fought to disagree, but found herself powerless. "Do you understand?" repeated M?tayer. "I understand," said The Sorceress slowly. "But Julien, it may not work as you wish. You still don't understand how my magic works." "You will do your best," commanded M?tayer. "You will do your very best to negotiate the proposal I ask for, with no tricks or unintended consequences." "I will try," said The Sorceress, her eyes cast low on the floor. "You may now lift your arms and fulfill my request," ordered M?tayer. The Sorceress slowly, reluctantly raised her arms and lifted her eyes to the ceiling. For a moment, the air about the room began to swim dizzily ... then the unexpected happened. The door behind Julien M?tayer flung open and Lucy barged energetically into the room. "Whoops!" she cried, tripping and falling into M?tayer knocking the both of them to the floor. "I'm so sorry Gera. I just ... I got the feeling you were in trouble and... I'm sorry mister." M?tayer angrily pushed the girl off, cursed and scrambled to pick up his fallen amulet. But The Sorceress, her arms now free to move, commanded the swirling air in the room to lift the medallion away from her rival and into her own outstretched fingers. Lucy quickly surveyed the scene and decided her first instincts were in fact correct. "Maybe I'm not so sorry," she chirped, kicking M?tayer in the knee with her heavy combat boots. The rival wizard again fell to the ground, but this time whirled his head about and faced Lucy. His mouth contorted into a horrible twisted mask of evil as incomprehensible words of arcane spellcraft began spewing out. Again the air in the room began to waver, but this time with a furious, wrathful bent to it. The Sorceress acted quickly, struggling to discount M?tayer's last command and instead intervene on behalf of Lucy. The entire room -- walls, floors, ceiling, and furniture -- shuddered and seemed to flare and fade constantly, as though an inner flame in every bit of matter was flickering in the wind. A brilliant flash suddenly turned everything dazzling bright white. And reality changed. The brightness faded. A single, new individual stood before Gera the Sorceress: Lucy M?tayer. A big, burly, broad-shouldered bald woman with a neon-pink goatee. Her blouse and studded leather skirt were now tinted the colors of Julien M?tayer's clothes. Her heavy, muscular legs were still sheathed in ripped fishnet stockings. An intricately carved wooden walking stick was in her hands. "Oh no," breathed The Sorceress quietly. "Lucy ... I-I'm so sorry." The new Lucy looked down at herself. Her breasts clearly spoke for her femininity. But her bulky, broad chested build screamed masculinity. A hairy hand idly scratched at an unsightly bulge at her crotch. "What happened?" she finally asked in a hoarse, husky baritone. "You merged with that man," said Gera. "Julien M?tayer. He was a ... competitor of sorts." "He wanted to hurt you," said Lucy flatly. "Yes," replied Gera. "Yes, I suppose he did." "Did I help?" asked Lucy hopefully. "Yes," said Gera. "I'm afraid you did. I didn't want this to happen, but ... well, I guess it was what the cosmos wanted for Julien. I'm sorry that you ... uh ... that you're now ... well ..." "Both man and woman?" said Lucy. "Yes." "It's all right," answered Lucy with a wink. "In a way, that makes me a lot more like the 'woman' I most admire." "Please," said The Sorceress, blushing. "Don't be flippant. This is serious, Lucy. There's likely no way to change you back. At least no easy way." "I told you: it's all right," replied Lucy. "Really, I'm just glad I could help you out in some way. You've always taught me that your own sacrifices are what's given you power." "Insight, dear. Not power." "Same diff," shrugged Lucy. "Maybe I can learn to do the same. Magic stuff seems to favor weirdo half-breeds like you 'n me. We're like modern day shamans, kooks whose oddball blend of man and woman, dark and light, up and down somehow lets us see into a spiritual realm nobody else gets." "It's a bit more complicated than that," the Sorceress shrugged. "Maybe," admitted Lucy. "But if it's okay with you ... well, perhaps I could learn your trade. Study at your feet. I'm half that M?tayer dude now anyhow. So I've gotta have some magic abilities." Gera and Andrea exchanged confused glances. "I guess there's nothing wrong with an extra set of hands," said The Sorceress with a smile. "Super!" squealed Lucy in a deep, scratchy voice. "Oh and before I forget ... happy anniversary." Lucy stooped to the floor, picked up a box wrapped in plain brown paper, and handed it to Gera. Gera smiled and accepted the gift. - The End - If you liked this or hated this, please leave a comment. If you enjoyed this, please read and comment on my other stories. Thanks!