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Formula Number 9 A Fictional Story written by Reif DISCLAIMER: This is adult fiction with heavy transgender elements, if you find that in any way offensive, or you are under the age of majority then stop reading NOW. No character in this story is meant to resemble any actual person living or dead. This is a non commercial work of fiction. All rights are fully retained by the author excepting trademarks and other materials as noted. No poet sings because he must sing. At least no great poet does. A great poet sings because he chooses to sing. ~Unknown Author Chapter 1 A blur of dark silver barely identifiable as a powerful car at its current speed tore through the humid, oppressive night, its oversized engine lovingly designed for power and speed above all other constraints roaring its hellish, mechanical joy, inanimately rejoicing at the prospect of finally being released to reach its true reckless potential in ways that were never possible under the cautious light of day. Squealing rubber on asphalt at each turn and the blare of indignant car horns tracked the speeding silver blur as it tore through the fitfully sleeping city. Briefly, the occasional traffic light would penetrate into the car's interior and light up the face of the car's driver, painting his horrified features in green, yellow, and red before his vehicle tore past the stationary lights, treating their unwelcome warnings more as suggestion than law. A few times the trip came within a breath of ending in a twisted mass of burning jagged steel, but the driver cared only for the curse that was relentlessly battering at his mind. Eventually, the large monumental buildings with their edifices of plate glass and granite gave way to their smaller, more mundane concrete brothers, then the yet smaller cousin buildings that huddled forlornly in their shabby coats of old paint forever in the shadow of their greater brethren. Finally, the expensive car slowed as it passed through the gloomy darkness cast in the shadow of a great span of concrete that blocked out the sky as it formed a wide highway and into a neighborhood where the conspicuous statement wealth of was very out of place among the hodgepodge markets and thrifty apartments of an immigrant people that had come to the city with nothing. The outside world though passed unseen beyond the driver's notice unless it was relevant to his consuming quest as he sought the narrow alley with its small shop that held the key to everything that had gone so horrifically wrong this night. When the car finally stopped in front of the tiny shop set into the side of an alley with its thickly barred, battered door, its driver paused, desperate to collect himself amid the whirlwind of his thoughts. The interlude however, freed his mind to wander and almost instantly it was pulled back towards the haunting visions that tormented him. Steeling himself in defense, the driver quickly ran his large shaking hands through his jet black hair and then fumbled with his tie and collar as if getting more of the heavy air could ward against his mental demons. For a few heaving breaths the driver's muscled chest rose up and down, a small triangle of exposed brown mocha skin and a few wispy black chest hairs framed by the open collar of his white dress shirt. Unwilling to invite the specter's return with an idle mind and seeking the relief that his goal promised, the driver all but vaulted the distance between his car and the front step of the shop. He pounded out a rough wordless summon of the woman that had caused him so much grief with his fist on the solid door of the shop and briefly contemplated though a few pounding heartbeats the nightmarish dread that the architect of his current personal hell might not answer him. "Por favor, por favor, por favor," [please] he whispered to the ghostly reflection of the handsome Latin man in the dingy window of the shop's door, which the reflection dutifully replicated with perfect precision. For a horrible eternity measured in moments the man stood there looking into the dark pools of his reflection's eyes, the deep brown fading into black in the mix of dim starlight and yellow street lamps, before the lines of his reflection's young rugged face were distorted by the lines of an annoyed weathered eye peering at him through the door blinds from the other side of the dingy thick glass. The old brown eye disappeared as quickly as it had shown itself and in the space of a few seconds the tormented man's heart swung from utter despair to triumph as he heard the heavy locks on the door being opened. The door's hinges had barely had time to finish their creaking protestation of the heavy weight they carried before the man found himself pierced by the gaze of the old, thin, Mestizo woman that stood on the door's inner threshold. The man began to speak almost immediately, but the woman's imperious manner that radiated her displeasure at the lateness of her visitor's arrival sapped the man's momentum and left him mute until she broke the passing silence. "Ah Manuel y Rodriguez Domingo, back so soon?" The woman mockingly questioned with a curt nod of her gray-streaked head. "Si, [Yes] Your potion did not work!!!" Manuel hissed quickly in reply. If the woman's face had been severe before, in the second that passed beyond the uttered allegation her expression became lined iron. Faster than the strike of a coiled viper, a weathered, bony hand shot out from under the brightly woven shawl the woman wore and dug into Manuel's muscled shoulder. Had he resisted, the old stooped woman could not have moved him, but surprised and unprepared he was easily pulled into her shop by the raw force of will the woman exerted. "Imb?cil [Fool]," she snapped, her dark eyes flashing like coals upon the transgressing man. "I warned you to never mention what I sell here, even in the dark of night there could be eyes watching and ears open. I have worked hard for this, though I doubt you even would understand the concept." The woman finished with curt wave of her hand indicating the darkened cabinets, and bins piled high with various earthy roots and herbs. Manuel's pride would not abide the insult, even in the dim light the flush of anger on his dark skin was unmistakable. "You are being most unfair, just because I do not dig in the dirt like...." "Like me?!" The old woman hissed an interruption. "I wonder Manuel does your father think himself as much of a hildalgo [gentleman] as you do? "This does not concern him," Manuel vehemently protested. "Oh but it does. The Ambassador gives you, his only son, so much favor that your life, Manuel, becomes intolerably boring. It was only natural that you take up a hobby, but that he would tolerate the one you have chosen is his failure. Even before you barged into my shop this afternoon I knew that your father blissfully ignores the reality that often as he is working on affairs of state you are often elsewhere having affairs between the shapeliest pair of thighs you can seduce into bed. "I DO NOT ASK FOR YOUR JUDGEMENT," Manuel shouted irate that this old woman would insult his honor like this. She did not flinch, "No, but you did ask me for the strongest love potion I made. What was her name? Maria I think you said. Finally, you meet a woman who will not have you, who sees how weak your spirit is but instead of rising to meet her challenge all you can do is lust after her, and try to take with guile what she will not give willingly." Manuel remembered her, his beautiful Maria, with her long jet black hair that hung down to her wonderfully round ass. Her thick thighs, the tone of her skin like latte coffee, the mountains of her generous breasts, the ruby lips, and the earthy eyes that burned with unfettered disdain for him every time he had tried to gain her favor. It was not fair, he had lavished her with luxurious gifts, praised her with sweet words, and worked even harder at his weights to be a flawless specimen of manhood, yet she showed him no favor at all. A lesser man would have given up, but he was not that weak. Was it that wrong that he had sought this woman's help once he had learned that for the right price a man could buy "special" herbs at this shop from the woman that was rumored in quiet whispers to be a Bruja [witch]. "If your distaste for me is so great why did you sell me the potion?" Manuel pointedly asked. "Ah, Manuel, I do not judge those who use my potions on the basis of whether what they do is right or wrong, but I do judge those who lie to themselves about it, or lie to me. Do you remember what I told you about my formula # 9, or have you forgotten how I said that I cannot brew love, it is too complex, too fickle an emotion. I can only induce desire, lust, longing, need, want, and attachment. Together those emotions can m easy for love to bloom but that particular power must be shared. I warned you about using number 9, as it is my most powerful potion of that type. I suggested maybe #6, or #7 but you wanted power above all else, you wanted the strongest I have, and the strongest I make can overpower the will of all but the mightiest of men and women if they are not careful making them desire whoever has consumed the other half of the potion above all other things. Now I see you standing here, trembling, your face flushed with desire, and your manhood at attention while you claim my potion did not work. So I ask you Manuel, Is he as handsome as you?" Manuel's hands flew to his head, his body shaking at the recalled memory of the man's face who was burned into his psyche. His sandy brown hair, his skin the color of a wheat field, his deep green eyes, and his prominent nose. "...If his face did not have so much worry," Manuel blurted out and then grimaced trying to force the man's face from his mind. The woman gave a toothy smile then wryly commented. "I thought as much. If it had been a woman you would be ravishing her right now and slinking back to me in the light of day to complain. You were careless weren't you? My potion did exactly what I said it would do, but you delivered it to the wrong person and now you desire another man. The thought of what you want him to do to you must be eating you up inside." "STOP IT, I do not want to be with that gringo man," Manuel hastily asserted, more for his own benefit than the old woman's. The old woman just smiled as Manuel's mind whirled, noting the massive tent in his pants. It was not Manuel's fault he thought. He had chosen the venue carefully, both he and Maria had been expected to be at the lavish reception at the Shilton Hotel along with all of the other sons and daughters of the various diplomats. He had waited until a group had formed, even waited until some of Maria's friends had walked up after getting drinks. He had seen his opportunity when Maria had been left without a drink. He had slyly made his move, pouring the contents of the clear vial he had purchased from the Bruja into two cocktails then walked over to present one of them to Maria. It was supposed to look like a kind gesture, everyone knew he had been trying to woo Maria for a month. Curse his friend Julio who had come up behind him to greet him and made him look away for that crucial moment. Curse Blanca, Maria's friend who had shared a knowing look with Maria while his head was turned and exchanged their drinks. Curse himself, for not realizing the importance of Blanca excusing herself back to the drink table, or seeing that she placed the laced cocktail back amongst the others. He had finished with Julio to see that Maria was happily sipping her drink and so he had drunk his own share of the potion. He had been carefully watching Maria for the slightest sign that his love potion was working when the first pangs of desire hit him, but not pangs of desire for Maria. It had come on fast, he had excused himself and gotten a quarter of the way across the crowded ballroom cutting between the men in suits and women in dresses before the undeniable proof of his failure came as his gaze seemed to home in like a laser on a man on the far side of the room as the other man seemed to home in on him. For a few seconds they had looked at each other longingly like a couple out of a old romance film, then each had realized what he was doing leading both of them violently break their shared look. That first flush of rejected attraction had not solved by it far though. Manuel had felt himself being drawn to that man, could feel how much he had wanted him, could feel how much he had desired him. His emotions had been hijacked, his intellect knew that he should not want this man and that was enough to intermittently override the spell and give him a respite, but as soon as the fire of his intellectual outrage over being forced to desire another man had waned he had been drawn back by his compromised emotions. Over and over again his gaze had been drawn to the other man letting him easily see that the other man had been affected the same way. Again and again the two of them had fought their emotions only to return to the same emotional state. The soundtrack to their movements as they circled the room on opposite walls was a love song, but it was out of tune, and the needle was scratching across the record two or three times a minute as the two men fought the compulsions. Eventually, the other man had reached a door and all but dived through it in a bid for freedom from their shared madness. Manuel had dared not follow, but what his reason had wanted was secondary to what his body and his heart had desired so he had pursued. Out into the richly appointed main hall he had followed the man, and then tracked him into a plainly deserted service hallway. The service hallway had been a dead end. Manuel's quarry had been trapped. For the space of a moment the two had stood there caught between the warring urges of desire and disgust. For the space of a moment the two had stood there facing each other, each sporting a throbbing tent in their pants. For the space of a moment they had slowly advanced on each other, their breathing heavy. Manuel had reached out to touch that man hating himself for it even as he had anticipated the feel of the other man's skin. It had been too much for the other man. He had wildly swung a fist at Manuel. Even now Manuel could hear the man's voice echoing in his ears. "GET AWAY FROM ME DAMNIT," the man had cried with a pained look on his face. The near assault had finally been enough to chase Manuel from that place. Moments later his silver car had torn out of the Hotel's parking garage and into the street, its driver horrified at what had happened to him and desperate to return to the power's source. "Alright," Manuel breathily conceded, "I failed, I gave the potion to the wrong person. Please, senora, I need the antidote." "You think there is an antidote for something of this power?" Manuel's heart fell into his stomach at the insinuation. The woman continued, "There is no antidote, it will wear off in about a month or when it has completed its purpose, not before." "Please, this is driving me mad, I do not want to spend the next month wanting to be with some gringo bastard," Manuel forcibly exclaimed. "Well I suppose there is one other way that we could resolve this particular problem." The smooth, almost mechanical tone the woman had used made Manuel's hairs stand up on the back of his neck, her insinuation made it clear that some very high stakes would be involved, but he was willing to anything to destroy this nightmare that haunted him. Chapter 2 Jonathan Lamont ran his hand through his short cropped sandy brown hair. It didn't help. The nightmare would not end. The half a dozen empty beer cans in his kitchen trash, the pot of coffee, the horrible taste of bile in his mouth from when he had forced himself to vomit. None of it had worked. He looked over the small glass vial he had retrieved from the hallway near the ballroom from where it had come to rest where the Latino man had dropped it. Written on it in small script was the simple note "Formula # 9." Jonathan was sure this had to be some kind of psychedelic drug that was making him ache for that Latino man he didn't know. There was no other explanation for his sudden insatiable attraction for this particular man. So far though, time had not taken the edge off his artificial desire at all, nor had the induced vomiting. If this was a drug, it was like none he had ever heard of. Jonathan had nearly called Poison Control three times but the thought of having to explain his symptoms stopped him every time. "DAMNIT." Why did this have to happen to him. He hadn't wanted to go to that party in the first place. Well, check that, he had wanted to go, but not in the capacity he always went which was as the guest of his boss. Every time someone threw an event he got drug there to provide the technical references for his boss, a Vice-President at Berglestein & Co. Invariably for 99% of the event he would be irrelevant as the conversations revolved around important men and women doing the same thing they had been doing since Jr. High which was figuring out the precise sequence of the social pecking order. The 1% of time that he was needed though made it so that he could not truly enjoy the lavish receptions. He could not simply disappear into the crowd, he had to stay close enough that if he was summoned he could appear to provide the needed fact or figure as the VP tried to impress on the rest of the crowd the importance of the Bergelstein companies' work. It was all starting to wear very thin on him. But this...this night took the cake by far. He had allowed himself his usual one drink limit except this time the drink he had picked up from the refreshment table had apparently been spiked. The thought of that dark haired Latino and the events that had followed made his skin crawl in both good and bad ways. The surge of desire as he thought of the man made his blood boil. "Enough" Jonathan got up from his kitchen and stalked to his bedroom. Quickly he stripped off his good clothes and down to his t-shirt and boxers. With that he retrieved a bottle of sleeping pills from the medicine cabinet in his bathroom and downed enough of them for two men. If he could not stop thinking about the man he hated and desired then he would simply go to a place where the urges could not follow. As the sleeping pills took hold he vowed that if he had not slept off the effects of whatever poison that was doing this to him he would go to the hospital first thing in the morning. Unfortunately for Jonathan, being unconscious was no relief, his dreams were filled with want for a dark haired Latin man. -An hour later- A silver hunter crept quietly down darkened streets under a pall of moonlight moving at a slow measured pace. Like a wolf it was being drawn by instinct towards the singular prey it desired. If any thoughts of regret marred its conscience they were left solely to the man who squirmed in its driver seat anxious to the sate the mating instinct he had unleashed on himself. Manuel was navigating solely on the pull that the Bruja's [witch] power was exerting on him as it tried to fulfill its directive. What little doubt he had before concerning the appropriateness of that term for the old herb lady had died when she had made her second offer to the desperate Latino. Manuel glanced down at the unremarkable second vial that he had bought from her. He shuddered to think of how she could pack the power to do what she had proposed into such a small thing. As Manuel left her shop he had a pang of worry that he might be dealing with a diablo. Fortunately the only thing she had asked for in exchange for her second vial had been money, lots of money. The thought of the empty hidden compartment in the trunk of his car that had formerly held a small stash brought a second pang of regret to Manuel, but if this vial did what she had claimed it would, a great deal of his problems would be solved. Yes, the other man was close. Manuel could feel it. Slower now he drove, his eyes trying to peer through the walls of the dark houses that lined the street to find the man he needed to dispose of to satisfy this curse. He turned a final corner and his eyes were drawn to a house halfway down the next block. A smile of anticipation crossed Manuel's face as he contemplated his next move. Few were awake in Jonathan's neighborhood who might have noted that the figure who strolled up Jonathan Lamont's short driveway with a satchel was not Jonathan. Of those night owls, none were watching when the same figure paused beside Jonathan's parked car. Thus no alarm was raised a second later when the very same figure quickly slid a wire into the driver's side door manually forcing its lock. Manuel was in the seat a heartbeat after that. Had he been a car thief he would have been gone before any one noticed but he was here to steal a life not a car, and to do that he needed information. With a loud click Manuel's flashlight came on and he started rummaging through the miscellaneous bits of life stored in the glove box of Jonathan's car with the small circle of light as his guide. Quickly, he found what he wanted. The state required insurance card told Manuel exactly what he wanted to know. Manuel's opponent was Jonathan Lamont, he didn't have anyone else registered on his policy and only this one car. Manuel smiled, good he had been a touch worried that he was about to do something horrible to a married man. Manuel looked one last time through the glove box and his smile grew even larger, the fool had left a house key in the glove box of his car. In hushed quietness with only the muffled scrape of metal on metal and the creak of leather Jonathan's castle was breached. Only a single man now stood between Manuel and his goal. The Latino prowled through the darkness wincing occasionally at the soft creak of his dress shoes, he had not had a chance to change clothes since the reception. Manuel paused briefly at the counter noticing the glint of glass from the first vial. He didn't remember dropping it back at the Hotel, but that was irrelevant now. He could feel the attraction throbbing he was so close. He pictured Maria and thought of her best traits and how the gringo would soon sport those curves. Manuel was almost giddy at the anticipation of finally being able to touch Maria's tits, or at least close approximations there of. He paused at the final hall before the cracked door. He could hear the man breathing the regular deep breath of sleep inside. Manuel retrieved the second vial from his pocket and pushed his way through the doorway smiling at his continued luck. "All too easy he thought," looking down at the sleeping man. Manuel took in the sight of the sleeping Jonathan who laid there nearly comatose from the beer and sleeping pills. He was such a fool, thought Manuel, to lay his guard down like this, sleeping here so peacefully. It would be easy to do whatever Manuel wanted, like gently rub him and kiss him. "NO!..." Thought Manuel that wasn't right. Give him the potion then kiss HER. It truly was a simple plan, but Manuel had not considered the effect of being so near Jonathan. He had been avoiding the worst of the lust and desire for the last two hours simply by virtue of being far from the man that the Bruja had compelled him to desire but now he was getting the full effect as he had been back in the hall at the Hotel. Manuel wanted this man...wanted him worse than anything in the world. Wanted this man to touch him, to kiss him, to reciprocate all the acts of love that Manuel might wish for. Manuel's member throbbed and ached within his pants. It was so simple yet so much harder than he had imagined. Manuel reasoned with his emotions that once this man was a twin of Maria he could have her as much as he wanted. She would hardly be capable of loving anyone else when the two potions were combined within her body. All he had to do was get Jonathan to drink the potion. The Witch had keyed this second potion off of the first potion, a woman's life she had said. Manuel could remember her instructions precisely. This would solve the problem by rendering who ever drank the potion into a woman ideal for the other. Manuel was here at his victory but his raw torrent of desire, lust, and maybe...love was making it hard to act. He wanted Jonathan, he could make Jonathan his woman, but that would be hurting him, destroying that which Manuel wanted, the very thought of hurting and destroying this man tied Manuel's insides up in knots. He needed a solution to two very incompatible urges. A small thread of insanity clawed it out of the logjam in Manuel's mind. A small thread which considered the unthinkable...drinking the potion himself. "DAMNIT NO," Manuel screamed inside his head, not that...it was supposed to be the other man growing tits not him. He fought to focus through the hurricane of his emotions. Slowly, ruthlessly he got them under control and slowly he advanced to kneel beside the sleeping Jonathan. With a barely audible pop Manuel pulled the stopper on the vial. Like a surgeon he slowly moved in, intent on pouring the contents into Jonathan's mouth. (DONG, DONG) The antique wall clock, which Jonathan had received from his Grandfather, dutifully noted 2 am from its mounting in the living room. In the stillness its quiet chimes reverberated. To Manuel, whose nerves were shot the sounds were thunderously loud. Startled, Manuel rose back to his feet and turned in panic towards the source of the sound, the open vial held in his trembling hand at his chest. Several thudding heartbeats passed before Manuel calmed, annoyed he had been interrupted by a clock. Manuel started to kneel again but a delicate cloying scent assaulted his nose. The fumes from the vial were like a drug on his senses. Without thinking, Manuel held up the vial and gently sniffed. The potential of two lives and the scents associated with them crashed on Manuel's mind. His eye's dilated as the center of his consciousness spun. He looked down at Jonathan again and his mind fought to not shatter. He wanted to be with Jonathan, wanted Jonathan to accept him as his love. No that would mean being the woman, Manuel dared not consider being the woman. It was Jonathan who was supposed to be the woman, but he could not stomach the thought of hurting the man he loved. Rapidly the two conflicting sides boiled reducing to the constituent positions, which did he love more, Jonathan or himself. The battle tore at his sanity. The potion sat there held before him in his hand, the scent of it oscillating wildly. Would it be so bad to be a woman? NO!!! He could not...but...that would solve the problem...NO, NO!!! Drink, no, make him drink, drink, no, drink, no, drink. Manuel's body shivered as he fought his personal internal Waterloo. The scent of jalapenos and freshly baked donuts rose off the vial. Manuel felt intolerably hot, he tried to pull his shirt from his pants and wound tickling himself slightly as his fingers and garments pulled across his stomach. He wanted Jonathan to tickle him like that Manuel thought, the urge growing, pushing the equilibrium of his mind formed between his own identity and the compulsion supplied in the Witch's first vial an iota out of balance. The side of him that pleaded with him not drink was weakening slightly under the onslaught, A small thought that drinking the vial would be okay if it brought closure to his internal war crawled through the recesses of Manuel's mind. His body tensed. DRINK! Manuel's hand raised the vial to his lips. The internal counter argument came weakly. He opened his mouth to scream a protestation that never fully came. "NNNNNMMMHHHHFFFF," Was all he managed as he tried to scream around the mouthful of metallic tasting fluid. The effort of trying to talk and swallow made Manuel gag, a slight spasm rolled across his throat and then he reflexively swallowed a mouthful of air and fluid and then that particular war was over, its source abruptly removed. It had been so simple, so easy, Manuel had chosen to pit his mental fortitude against Formula #9 and he had been outlasted. What had he done to himself? Chapter 3 For the eternity of a moment Manuel stood there absolutely frozen, the empty vial drained of all of its damning liquid still clutched with an iron grip in his hand. For the eternity of a moment Manuel's mind remained divided against itself, half raging against his intolerable weakness and half wishing for nothing more than to be with the man that still slept mere feet away unaware of the drama that unfolded by his bedside. For the eternity of a moment nothing disturbed the quiet shadowed stillness save Manuel's rapid shallow breathing as his soul hoped against hope that the old Bruja [Witch] had simply played him for a fool and sold him some fool's brew that was other than what she had claimed. Eternity's end came as Manuel felt his throbbing erection begin to soften despite the aching, clawing desire he still felt. Manuel entertained the briefest of a fool's fantasies that his member growing flaccid even as the burning lust raged ever hotter through his body was the result of the fatigue he felt and not the prelude to a doom he had invited upon himself. Manuel desperately tried to wish that happy lie into reality and ignore the building tense heat that had taken residence in his limp member, but as is their way, the lie died as reality pressed in upon it, unknowingly executed by Jonathan as he fitfully rolled onto his side in a sleep marred by unwelcome, disturbing dreams filled with desire for a particular man. The nearby motion reflexively drew Manuel's attention and whatever thin pretense to normalcy Manuel had concocted in the previous waning moment shattered as a fresh wave of raw desire crashed on Manuel's consciousness. Without thought, Manuel's gaze lovingly caressed the sleeping man as it swept lower down the lover Manuel had so carelessly chosen to fixate on the bulge in Jonathan's boxers. It was too much, Manuel's desire spiked along with the heat in his loins, and as Manuel climaxed his mind twisted into pretzels until he could think of nothing more than how much she utterly loved Jonathan, how she wanted him to lavish kisses on her nude form, explore her body with his hands, make slow passionate love to her over and over again, and then hold her close as they slept, luxuriating in each other's warmth. For a few ecstatic seconds a woman stood there clothed in a male form and savored the primal bliss that had been so inelegantly invoked, and then she was gone like smoke in the wind. Manuel could only tensely stand there, his mind reeling from being overrun by the treasonous female thoughts and control of his body still lost to the strange powerful climax that was wholly opposite from the usual sensations he was so familiar with, rather than an outward explosion of brief intense pleasure this was a throbbing aching pulsing pleasure that radiated inward from his groin into the rest of his body before it dissipated. Something had to give as no release of sticky fluid seemed to be forthcoming to end the aching ecstasy. Something did give. "MMMMMMmmmmmmaaahhhh," Manuel purred a soft cross between a moan and a whine as he gently bit down on his lower lip, riding the slowly waning wave of exquisite bliss. Seconds slowly ticked by, marked in time by Manuel's rapid breathing, before a measure of clarity returned to his mind along with the horror of realizing that while his pitch had been several octaves too low there was no mistaking the quiet primal moan that had just disturbed the hushed stillness. Manuel had heard that sound issued from the full soft lips of numerous women as he had driven them to their peaks with his virile prowess and now that same soft musical marker of feminine pleasure had come forth from his own lips supplanting and upstaging the guttural groan that was his manly right. The wrongness of it all bored down on him like a crushing weight and his hands flew to his head his fingers clinging to the sides of his temples as if his fingertips could draw the mystical venom from his mind before it spawned any more womanly thoughts. "You need the Witch's help," Manuel's rational sanity commanded, "GO!!! NOW!!! Before it gets any worse!" He had barely had time to forge the briefest plan of escape from that accursed place before a subtle sensation began to creep in at the edges of Manuel's awareness. The minute feeling of the sensitive tips of his fingers all but imperceptibly pulling through the hairs at the side of his head slowly pinged on Manuel's lust addled mind growing more and more recognizable as the shifting sensation of the skin of his fingers gently pulling against the skin of his face repeated. Momentarily confused, Manuel removed his hands from his sides of his head and held them before his eyes uncertain as to the specifics of this latest assault on his already fragile sanity. From his perspective his hands appeared normal but the subtle shifting sensation had not ended, the acute movement that had been relayed by his hands had been replaced by a general feeling of subtle movement as skin and hair flowed glacially slow under static cloth all across his body. It was not until Manuel's gaze moved lower down his hands to observe the cuff of his sleeve slowly advancing down his wrist to begin enveloping the base of his hand that a single concept cut like a laser through his mental haze. "SHRINKING, NO, NO, NO, no...I can't be shrinking!" Manuel's thoughts wailed like a banshee. He quickly looked down, searching for some other explanation other than the obvious, looking for some improbable sign that it was his clothes growing larger rather than his body smaller that was causing the increasingly loose fit of his garments. It was hard to see in the dim light but the play of shadows across Manuel's clothing belied the truth that folds were appearing and growing in clothing that had been expertly tailored not a moment before. Already, the cuffs of his pants were beginning to ride down over his shoes as the folds deepened and threatened to start stacking on one another accordion style. A second more passed as Manuel contemplated the true scope of what the contents of the empty vial he still held in his hand was doing to him before a singular thought crashed through the wall of his panic. FLEE!, the urge implored him, get away from this place before it consumes you. Get...to...the...old...witch. Failing a more concrete plan Manuel turned, his mind possessed by the want to be anywhere but that darkened room, any where but near the man he alternately hated and loved, only to trip on his own pants. Manuel half sprawled across the floor but kept moving towards the darkened doorway that that Manuel hoped held the promise of freedom from this waking nightmare that was slowly bleeding into reality. Manuel was nearly standing again as he passed through the doorway only to hear the unmistakable patter of his shoes on tile. A small night light burned in the corner of the small room casting a low pall of reddish-orange light that made it plainly clear that Manuel had stumbled into Jonathan's bathroom rather than out the hall. "Mierda [shit]" Manuel softly swore at his clumsy mistake while quickly turning to correct his errant path, the movement causing him to trip once again on his unnaturally baggy pants. Manuel grimaced at the abuse his ankles were taking, hoping that the aching in his feet was entirely due to his near falls. With a rushed sigh that faded into the surrounding shadows he resigned himself that was he was going to have to do something about his pants, and quickly, before he sprained an ankle and trapped himself in this accursed house. Doing something fast and in the dark almost instantly proved to be mutually exclusive. Unwilling to risk waking Jonathan who's presence still called to a lurking traitorous piece of Manuel's soul, the nearly frantic Latino forced himself to quietly shut the bathroom door before he turned on the light. The flood of light, while expected, was still unbearably bright to the man who had spent the last hour within enveloping darkness and precious seconds ticked by in furious blinking and squinting before his eyes adjusted. Manuel finished acclimating to the light only to find himself facing the mirror over the counter and staring into his reflection. Manuel was both instantly relieved and worried by what he saw. His face with its rugged handsomeness was unchanged, and the overall proportions of his body seemed unaltered. However, there was no denying that while the manly proportions and lines of his body had not changed the overall scale had. Manuel's shirt now was on the verge of hanging off of him in places and his pants had all but swallowed his shoes. Manuel's once powerful 6'1" frame had already surrendered several inches of height to the potion's power and as Manuel intently watched his reflection the slow change in his perspective made it clear that his height was continuing to erode. Manuel's heart began to race with renewed panic again only to be cut short scant seconds later by a hesitant then jubilant observation that somehow he had stopped losing height, stopped getting shorter...though the shrinking sensation seemed to linger on. Had his will finally won a battle? Had the potion run its course? It would be a painful loss to be reduced to a small, short man, but Napoleon had been a small man and Manuel was certain that would be preferable to the alternative. Manuel's happy relief, however, was upstaged by another internal observation. It felt...it felt like he was standing on something, like something was caught underneath his feet. Remembering that fixing his pants had been his intended goal all along Manuel reached down and hastily pulled up the legs of his pants while trying to improvise a way to secure the loose fabric. All thoughts along those practical lines ended when Manuel saw what had been hidden up until that point by the overlarge pant cuffs. He was standing on something. Manuel was standing on a twin pair of spikes that had grown out of the heels of his shoes and which were still consuming what was left of the wide, low blocks to form a pair of slender tapering columns that were pushing the heels of Manuel's feet up off of the floor and by extension his legs and the rest of his body with them. The shrinking hadn't truly stopped, it had simply been mitigated by Manuel being forced to stand on his toes. With a tensing spasm Manuel shuddered as he felt, more than saw, his feet grind smaller, the weirdness matched only by the alarming certainty that the soles of his shoes were growing increasingly rigid as the physics of his changing posture transferred more and more of his weight from his elevated heels to his shrinking toes. Manuel could only watch in shock as the hand crafted Italian leather split along the seams and began to vanish exposing most of his feet to the open air. All to soon most of the material disappeared leaving only a few leather straps to secure Manuel's newly bared, newly diminutive feet to the thin rigid sole and the tapering columns that were holding the heels of his feet a solid three inches off the ground. A parting insult came as a trio of small rhinestones popped into existence to decorate the largest band that ran over the base of his toes of each shoe. If watching his favorite dress shoes turn into a pair of women's high heel dress sandals had been bad it was nothing compared to seeing the small, delicate feet and smooth slender ankles that now occupied those shoes. Manuel's gut churned with the certainty that if he removed the elevating footwear he now wore that he would be looking up to meet the gaze of most men. It rocked him to realize he was being pulled away from his previous existence. Seeing a coat of nail polish decorate his cute toes one by one in a soft subtle shade of coral pink nearly finished unhinging Manuel's mind which allowed the alien thoughts of something that was both him and not him to once again bubble to the surface. Yes, flats are more comfortable, but the last thing I need when Dad and I are playing hardball in closing negotiations is for some stuck up C-Suite Suit to see me at my natural 5'7'' and decide that he's not going to take me seriously. Add in some 3'' inch heels and voila, 5'10'', just tall enough that they take me seriously and yet not so tall that they instinctively consider me a threat. Oh and they make my legs look INCREDIBLE. Manuel's alien thoughts paused for a second and then he felt himself blush. And while Jonathan is a gentleman through and through, he's still a man, and like every man if you push the right buttons hard enough and often enough... Manuel felt a coy seductive smile cross his face following the female train of thought before he could summon the mental fortitude to banish his feminine doppelganger and return rightful control to his besieged male identity. "AAAHHHHH, " Manuel growled at himself as he pushed the invader thoughts away only to hastily silence himself hoping that the bathroom door had prevented the outburst from waking Jonathan. "No I'm not wearing your shoes you bitch." Manuel softly vowed while he attempted to kick off the offending feminine footwear. His attempts however failed and Manuel had to resort to balancing on one small foot while he attempted to remove the other shoe from its twin. Now, the feminine doppelganger that was slowly assimilating Manuel mind, body and soul had years of experience of balancing on her toes and the general limits of motion imposed by impractical footwear that fundamentally alters natural posture and its relation to a center of gravity in the greater service of beauty. In denying her from his conscious mind Manuel also denied himself of her grace. (RIIIIIIIPPP, THUD) In the next room, Jonathan was half startled from his sleep by the sudden noise of a large object hitting the floor in his bathroom but the muffling effect of the closed door and the aftereffects of beer combined with sedatives pushed him back towards his dreams without the man noting the border of light that issued from around the closed bathroom door or that there was a satchel sitting in a nearby chair well on its way to becoming a stylish leather purse. Behind the door that separated them, Manuel was mentally trying to hold himself together. He knew that it had to be part of the spell that was altering him that had caused his pants to rip all the way up one side when he fell rendering them incapable of remaining on his shrunken body but that was little consolation. He had finally removed those damnable shoes while on the floor as a matter of pride only in time to watch the last few surviving dark hairs on his newly exposed thighs and calves vanish. For a few seconds he could have passed as a male swimmer save for his small dainty feet but the inexorable force that had already purged his legs of male body hair was not going to let him keep the well defined, hard muscles that Manuel had spent so much of his time maintaining. Manuel just stared blankly forward into the wall unable to watch as he felt his hard muscles tensely quiver for a few seconds and then with a throbbing shudder melt down into soft silky curves. As the quivering metamorphosis ended Manuel reached down with his hands and mechanically drew them up one of his remade legs, noting in passing the firm contours of his calf, the soft round knee, the girlishly slender thigh, and above all the silky smooth texture of his skin. The damage cataloged, Manuel finally forced himself to look down and stifled a sob to see the smooth mocha colored pillars of femininity capped by pastel coral-pink toes. These legs were his and they were everything he had ever desired on his various conquests, only now it was he and not one of his chosen representatives of womanhood who possessed those maiden legs. They are pretty Manuel mused. Mom thought the electrolysis sessions I gave to myself as a reward after we closed the Bennett contract were going way over the top and to the very height of vanity but it is SO wonderful never having to worry whether I have leg stubble. A couple hours of discomfort in exchange for never having to shave my legs again was the best time I ever spent. Plus I'm sure Mom's been sneaking off to the same spa ever since she saw the results. 1st note to self: I've got to discretely suggest that she start taking Dad even if he objects. All that office coffee, late nights, and stress is making him look ten years older than he is. 2nd note to self: Remind Jonathan that I still expect a new pair of stockings, and decent ones at that, to replace the ones he ruined...even if that night was incredible...(The memory of a man's hand slowly tracing across her bare thigh made her shiver)..... Manuel's identity roared back, silencing her, choking off the female doppelganger and forcing her back into his subconscious. He breathed heavily from where he sat on the toilet, terrified of just how good, how real, how physical the final memory his alter ego had summoned had been. His own recollection had barely recorded the motion that had pulled him from the floor or the exact instant that he had had started rubbing his slender thighs together. Manuel instantly stopped, but the gravity of the situation had been made clear, the moments he had wasted were inconsequential, there was no way he was going to make it back to that damnable Bruja [Witch] before her feminine poison consumed him. Manuel's anger at the old woman fortified his courage. A moment of clarity swept across him and Manuel y Rodriguez Domingo stood up to reach his full current 5' 7'' height, balled his hands into fists and trembled with rage as his burning gaze fixated on his reflection. "You will not have me so easily, senorita, I will fight you, I will not go quietly (cough)," Manuel's words practically boiled off his tongue. Aside from the light cough at the end, the statement and its accompanying glare would have been the pride of any telenovela. [Spanish soap opera] But how? Manuel didn't know how to fight this thing that was eating him alive, and a sharp discomfort from his palms proved that the potion Manuel had drunk had little regard for his spoken vow. Manuel unclenched his hands and willed his fingernails to stop growing but they did not heed his wishes. The tips slowly extended past the ends of his still mannish fingers until a modest, but well manicured half inch of nail arced into the space beyond each of his fingertips. Manuel's face was grim as he again could only watch as one by one those well kept nails acquired the same coat of pink sported by his toes. Manuel thought his normal male fingers looked absurd capped by the pink nails but what could he do? If I let them grow out a little more they would look better, but keyboards and nails just don't mix well. French tips might be a bit more professional than the pink, but I just like the color, its the same shade as my favorite... "GET OUT!! (cough) GET OUT," Manuel grimaced as he sharply yelled his dismissal of the thought before sparing a worried look at the door, afraid that of what might happen if Jonathan woke to find a demi-man occupying his bathroom. The quick motion as his neck turned within the collar of his shirt had hinted at another failure of his reality and Manuel turned back to worriedly inspect the reflection in the mirror as he raised a hand to his neck...almost gouging himself in the process before he remembered his nails were not his own. It was hard to see at first but his fingers could easily tell that his shirt, like his shoes before, was betraying him. The soft embroidery spread across his collar in a matter of seconds, the shimmering threads soon visible against the white broadcloth of what had been a man's shirt as soft patterns etched themselves into Manuel's garment. Manuel hastily tried to remove his shirt before it finished its transmutation into a dress or worse but was inevitably slowed by his inexperience with longer nails. He had only succeeded in undoing the top button when the rest of the buttons disappeared and the front opening fused rendering what had been a shirt into an unbroken tube. The material of his shirt itself thinned and softened all over but in some places more than others. In the space of a blink the sleeves disappeared entirely leaving his shoulders bare in the cool air save where twin strips of surviving cloth knitted themselves into spaghetti straps that arced over his muscled shoulders to dive down to anchoring points at the apex of a matched pair of reinforced lacy triangles clinging to Manuel's chest. The satin and lace against his skin and the thought of the life that they flowed from drove Manuel to rabid fury and he discarded care as he forcefully hooked his fingers under the lingerie's lower hem, ignoring the lace trim that grew into existence to fill his grip as he yanked the delicate camisole up over his head and then violently threw it into the nearby shower stall. A few seconds later a pair of men's cotton briefs, their fly opening already fusing shut, followed as they were forcefully pitched into the shower stall to hit the far wall in a crumple of soft fabric before they gently unfurled as they fell to land on the previously discarded camisole as a pair of satin panties. A tickle of soft scalloped lace against the skin of Manuel's waist had been more than enough to aggravate his already raw nerves and make him regard his former clothing as a zebra might regard a lion. Manuel would have actually preferred to be locked in a stranger's bathroom with a starving lion rather than his own treacherous clothing and he intently stared at his torn pants expecting that they would leap up to bind him in some piece of woman's clothing. The rectangular bulge obvious in one pocket clearly visible through the torn fabric assaulted him with an epiphany. (Cough) HIS PHONE! Why hadn't he called someone! Of all the idiotic, stupid things he had ever done...if he had just brought along someone else...someone who would have made certain that it was Jonathan drinking the potion and not he...WHY HADN'T HE THOUGHT OF THAT. The thought of Jonathan sent a wave of attraction through Manuel's body but he was too angry at himself, the Witch, and woman invading his mind for those emotions to take root. Manuel hastily kneeled down to retrieve his phone, his mind struggling to retain its newly won clarity against the juxtaposition of pink nails and mocha colored girlish thighs. A few furious heartbeats later and his spirit soared as the phone beeped its readiness but who should he call? (Cough) Manuel racked his mind trying to think of who might help him, who might be able to do something that could slow or stop his altering destiny. The unavoidable truth kept returning to the woman whose mystical products he had already twice misused to devastating effect this night. Even with a tool with which he could reach anyone his logic could come to no other viable plan above what he had already concluded. The Witch alone might could undo what she had already done. But how to reach her? Manuel cursed himself again for his earlier incautious haste and failure to think ahead and record the number to her shop when he had the chance. Manuel pondered his dilemma for a moment while trying to ignore the increasingly frequent soft coughs he seemed unable to control. (Cough) Carlos!...Carlos bought folk remedies from the Witch, he would know the number to her shop (cough)...it was his only chance...if it failed...the shiver that quaked through Manuel's naked form was only marginally due to the chill settling into his newly bared chest and arms. The cold had free reign across his skin now that not a single substantial hair guarded Manuel's chest or arms. That shiver that rocked Manuel though emanated from a different cold reality that had nothing to do with temperature and everything to do with the consequences of a failure to win the Witch's mercy. (Cough) Manuel's still seized on his last great hope as he rapidly scrolled through the pre-programmed numbers in his personal contacts list. His hope began to fray towards dismay as he saw none of the names he expected. There were no numbers listed for Carlos, Julio, Lorenzo or any of the myriad women he considered "friends," instead information for phantom people he wasn't sure he knew flowed by. Near the top of the list an entry for Jonathan brought a wincing pause to Manuel's search. That name he knew all too well. A second entry titled simply as "Mom" brought the search to a shaky halt. The warp and weave of reality's changing threads had unwittingly drawn up unpleasant emotions that Manuel did not often care to examine. His mother had left long ago, unwilling to play the Moon in the relationship between the Earth and the Sun, between Manuel and his Father. The thought of having a mother again...left him a jumble of conflicting emotions. I love my Mom...she means so much to me. A reassuring thought from his doppelganger tried to creep in between the gaps of Manuel's mental armor and comfort him. He snorted and blocked her out but his hands still trembled. "You won't win that easily, (cough)" Manuel growled furious at the temptation. He punched in Carlo's number from memory but found his recollection could not supply a memory of his friend's face. (BBBBRRRRIIIINGGGG) Manuel listened to the phone on the other end of the connection ring. (Cough) (BBBBRRRRIIIINGGGG) Manuel's heart thudded as he prayed that Carlos would answer his phone. (BBBBRRRRIIIINGGGG) Manuel's hands trembled with his fear, then his hands shook, then his hands changed.. (BBBBRRRRIIIINGGGG) "Ughhhh," Manuel grunted willing himself to hold on to the phone as his hands twitched, threatening to drop his only lifeline to the outside world. (BBBBRRRRIIIINGGGG) Not two hours ago Manuel y Rodriguez Domingo had been insulted by a Witch calling his hands soft. Now as reality shifted, that which had been shameful changed into something desirable. Manuel's focus burned through his fight to keep a firm manly grip on the precious lifeline he held, determined that spasms or not, narrowing fingers or not, shrinking hands or not he was never going to drop his phone. In that goal, Manuel succeeded but that small victory could not change the truth that at the end it was with a woman's touch that he held his phone and that the pink tinted nails Manuel sported were now not the least bit out of place at the end of Manuel's slender, elegant fingers. (BBBBRRRIIN...) "?Qu? es, ?Qu? es?," [WHAT, What is it!!?] A harsh male voice demanded an answer to why his sleep had been so rudely broken. (Cough) "Carlos, su yo Manuel, no cuelgue, por favor no cuelgue!!! (cough)," [Carlos, its me Manuel, DON'T HANG UP, Please don't hang up!!!] Manuel quickly pleaded with his friend. "Manuel? ?Qu? pasa? Suenas enfermo, todo el mundo estaba tan preocupado cuando te fuiste tan de repente?" [Manuel? What's wrong? You sound sick, everyone was so worried when you left so suddenly?] The abrupt shift to concern and worry in Carlo's tone was welcome to Manuel, he definitely had his friend's attention...but he didn't have time to explain. "Carlos (cough) esto es muy importante, necesito el n?mero de la tienda (cough) donde comprar las hierbas (cough)." [Carlos this is very important, I need the number to the shop where you buy herbs.] Manuel struggled to impart his message between the incessant soft coughs that interrupted him every few words. Carlos' immediate confusion was palatable even over the phone line, "La tienda? ?Por qu??" [The shop? Why?] "CARLOS ES IMPORTANTE," (cough, cough, cough) [CARLOS, IT IS IMPORTANT!!!] Manuel cupped his hands around the phone and spoke as loud as he dared. Carlos was taken aback by the urgency of Manuel's request, "Espera, dame un minuto....No es como que no ser? all? en la ma?ana." [Hold on, give me a minute. Its not like it wont be there in the morning.] Manuel could only stand there and cough, his voice failing him and leaving him powerless to protest Carlos setting down his phone to search for the needed information. He intently listened to Carlos through the phone connection rummaging around in some far away room, impotently unable to stop the building tightness in his throat. Failing any other comfort, his free hand went to his throat to cradle the warping flesh. (COUGH)....Manuel's throat tightened....(COUGH)...his Adam's apple began its slow melt, the flesh from the cartilage lump flowing around his delicate, tapered fingertips and the places where his nails gently poked into the smooth skin of his neck and into the same nothingness that had consumed all traces of his sheared beard stubble in the earlier purges enacted by the Witch's venom. Each cough was like a drop of warm water onto a sugar cube, with each one, the distinctive lump in his throat that marked him as a man dissolved a little more into feminine flatness and the coughs grew only unerringly quicker. The minute of time Carlos had requested came at an atrocious price to Manuel's manhood. Finally, Manuel heard Carlos pick his phone back up accompanied by the welcome crinkling sound of a loose piece of paper. "Manuel...Muy bien...puede llamar a la tienda de hierbas..." [Okay ... you can call the herb shop at ...] Carlos rattled off a string of digits, his concern and frustration readily apparent in his voice. "Manuel?" Manuel was ecstatic, he would have hugged Carlos if he had been there, "Gracias, gracias, (cough) gracias..." "Manuel?" Carlos questioned in surprise, turning Manuel's last spoken word over and over in his mind trying to account for the strange upward shift in pitch he had heard in Manuel's words. "Usted no ha respondido a mi pregunta, ?qu? est? pasando?" [You...didn't...answer...my...question, what....is....going....on?] Manuel heard Carlos' words but the meanings of the words seemed to be reaching him slowly, their edges seemingly obscured by a fine mist in Manuel's mind. "Carlos...por...favor...lento," [Carlos, please slow down.] Manuel's shaky, breaking voice carried his frustration to Carlos. Carlos looked at his phone with consternation, knowing what he had heard, but unable to fathom what technical malfunction could possibly be causing his friend's voice to sound remarkably higher than its normally mellow baritone.Carlos had always envied Manuel's gift, a voice that could make a woman weak at her knees with a few well chosen lines of poetry, but what he was hearing now was not that voice at all. Carlos could not shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong. "Manuel, Usted no ha respondido a mi pregunta, ?qu? est? pasando," Carlos solemnly asked again. Manuel stared into the mirror, his mind fighting a herculean battle to grasp those words, barely able to even find them in that shrouded corner of his mind, the mental fog billowing in to envelop them. He forced out a pitiable cry, "Carlos,... Por...fav..or, ay?d..enme ne.ces..ito ay..uda!" [Carlos, please help me, I need help!] Carlos' shook his head with shock...this was his friend Manuel, why did he speak so strangely, why was he struggling with simple words, why had Manuel's voice risen from a light tenor to a sweet alto in a single sentence? What the hell was going on? Carlos could think of only one answer that could make any sense, but why? Carlos tersely made his demand, " Manuel este juego de la suya no es gracioso, parar esto ahora." [Manuel...---...game...---...---...--...---...funny, ---...---...---]. Manuel wanted to scream, he wanted to tell Carlos that he had invoked something horrible, something that was destroying him, but the words he needed to do so were beyond him, they swirled at the edge of his mind like phantoms, too few of them left within his reach to assemble anything beyond the basest broken fragments of language, unless... "Carlos, I'm not playing a game. Please you have to believe me." Manuel softly cried in English, angry at his inability to communicate with his old friend, angrier still that this fate was befalling him, angriest of all at the lyrical soprano notes that were coming unbidden from his own lips to frame the new melody of his voice. The sudden shift in language caught Carlos by surprise. He knew what had been said, but he was not going to play along with Manuel's perverse game. There was no way that the musical female voice that had spoken in the last exchange was Manuel. Carlos had tolerated much of Manuel's antics over the years but this idiocy that he had cooked up with whoever this tart was after frightening everyone at the party was going over an unspoken line, Carlos' anger was already building as he spoke. "Quien quiera que seas, ni?a, dar el tel?fono de nuevo a ese hijo de puta desconsiderado Manuel." [....... Manuel] Manuel heard Carlos' anger coming through loud and clear, but save for his name, it was just sound to him, the arrangement of those sounds into recognizable meaning had been lost to him. It was just sound. "I'm sorry, (sniffle) I don't understand," Manuel half sobbed out his worthless apology. Carlos forced himself to check his building anger, it would do no good to get angry at this girl that Manuel had put up to this. He tersely clipped his reply. "Please...give the phone back to Manuel..." Manuel trembled at the confirmation that his friend did not believe him. What could he say? He desperately did not want to be alone again, this phone call was one of his last threads of sanity. What could he say? "Please...Carlos...You have to believe me, I am Manuel...The Witch..." Manuel stammered out his explanation only to be sharply interrupted. "I am calling Manuel's father in the morning, if he is lucky I may speak to him again someday." Carlos quickly spat out his threat. Manuel blankly stared forward, emotionally devastated by the loss, but cold logic carried him forward, brutally reminding him that while his contact with Carlos had provided a needed crutch to his sanity in the end there was little Carlos could have done to address the root cause of Manuel's symptoms. He HAD gotten the number for the Witch's shop and that was his first, last and only recourse. Slowly, methodically, his small fingers typed out the number that would begin the final referendum on his destiny. Again a distant phone rang. Again, Manuel fervently prayed that he would be answered. "Quien esto es ?tiene usted alguna idea de qu? hora es?" An icily stern voice answered. Manuel swore at himself for his inability to understand any of it. "Please I'm sorry, I don't understand, but please I need the antidote." Manuel begged, a half sob creeping into his voice at the end. "Manuel?" The Witch cautiously probed, her question loaded with implicit meaning.... "Yes," Manuel softly answered as he mentally counted the things he could have differently this night and avoided the need to make this plea. (CLICK) Manuel whimpered slightly at the realization that the Witch had hung up. For an instant he considered calling her back hoping for a better result, but that became patently unnecessary as another foriegn invader forced her way into his mind, this presence far more commanding than the one that still patiently watched Manuel from the prison of Manuel's subconscious. "Ah much better" the Witch's voice echoed from thoughts within Manuel's head, "I am sorry for the rough entry but I do not discuss my special business over the phone...also this is easier for me than a long conversation in English." "I shouldn't need to have the conversation in English!" Manuel vehemently protested, "what did you do me? I can't understand my friends now!" "Surely you already know the answer to this," the old matron sighed. "Besides I think you have far more pressing matters to attend to." "No tell me..." Manuel petulantly insisted, stopped only by the oddity of feeling