There are a lot of questions about the old woman. Where did she come from? Why is her power limited to gender changes? What is the secret she is concealing from Anya? How does she know the SRU wizard? After much time with the BB story universe, it is time to answer some of the questions.

I would like to thank Ellie for helping keep the Beach true to its intent. I'd also like to thank those authors who have chosen to play in my little story universe, especially Danielle J, who has not only written so well, but has also been a great inspiration to my own stories. Also, Bill Hart has given me permission to use the SRU wizard in the manner I describe herein.

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This story is copyright by the author. It is protected by licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.

***** Prologue ******

Greg glanced one more time at his watch and grimaced. He had just enough time to grab a card and a present for Anya's birthday - if he hurried. Inwardly, he cursed himself for procrastinating. He _should_ have had a present weeks ago. It wasn't like Anya's birthday was a secret from him.

As he rounded a corner, he spied a little curious shop. 'Funny,' he thought to himself. 'I thought that was the card shop.' Instead, he was looking at a little curio shop, complete with a storefront and a wooden door. Greg's curiosity rose, and then he felt the grip of panic at his throat as he read the sign over the door. "Spells R Us". He remembered what Anya had said - the old man was a friend of grandmother, and he was also a trickster. After Anya's last confrontation with grandmother, they both knew she had a secret that she didn't want Anya or Greg to know. And Anya had specifically asked Greg never to go to this shop, because the old man might do something to protect the old woman's secret - or even just to amuse himself.

Still, Greg's feet moved as if they were animated beyond his control. His eyes widened with fear as his feet shuffled ever closer to the wooden door, and the unknown and reputedly unpredictable man within. He wanted to cry for help, to stop his feet from moving, to do _something_ to not enter the store, but he was powerless. Overhead, a bell tinkled as the door opened and Greg felt himself carried inside, betrayed by his own legs.

"Ah, I'm glad you decided to visit." The voice was warm and pleasant, belying Anya's warnings. But then, it could just be a trick to lull him into a false sense of security. He glanced around, and his eyes quickly settled on the little old man wearing the bathrobe. The man chuckled. "Oh, don't worry, Greg," he laughed. "I promised the old bat that I wouldn't do anything to hurt you." He waved his hand and two stools appeared. He climbed onto one and gestured that Greg should sit at the other. "Besides, it wouldn't be any fun transforming you into a girl! Not after some of the capers you've pulled at the park!" He grinned. "I have to say, I admire your taste in women, though!"

Greg frowned. "I don't follow!"

The old man waved his hands, and Greg felt his body shift. Weights tugged at his chest, and he looked down, spying a crevasse of cleavage caused by the enormous breasts on his chest. Only a tiny bikini held the orbs, and just barely. Greg looked up at the old man, ignoring the blonde locks swirling around his face. "Very funny," he said acidly. "I thought you said no tricks."

The old man laughed, then he waved his hands and Greg was Greg again. "Sorry, but I couldn't help it. When the old woman told me you'd once appeared in her park as Pandora Peaks, I just had to see what that must have looked like!" He grinned. "As I said, I share your appreciation for...curved bodies."

"What...what do you want?" Greg asked hesitantly. He was truly frightened, and despite the old man's promise, the wizard had turned him into a girl - if only momentarily.

"I've got a little story to tell you," the wizard said simply. "A story you need to hear - if you're going to help Anya when she learns the truth." He waved his hand, and two sodas appeared. He handed one to Greg. "I believe you prefer root beer?" he asked. Then he smiled pleasantly. "Oh, and don't worry about the present you need to get. This won't take long."

**********

A few miles away at Bikini Beach, Anya turned off the register and tucked the day's receipts under her arm. With a quick glance around the parking lot to ensure it was safe, she stepped out of the ticket booth, pausing to lock the door behind her, before she trudged across the still-warm asphalt.

"Anya, wait up!"

Anya turned at the sound of the voice, momentarily concerned, but her face lit up when she saw Jana, her friend and a detective on the police force, approaching. "Hi," she said with a smile.

Jana hastened her steps until she was beside Anya. "I haven't seen you around for a while," she said between breaths.

Anya shrugged. "Grandmother sent me to a trade show. She said I need to learn more about the business."

Jana frowned. "That's why I couldn't get in touch with you." She fell in step beside Anya. "Was it any good?"

"Huh?" Anya seemed distracted for a moment. "Oh, the show." She shrugged. "Big amusement park and attraction show. Lots of people, lots of vendors. Most of them had nothing to do with water parks." She shook her head. "No, I really didn't like it. It's more fun running a park than studying one."

Jana laughed lightly. "I believe that."

"So, did you find anything yet?"

Jana frowned. "That's why I wanted to talk to you. I can't find _anything_!" She shook her head. "A case like that, it should be easy for me to get something. Hell, I even got the chief to sign an official inter-agency request."

Anya glanced at her friend. "Nothing?"

Jana shook her head. "Nothing. It's like the files don't exist. And for a murder case like that..." She sighed. "I don't get it."

Anya started to speak, but before she could utter a word, she stumbled and her eyes widened.

Jana saw her reaction. "What?" She glanced around, wondering what had so stunned her friend.

Anya shook her head. "I've got to go," she stammered. With a look of panic, she raced across the parking lot to the gray office building, leaving Jana standing alone on the asphalt.

**********

"Grandmother, Greg is in trouble," Anya insisted as she burst through the office doors. "He's gone into that old man's shop!"

Grandmother looked up at her. "Oh?"

Anya felt a surge of panic. "The old bastard is probably going to hurt him," she pleaded as she leaned on her grandmother's desk. "You've got to do something!"

The old woman sat impassively, considering Anya's words. "What should I do?" she finally asked.

Anya felt her frustration overflow. "I don't know!" she yelled. "Stop
him!"

"Anya, Greg is going to be okay. Now, sit down."

Anya's eyes narrowed. "But..."

"Sit down!"

Warily, Anya sat down across the desk from her grandmother. The two sat in silence for a few seconds, and Anya suddenly realized that something was wrong. Grandmother seemed so...serious.

"There's something I need to tell you," the old woman finally said, her voice soft and her words carefully spoken. "The old man is _not_ going to do anything to Greg. He promised me."

Anya's eyes narrowed. "How can you trust that old bastard?" she asked bluntly.

Grandmother drew back as if struck. "That's no way to talk about your gr... my friend," she chided. Grandmother bit her lip. "I know I should have told you a long time ago. But I couldn't bring myself to. Now..." she paused and glanced out the window at the park entrance, reduced to mere shadows of gray in the rapidly fading light, "now, I _have_ to."

Anya frowned. "I...I don't understand."

The old woman shook her head. "No," she said simply. "But it's time you did. You're almost 23, aren't you."

Anya was confused by the sudden change in direction. "Yes. But..."

The old woman shook her head sadly. "When you turn twenty-three, you're going to gain a very special ability - the ability to move between realms like...like I used to be able to do." There was a hint of sadness in her eyes, as if the words had stirred a painful memory. "You'll have a chance to...learn...a lot more than you already know."

Anya shifted uncomfortably in her chair. "But...I'm happy learning from you."

The old woman shook her head gently. "No, you're not." She shook it again to cut off Anya's protest. "Lately, you've been questioning my judgment - a lot." There was no recrimination in her voice, only a strange empathy.

"But...you said I need to use my own judgment," Anya said, suddenly worried _where_ this conversation was going. If grandmother was unhappy that Anya was questioning her judgment, did that mean that...Anya was through here at Bikini Beach? She felt a foreboding chill. "If you're not happy with..."

The old woman shook her head. "No. That's not it. You're _everything_ to me! I love you, and I love working with you!" She turned away, staring out the window, to where patrons were slowly wending their way out of the park. "You thought I was too harsh with Alison. And those racist punks. You set up a BB Anonymous support group, against my wishes. You didn't agree with my punishment for Carter."

Anya's eyes narrowed. "No, I didn't. I thought..."

The old woman cut off Anya's comment with a wave of her hand. "That's not the point," she said softly. "The point is, you have every right to question me and my actions. You _have_ to develop your own judgment. It's part of growing up."

Anya was as confused as her face showed. "Then...what?"

The old woman suddenly looked ancient, as if the weight of the world had stripped away every remaining vestige of youth. "It's a dangerous time for you," she said cryptically. "You're on the cusp of new powers. Your values and judgment are going to be tested in ways you could never predict. When you travel to the other realm, you'll be confronted with forces and people who are...black as night. They'll test you, trying to turn you to their own evil ends."

Anya frowned. "Are you afraid that I'll give in to evil?"

The old woman surprised Anya by nodding. "The forces of darkness twist facts, distort the truth, lie, anything to try to get you to use your power in anger."

"But...you've never lied to me! I already _know_ the truth. So they're..."

The old woman's eyes closed, and her head shook side-to-side, slowly and methodically. She bore a pained expression the likes of which Anya had never seen. "No, dear," she said softly. "There's one truth you need to know. One truth I've kept from you for...for too long. I _have_ to tell you now - so that you'll be prepared." She pulled a thick manila folder from a desk drawer and dropped it with an audible 'thud' on her desk. "There's a reason Jana couldn't find what you asked her to find. And that's what we have to talk about."

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***** THE OLD COUNTRY ****
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The girl glanced nervously around her, peering up and down the narrow cobblestone streets of the town. As late as it was, there wasn't much activity. Still, she had a reason to smile. The shop had done quite well that day, selling the baubles and trinkets and jewelry that the locals believed were imbued with some mystical powers. What occasional tourist made it to these remote parts found the tales charming, and with her pretty smile and a sweet voice, she was able to easily separate them from their money.

So had today been; a rather wealthy English couple and their entourage had come through, riding in a train of those smelly, noisy automobiles. And yet, they had stopped. The girl had turned her charms on full.

The woman looked down her nose at the girl, muttering something like 'Gypsy peasant'. She was a typical aristocrat, with her lofty disdain for 'ordinary' people even as her curiosity drove her to seek out adventure among the lower classes. Every mannerism, every stitch of clothing, fairly screamed of Victorian nobility. Corseted under the tight bodice of her dress, with its high neckline and long sleeves doing their best to hide even a hint of her white skin, and a wide-bottomed skirt, all adorned with lace and frills, she was the image of perfection. Immaculate white gloves covered her hands, and what shoes she wore were hidden by the flowing fabric of the skirt. The girl peered into the woman's mind, and was surprised. The woman was lonely; her marriage to the gentleman was more a prison than a union. Her stiff attitude was less from a feeling of superiority than from a sense of isolation.

The gentleman, on the other hand, had been charming. As perfect a Victorian lady as his wife was, he was the matched bookend in gentlemen. Attired just so, with a dashing moustache and a glint of adventure in his eye, he was warm and outgoing and friendly. The girl knew that she'd caught his eye, what with her teenage innocence and well-developed figure. The simple peasant blouse hung loosely about her ample bosom, its low neckline giving a generous hint of the charms it concealed. He'd stared, oh, how he'd stared longingly at her, and she knew that he'd have given much to be with her, to be intimate in a way that his wife's demeanor plainly demonstrated that she wasn't. Even without her powers, she could clearly divine his wishes. The girl understood far more than her youthful appearance indicated; the woman, as the wife, was boring to the man. He longed for forbidden fruit, a taste of unattainable passion. The girl knew the power she could have had over the gentleman. And yet, she knew the limits of the power, how using it in _that_ way was deeply frowned upon. It led to darkness, the elders drummed into her head. The power was never to be used in that way.

She decided, on an impulse, to humor the Englishman - in a way. He wanted her charms? Well, he would have all the feminine charm he could handle. She'd sold the woman a brooch that would make the woman very attractive and desirable to men. And the man? She smiled to herself. When he put on the ring, and then made love to a woman, he'd find himself swapping bodies with her. That was one of the reasons she'd sold the woman the brooch. If she had a lecherous husband who ignored her, maybe having the tables turned would teach him a lesson.

The girl knew that her teacher - to say nothing of her mother - would want to know why she'd chosen the spells she had. She smiled to herself. She was going to get another one of _those_ lectures about how she was not exercising her powers more broadly, that she was too focused on her childish fixation with spells that 'altered the man and the woman' as they would say. Simply put, she _enjoyed_ toying with the genders of her 'customers', if not at least in part because the spells were so easy for her. And that would be the subject of her chiding - other spells would be easy as well, if she would only refrain from using the easy spells and practice those in which she was weak. Perhaps, the girl thought, she'd practice her spell of sight and watch the man and the woman as they received the shock of swapping bodies.

As she walked, the girl's long red skirt flowed and swirled in time with the gentle swaying of her hips, and the bangles and earrings and necklaces she wore chimed in time to her movements. Perhaps she did look like a Gypsy to outsiders, but the locals knew better. Each piece of jewelry had a very specific purpose; it wasn't the haphazard and overdone display of gold that _they_ wore. Each was important to help her concentrate, to focus her powers on the tasks she was learning to perform.

At fifteen, the girl was developing more feminine curves, and it was now hard for her _not_ to have her hips wiggle when she walked. At first, she'd found that annoying; now, as she thought of her mother's advice on men, she knew it was just another element of control. To control a man, her mother had told her, she didn't need her power. She just had to know how to use the tools nature had given her. But the matron had also warned her - with her newfound feminine charms came danger.

Her pert little nose wrinkled, as if offended by a foul stench, and her big brown eyes narrowed to slits. Something had disturbed her sense. She focused her mind, as she'd been trained to do, searching, seeking that which had disturbed her.

It was too late. She'd allowed herself to become distracted as she walked, and before she could focus on the potential danger, it was upon her. Rough hands grabbed her from a narrow alleyway, three pairs of powerful, manly paws that had her instantly immobilized. Even as she sucked in air to scream, a hand clamped across her lips, cutting off her alarm.

"Oh, damn," one of the men spat as he recognized her. He was a dirty sort, his beard unshaven and rough, and his breath reeked of the local spirits. The girl glanced in terror at the man, sensing what was on the minds of the man and his compatriots. She fought, but couldn't free her hands, held firmly as she was. "Hold tight on her hands," the man called. Something sharp touched her delicate throat; the man grinned wickedly. "No sounds, got it?" Whimpering, her eyes wide with fear, she nodded slightly, barely, for fear of the knife at her throat.

The man ran his fingers roughly through her long dark hair, then grasped it firmly and tilted her head back. His vile breath made the girl want to gag as he forced a kiss on her, his teeth sharp on her lips as he demonstrated his power over her. He pulled back, gazing at the girl, at her suddenly swollen, bruised lips, at the terror in her eyes, and the man laughed cruelly. "In the shed," he barked, and his companions dragged her, fighting for all she was worth, through the narrow alleyway into a tiny shack.

The girl knew what to expect; still, her eyes widened as the two companions pinned her to the ground, while the leader unhitched his belt and dropped his pants, exposing his erect member. She tried to scream again, to no avail; one of the men stuffed a rag in her mouth, effectively gagging her. The leader's face drew closer, and she turned her head to avoid seeing his cruel face, those wicked eyes, the scruffy salt-and-pepper beard and moustache. She desperately fought to avoid the stench of his foul breath, even as he leaned closer. She felt her legs being pried apart, and then her clothing being torn viciously from her.

Her mind retreated, seeking refuge from the atrocity being committed upon her innocence. But she was young and naive, and didn't know how to block the horror. All she could do was to experience the full brunt of the physical and psychological attack.

The men were drunk, and their inebriated state contributed to both increased desire and incredible clumsiness. They were far from gentle, leaving her bruised and humiliated as they repeatedly had their way with her.

As the third man withdrew, grinning wickedly at the pleasure he'd just taken, something inside the girl snapped. She was angry now, her terror having faded, only to be replaced by a slowly waxing fury, a white-hot rage that seethed and grew as the men had her. And as the man stood, his companions still holding her arms lest she be able to wave them and cast some spell, she realized what the men had come to know - their fear of her magic meant that they intended to kill her. They couldn't take any chance on her casting any magic as they tried to flee. To their sodden brains, the only option, now that they'd taken her innocence, was to take her life as well.

Sudden desperation flooded her mind; she had to live. She _had_ to find a way out of this. Fear clawed at her, fear of death, fear of pain, fear of an endless abyss of nothingness. She wanted so desperately to scream, but the gag held her sounds to tiny whimpers. She wanted to cast a spell, but her hands were held fast.

In her desperate fear, a tiny spot of calm black intruded on her thoughts. Curious as to the strange island of calm in the raging torrent of her frantic emotions, she let her mind examine the spot, and without warning, her latent rage and desperation had her holding the blackness fast, grasping it with every fiber of her being. She found a perverse calm within the blackness, even as her own anger helped it expand within her.

She opened her eyes and focused on the leader, the drunken, filthy slob who'd dared to assault her. Her eyes narrowed, and she felt the blackness sharpen, growing more intense, more encompassing. And suddenly, she knew. She didn't need those silly gestures or mumbled little words. She had this - the boundless energy within her. She narrowed her eyes more, and her lips tried to form a wicked grin around the rag.

The leader stared drunkenly at the girl, wondering why she was peering at him like she was, when sudden pain shot through his body, a searing agony like his entire body was being consumed by flame. He opened his mouth to cry, and to the horror of his mates, his body gave a few sharp spasms, while his skin darkened and dried, cracking horribly. His body and clothing turned black, crumbling to the consistency of ash as his body was consumed from within by a power that none of them, least of all the girl, understood. And yet she controlled the power.

She sat up, her hands suddenly free as the men backed away from her, their mouths agape with their terror. With one hand, she tore the rag from her mouth, while she focused the narrow slits that were her eyes on the second of her assailants. This time, she extended her finger, outstretched and pointing, toward the man, and a ball of energy leaped to the hapless man. Like his partner, his body shriveled, incinerated, and crumbled to a pile of ash.

The third man cowered with fear in a corner, having the bad fortune of having the girl between him and the narrow shed door. He crossed himself, praying frantically, as he closed his eyes and hunched down, expecting the same obliteration that his pals had just suffered. Softly, mumbling, he whimpered cries of fear and pleas for his life.

A finger extended toward the man, power surging within the girl as the dark energy built to consume another victim. Her mind was nearly consumed with blackness, but in the tiny flicker of light left, she heard the pleas for mercy. Something, however tiny the impulse, made her tremble suddenly, her finger wavering in its aim. To her dying day, she would never know what had given her pause, a tiny waver in her determination to exact revenge. And she would never know that it was her salvation. All she saw, in that briefest of moments, was the incredible contrast between the absolute soul-devouring blackness and the intensity of the light, however small it was. And she realized that the energy, though white-hot in its intensity, was icy cold, chilling her through to her very core. It had no warmth, no humanity. Only its seductive lure of raw power.

She sank back toward the door, staring in horror at the mess on the floor, the two ash heaps that had until recently been men. True, they had ravished her, stealing her virginity and innocence, but they had been human. And she had allowed the blackness to nearly consume her, using its vile energy to destroy. She'd nearly fallen prey to the lure of its power. She felt her entire body shaking. The blackness started to fade. Slowly, unwillingly, it let go its icy grip on her being.

The man pried his eyes open, and saw the girl, the dangerous witch, trembling in the doorway. The effects of the alcohol were long since gone in the adrenaline rush of pure terror; now, he merely stared in fear at the girl, wondering why she'd paused and not smitten him as she had his friends. "Please," he whimpered softly.

The girl seemed shaken from a trance by that one simple word. "You...you raped me!" she screamed, venting her anger in words instead of lethal energy. "You bastards raped me!" She felt the darkness regaining a foothold. "Why shouldn't I just burn you?"

The man cringed. His respite was apparently short-lived. "I'll confess," he whimpered. "Call the constables, and I'll confess."

The girl sneered. "Sure, and as soon as you think you're safe, you'll go back to your ways." She fought the blackness which had suddenly reappeared and was renewing its fight to consume her, a struggle far greater than any she'd ever undertaken. The stygian blackness, with its promise of hideous revenge, tempted her, enticing her to accept its icy grasp. She could have easily given in, surrendering herself to the dark forces. But even as the evil tried to seduce her, years of careful training and warnings gave her strength. It was feeble, but it was enough. All the warnings from the elders and teachers about the darkness swam through her mind. The fate of a human being hung in the balance, until at last, her lessons pushed back the black force. She shook visibly at the effort the silent battle had taken. She gazed at her attacker. "No, you need to be punished."

The man's eyes widened. Had it come to this? Was he to become a smudge of ash on the floor of a dingy shed? He crossed himself again and began to pray the 'Our Father', desperately seeking repose for his soul as his end neared.

Blackness swelled once more, seeking an outlet. Again, the girl joined the battle; it would have been so easy to give in to the darkness and its seductive power. She was genuinely surprised, however, that she wasn't giving in. Firmly, she grasped the lessons of her elders, clutching them tightly to her soul, using them as a shield and sword to fight. Every fiber of her cried out for vengeance, so this vile scum wouldn't get away without punishment, and that feeling gave strength to the darkness; still, she fought.

After painful seconds, which seemed an eternity to both the girl and the rapist, she raised her finger again. This time, however, no dark flame erupted to consume him. Instead, she began a complicated chant and series of hand motions. As the sound sank into the man's mind, his eyes widened. He hadn't been instantly fried, but she was weaving some spell. For what? What was she doing to him?

He felt a tingling in his groin, and he glanced down fearfully. His hand slowly moved to the sensation. Even as he felt, he could tell his manhood was shrinking, his testicles pulling painfully upward into his body. And still the strange sensations continued, spreading outward. Audibly, his bones crunched, but painlessly, as his body began to rearrange itself. He felt his pants tighten around his hips, while the tug of his large belly against the waistband suddenly vanished.

The ill-fitting tunic he wore became even less tailored, except where two growing bulges in the front pushed it out. The man stared, horror-stricken, as he watched the breasts bud and develop in mere seconds. His preoccupation with his crotch and chest distracted him from seeing and sensing the other changes; his slightly balding head sprouted new thick luxurious growth, hair which quickly spilled off the man's shoulders, splitting as part went down his back and the rest cascaded down on his chest. Had he been standing, he might have lost his balance as his legs shortened, unevenly, but in his position, he barely noticed. The stubble on his face fell out, leaving incredibly smooth skin in its wake, while his cheekbones migrated higher and his lips filled. His eyes appeared to be growing larger; in reality, his head was rearranging to match the new proportions of his body, leaving the impression of larger, softer eyes.

As suddenly as the changes had begun, they stopped. The man took one last glance at the impossible growths on his chest, then gazed fearfully at the girl. "What have you done to me?" he cried, his eyes widening at the incredibly feminine sounds ringing in his ears. "You've turned me...into...a girl!" he wailed.

The girl's eyes narrowed, staring at her creation. "You'll go through the rest of your life as an object of men's desires." She grinned wickedly. "Every man who sees you will want you, even to the point of wanting to rape you to have you. And no matter how vile or wretched your suitors, you'll never be able to say no." She stepped forward and reached a hand, taking the new girl's chin in her hand. "You'll spend the rest of your life loathing every man's touch, yet unable to resist it!" She laughed a sinister laugh, then thrust the girl's head down and turned away. She fought to compose herself, shaking uncontrollably as she stepped out of the tiny shed.

Her blouse was torn, and with one hand, she held the tattered neckline together. Her once pretty hair was a matted mess, and her lips, ruby and sweet, were blackening from the attack. She hobbled painfully, her body sore and bruised. She desperately wanted to change, to heal herself and mend her clothing, so as to at least appear normal, unviolated. But try as she might, even such a simple spell as altering her clothing wouldn't come to her. She couldn't focus, she couldn't remember the words and the gestures. It was as if the trauma had robbed her of her power.

As she stumbled from the alleyway, she glanced about, ashamed of her appearance and what had happened to her. She wanted no person to see her humiliation as she crept through the darkening streets. The gas lamps, few and far between, left shadows for her to hide. Still, an occasional window would open, as some resident peered outside to see who would possibly traverse the streets this long after shops had closed. She hid her face, scurrying in her shame away from the onlookers; she was convinced, in her mind, that they knew all, and their inquiring gazes mocked her as a foolish little slut who hadn't the sense to get home.

As the girl left the village, she sharpened her senses. If such an assault could happen in the town itself, then how much more likely that others would do such a deed here, in the dark hills and woods of the countryside. Each shadow became an attacker, each woodland noise a threat to her safety.

The relief she felt when she reached the door was palpable. Glancing over her shoulder at imaginary threats, she ducked through the door, slamming it shut and leaning heavily against the sturdy wood. Safe at last!

"You're home," a gentle woman's voice called, not turning from the kettle on the stove. "You're late, you know. Now run and fetch..." The voice stopped suddenly. The woman had sensed something, without having even looked at her daughter. Now, however, she turned, and shock registered as she understood what evil had befallen her little girl. "No!" the woman screamed, her mouth open as her ladle slipped from her hand and clattered to the floor. "Not my little girl!" She clutched the girl tightly, tears streaming down her cheeks. Softly, as she cried, she sang a little tune, a familiar melody that had once comforted the girl, and now seemed a desperate attempt by the mother to restore the innocence of her daughter, even as the tears flowed freely.

The girl held close. "Mama," she wailed softly, over and over. Her mind, shocked by the horrors of the rape, could not get past the one word. For long minutes, the girl held tightly to her mother, crying and shaking as she said, "Mama," over and over.

Finally, the older woman stepped back, her eyes widening. "You...you touched the darkness!" she exclaimed, her hand raising to cover her mouth. Despair swept into her eyes, and the tears fell even faster. "No!" she wailed plaintively as she backed away fearfully. "No!" More than anything, she felt it, the unmistakable inky stain on the girl's magical aura.

The girl tried to hug her mother, but the older woman wouldn't let her. "They were going to kill me, mama," she cried. "They feared our magic, and they were going to kill me!"

The woman turned away from her daughter, steadying herself on the rough oaken table as she dropped her head. She wailed painfully, "They did, my daughter!" Sobs wracked the older woman as she realized that something precious had been destroyed. "When they made you touch the darkness, they did!"

The girl tried to approach her mother, grasping her shoulder. "I didn't give in to the evil," she said softly. "I made it go away!"

The woman sobbed again. "You must go, my daughter. You know what will happen now!"

The girl dropped her head. Everyone knew. When someone touched the darkness, the elders could feel it. And they would be coming. It was a law among her people - anyone who willingly used dark magic to kill was a danger to all. There was but one punishment.

Death.

The elders had no choice - to preserve their community, and to protect themselves from unspeakable horrors, they had to remove the offender, like excising a tumor. In the old days, when superstition among the non-users was stronger, use of the black magic had stirred fears that nearly destroyed the community of the users. Even now, in these more modern times, the elders reminded everyone constantly of the danger; black power caused fear, and fear caused hatred.

The girl fled to her room and gathered a few belongings, pausing only to change her soiled clothes. Then she returned, and with an eye on her mother, she walked trembling to the door. But the older woman stood over the table, crying aloud, unable to look at what had once been an innocent, happy, unsoiled daughter. In one vile attack, the men had stolen her daughter's innocence, and in pushing her, they had made her forfeit her life.

But as the girl was about to leave, she turned to her mother one last time. "Good-bye, mama," she said softly, her voice nearly cracking. "I know I'll never see you again."

The older woman sobbed, then her grief overcame her fear. She ran to her daughter and wrapped her arms tightly around the girl. As mother hugged daugher for what both knew would be the last time, the old woman began to rock gently back and forth. She softly began to sing an old lullaby, the girl's favorite, as if she were trying to comfort a much younger child.

After much too short a time, the old woman stepped back, her cheeks stained with tears. "Go. Go quickly, before the elders come here for you." She watched as her daughter paused. "Go!" she pleaded. "I...I will do what I can."

"I will run, mama," the girl said from the door. "And I will not let myself slip into the darkness. You will see. I will not become evil." She watched, but her mother remained motionless except for the tiny tremors of her sobs. The door closed with a loud thunk, a sound of utter finality.

**********

The girl fled far from her home, uncertain of just how far the elders would pursue her. Legend told of a pursuit to the streets of Paris, of a duel of unspeakable powers as an elder fought to stop one who had sunk completely into the grip of the dark force. Shuddering at the thought of being pursued like that, the girl walked quickly through the first night, her fear of death outweighing her fear of the forests and hills and the crisp air of late autumn. Without suitable cloak or coat, the chilly air seemed more like the dead of winter to the girl.

At first, as she walked, her senses were sharp, but as the light of dawn began to brush the treetops, she felt herself wearying. The cold night air had assaulted her relentlessly, in her lungs and throat with each breath, at her legs with each step, and even as she shivered, pulling her cloak tightly about her, she knew she'd have to find some place warm to rest. Besides the cold, the pangs of hunger tormented her empty belly; she knew she had to get some rest and food. But with what? She had nothing with which to barter. True, she had her jewelry, but she _had_ to keep that - it was the key to her magic. And so she really had nothing to trade. Nothing - except...

The brief horrifying thought she pushed from her mind. No matter that the men had taken her virginity; she was not a whore, and would not trade her body for food or shelter. There must be a way...

She paused on the narrow road, standing between the well-worn ruts, and peered down the path before her. There - up the hill a bit and just off the road she spied a small cottage, with a barn and another farm outbuilding nearby. The barn - she should be able to curl up in the barn for a nap, and maybe, if she were lucky, she could find something to eat. Through frosty breath she hastened her step, anxious to get into the barn and to escape the chill.

She crept around the back of the barn, the ice-tinged grass crunching softly under her shoes, and carefully she peered inside. It was dark and gloomy, but there were no animals, and more importantly, no people inside. She glanced around the outside of the farmyard and saw a man in the distance, walking hunched over beside a horse-drawn wagon, bending over frequently to pluck something from the ground and load it onto the cart. It looked like the back-breaking labor of harvest; the merest thought of the work made the girl realize just how tired she was. At the same time, the sight of harvest reminded her of her empty belly.

She crept inside the barn, closing the door behind her. After a few moments, she could see in the dim light, and she began to search the interior. There! She felt like fortune was with her. A string of onions, interwoven and hung through the winter. And a sack of potatoes! And carrots, and apples! This barn was a veritable treasure trove to her hunger, already stocked from the harvest. She ravenously consumed of the fruits and vegetables until the hunger was gone. Her stomach temporarily satisfied, she found a snug corner in the rear of the barn and settled down, burrowing into the hay for added warmth. Within seconds, she had fallen asleep.

**********

She awoke with a start, her eyes wide open and ears perked. Something had awakened her; she slowly lifted herself until she was sitting, her senses alive and alert. But it was nothing; as she probed with her magic senses, she sensed a field mouse scrambling across the floor of the barn. But her magic wasn't sharp; she wondered if her terror of the dark force was making it hard for her to use her powers. Her eyes narrowed slightly; it was nearly black inside the barn. How long had she been asleep, she wondered? As dark as it was inside the barn, she was certain that it was dark outside, which meant that she'd slept for over ten hours.

Panic leapt to her throat; the elders would be searching for her by now. She had to leave, and quickly! She scrambled to her feet, and was startled by a low neigh. The horse! It was in the barn, and she'd startled it! She tried to laugh at herself, but her nerves were taut. Working quickly, she went into the storeroom and gathered some food, then sidled to the door. Easing it open a crack, she peered out, confirming that it was indeed night. Not dusk, nor twilight, but dark night. She slipped from the barn and stepped cautiously onto the road, her mortal fear of being caught by the elders helping her to ignore the cold.

The sky was deep indigo, studded with sparkling jewels. A pale yellow moon shone down, casting its faint but precious light on the Earth; without the moon, the girl realized, she'd have had to use her powers to navigate through the blackness, and that would tire her quickly. She shuddered at the thought of using her magic, but she knew she had no choice. Struggling to use even the simple sense, she watched for danger as she trudged silently along the road, the crunch of her teeth biting a crisp apple punctuating the still night air.

**********

And so went the journey for the first eight days. By day, she found a dry place to sleep; by night, she walked. The miles slipped by with agonizing slowness; she realized that she was still perilously close to her village - and the elders. Hunger and cold were constant companions, save for what meager food she could steal from a farm and warmth she could glean from a haystack. Villages and towns she avoided; if the elders were looking for her, she reasoned, they would search the villages first.

On the ninth day, however, as she gazed from a hilltop down into a bustling town, she chided herself. The elders would have no need of the local constabulary to find her; they would seek her aura, using her own magic against her like a divining rod. How she wished she had learned to mask her aura, like the more powerful of her people. But she was a child, a neophyte practitioner of the arts, and _that_ was a skill she hadn't even begun to learn. She cursed her stupidity; she should have long since gone into a town and sneaked aboard a train. She could have been halfway across the continent by now.

Tired, dirty, hungry, she nonetheless tried to maintain some dignity as she walked across the plaza. From balconies and windows, eyes stared at the girl, her hair disheveled and strewn with hay, her cheeks tinged with grime. She ignored the staring strangers and marched to the train station.

Up to this point, the girl really had no idea of where she was going. She only knew that she had to get away from her home, from the wrath of the elders. Now, as she stared at the train schedule, she began to contemplate her destination. Imperial Russia and Moscow. She shook that one off; the Russians had a reputation for intolerance of foreigners, and from what she knew, if her powers were ever discovered, a hideous death awaited her. Warsaw? Same story. Istanbul. She rejected that outright; Muslims were known to be intolerant of infidels, and women ranked low in their world. That left west - toward Paris. Or London. Then she suppressed a shudder; the stories of the elders giving chase to the streets of Paris shook her to the core. If Paris weren't safe, then London would give her no safety, either.

America. Like a thunderclap, the answer hit her. America. It was called the land of opportunity. The elders would not waste their efforts chasing her across an ocean, and she could use her talents in America.

She scanned the train schedule, then glanced around. The station was barely a whistle stop, but she found a map. It took her only seconds to find which direction she wanted to go. Budapest, and from there, to Paris, then London. And from London? One of the ports, obviously. She'd figure out the next leg when she got there.

The stationmaster looked bored as he listened to her request for a ticket. Budapest? He quoted a price, still bored.

The girl flinched visibly. The ticket - it was so much. And she had nothing! But she had to go! Her very life depended on it. Somehow, she had to get away from here.

In the recesses of her mind, a dark spot emerged from hiding. Use the power - touch the mind of the stationmaster and make him give you the ticket, it beckoned. Such a simple task.

The girl shuddered again. She'd defeated the darkness! And now it was back, tempting her again, promising an easy solution to her problem, if only she'd touch the power. She flung her will at the darkness - light battling black, until finally the spot was gone, retreating once more into her mind. She wouldn't - she couldn't! - use the dark forces. She started to turn away, and then realized that she did have something of value - her precious jewelry! It cost her dearly. The gold itself had no power of its own, but the arrangement of the rings and baubles were reminders of the order of gestures and syllables needed to work various acts of magic. If she sacrificed a piece of jewelry, she knew that she'd begin to lose contact with her magic. It was a cost that she knew she couldn't bear, especially since her connection to her magic seemed so tenuous. And yet, she had to escape.

With a heavy sigh, and little besides her determination, she turned and left the station. The road to London promised to be long if she had to travel on foot.

**********

"What are you doing here?"

The girl sat up suddenly, startled by the sound of the voice. She glanced around quickly. Like so many previous cold winter nights, she had been sleeping in a quiet barn. She saw the face staring down at her, a young man of perhaps seventeen, with mussed hair and worn, dirty clothing. "Who are you?" she asked warily.

The young man grinned. "I asked first," he laughed.

The girl eyed him cautiously. She sensed no magical aura from him, so she allowed her power to reach out, to probe him. "I'm...traveling."

The young man laughed. "Are you running away?"

The girl frowned. "That is _none_ of your concern," she said angrily.

"Well, _I_ am!" the boy said proudly. "I'm going to America, where I can make a living doing what _I_ want to do."

The girl permitted herself a smug smile. The boy was so transparent in his motives. "You are fleeing a demanding master, because you think he gives his apprentice no respect."

The boy's eyes widened, then he dropped his gaze and nodded slowly, clearly ashamed at having to flee his trademaster. "My parents would not approve if I returned. I...have to go to America."

The girl nodded. "It is as good a reason as any."

The boy looked up, surprised by her answer. "I am called Joska," he said after a brief pause. A noise came from outside, and the boy spun to look around. "It is late. We must leave before we are caught." He peeked through a crack out the door. "Hurry!" he insisted.

The girl pulled herself to her feet. She decided almost instantly to follow the strange young runaway from the barn. Through the open door, the dim glow cast by the rising sun was slowly brightening as the sun began its climb into the sky. A dog growled at them from the barn door, and Joska froze, forcing the girl to careen into his back. "What...?" she hissed.

"The dog!" Joska whispered back. He stood rooted in place, facing the snarling canine that had them cornered in the barn.

With the noise the infernal mutt was making, the girl knew that the farmer would be out in moments. She pushed Joska rudely aside, and as the dog's growling intensified, she began to chant softly and gesture. In seconds, the dog lay on the ground, its chest heaving slightly in its magic-induced sleep. "Come on," she said insistently. "Before the farmer catches us."

The boy needed no prodding. Together they ran from the farmyard down a winding path, and onto a larger road. Only when they were safely away from the farm did the girl stop, collapsing under a tree by the roadside to catch her wind.

Joska sat down as well, but a good distance from her. "How...how did you...?"

The girl shrugged. "It's an old trick," she said lightly. Still, her eyes were studying the young man carefully, watching for any sign of danger.

"But...you're one of the..." Fear flooded his eyes as he realized _what_ the girl was.

She shrugged noncommittally. "Perhaps." She was not willing to give away all her secrets.

The boy was eyeing her warily. "So now are you going to turn me into a toad or something?"

The girl laughed aloud. "Is that what you think I'm going to do?"

"I...I don't know," the boy answered, his voice trembling with just a hint of fear. "That's what the old women in my village say your people do."

"Don't believe everything those old women say! They're mostly jealous because they don't have any powers."

"Oh." The boy lapsed into silence as he contemplated her words and rested. "Where are you going?"

The girl shrugged. "America."

Joska eyed her carefully again. "Oh? Is that just a coincidence?"

"I...got into some trouble," the girl spoke a half-truth. "I must go to where I can start over."

He laughed at her feeble answer. It was clear that they had more in common than she was willing to admit. "Then perhaps we can travel together," Joska suggested. "It would be a much more pleasant trip than traveling alone."

The girl's eyes narrowed for a second as she seemed lost in thought. In actuality, she focused her mind and probed, searching for hidden motives and intentions in the young man. After a brief search, she nodded with a slight smile. "Yes, I think that would be pleasant."

"Since we are to be travel-mates, perhaps you would tell me your name now," the boy prompted.

The girl flinched as if struck. Her heart was overwhelmed with an unexpected ache; being cast out from her village had taken more from her than her home. Being an outcast from her people left her with no name. She was unworthy. Such were the rules. She hadn't considered_that_ part of being on the run until this moment, and the totality of her loss hit her like a freight train. "I...don't have a name," she managed to stammer through her anguish.

Joska laughed. "Everyone has a name," he countered. "You can tell me!"

The girl looked down at the brown earth between her feet as tears welled up in her eyes. "You don't understand. In the eyes of my...people...I'm not worthy of a name...anymore!"

**********

In her sleeping mind, where her dreams were occasionally interrupted with frightening scenes of fleeing relentless demons pursuing her, the girl sensed something. Still only partially awake, she chased away the wispy images of the dream world, allowing her magical senses to fill the vacant space with the real world. Even with her eyes closed, her magical powers painted a vivid and accurate picture of the world around her. Her eyes opened with a startling suddenness.

Even as her eyes focused on his face, she felt his hands grasping her arms, holding her down against the straw of the haystack. His breath was hot on her face, and a fire burned in his eyes. She wondered, for the briefest of moments, if this were another nightmare into which she'd awakened, but the pain in her arms and belly as Joska sat across her, his knees pinning down her arms to free his hands, the sudden chill on her breast as his hands tore at her blouse - these things were real, even if they seemed a nightmare.

"Joska!" the girl screamed, pleading and crying in the same voice. "Leave me alone!"

The boy didn't answer. He pressed his lips down on her, even as she moved to avoid his unwelcome kiss. His rough hands pawed at her bosom, and his breathing was a rapid panting, matching the arousal he must be feeling.

"Joska!" the girl cried again. "Stop!" He didn't listen, and the girl felt helpless. Her sense of helplessness lasted but a moment. Even as she struggled to free her arms, to incant some magic to stop him, she sensed _it_. It was afar, but drawing rapidly near, the inky blackness that, even now, promised her salvation from her tormenter. "No!" she screamed, more at the evil impulses trying to gain control of her than at the boy. If he had known the tiniest shred of the power that tempted the girl, he would have fled in terror, running for his very life. As it was, he thought she was screaming at him, and he ignored her pleas.

He moved slightly to unfasten his fly, and the girl got an arm free. She clawed at his face, scratching so deeply that blood flowed from the parallel gashes. He winced in pain and clutched at his wounds. In his momentary confusion, he let the girl get her other hand free.

The girl knew she had to act quickly. The boy was larger and stronger than she, and now that she'd injured him, he could become dangerous. Without even thinking, she cast a spell.

The boy froze astride her. Dancing motes of light swirled from the girl's fingertips to his body, circling him briefly and then settling onto his skin and clothing and vanishing into his body. He tried to pull back, but he found he couldn't move. His mouth was frozen, dropped open in horror at what was happening to him.

Slowly, the dancing lights faded, leaving the boy outlined in the pale moonlight. From the corners of his eyes, he saw hair cascading down around his face. He felt his face move as if giant hands had grasped it and were remolding it, pushing his nose in and up, moving his cheekbones higher, smoothing his jaw. His lips seemed to swell to enormous proportions. He couldn't see, but he felt his chest being squeezed as well, constricting and narrowing his chest...and now his waist as well. Slowly, inexorably, the pressure continued, forcibly shrinking his bodily dimensions. Now he felt his rear moving, lifting slightly from atop the girl's stomach, as if small pillows were inflating beneath him. It was only his imagination, but he thought he heard his hips crack as they widened. His legs seemed afire, burning from within, as the muscles shrank around the contracting bones. His arms, too, felt the same ache as they became less strong, finer, more feminine.

Joska glanced down at his hands, and wanted to scream. No longer the rough hands of an apprentice blacksmith, they were rapidly becoming fine and delicate. His nails were growing as quickly as the rest of his hands were shrinking, until they were longer and much more female. He could see, from the corner of his eye, the still-swelling protrusions on his chest, even as he felt an unfamiliar pair of weights tugging at his once-broad shoulders.

Even his clothing was, impossibly, altering itself. His pants legs had fused together and ballooned outwards, while the fabric changed from dark tan to a medium bright red. His shirt was transforming itself into a peasant blouse, a match to the one the girl was wearing.

Slowly, Joska's peripheral vision was blocked as his hair grew in minutes what should have taken months or even years. Dark locks cascaded off his shoulders, some falling in front and the rest tickling his neck as it continued to creep down his back.

Finally, he felt the hands holding him in place loosen their grasp. He nearly collapsed atop the girl. As he glanced down at his chest, he slowly climbed from atop her, his eyes wide with fear and uncertainty. "What..." his eyes widened even further at the soft feminine sound echoing in his ears, "what have you done to me?" he asked softly. His hands were tentatively touching the orbs on his chest, as if to confirm that they were real.

The girl glared at him. "You were going to rape me," she hissed. "So I stopped you."

"But...you made me into a...a girl!" he protested.

The girl nodded slowly. Her eyes contained much less anger and fear as she refocused her thoughts. "Yes. A girl is less likely to try it again."

"I don't want to be a girl!" the former Joska wailed. "I want you to make be a boy again!"

The girl stared impassively at her. "Then you shouldn't have tried to...take me against my will."

"But...I didn't...I couldn't..." Joska shut up, wondering what she was really trying to say. "Something was making me."

The girl frowned, then she focused her eyes on Joska. For a moment or two she concentrated, then she relaxed. Her face bore a perplexed look.

"What?" Joska asked in her new soft voice.

The girl shook her head. "There's something...magical...around you." She frowned. "But I can't tell what it is."

Joska's eyes widened, then she nodded. "So you see, it wasn't my fault! Now you can change me back!"

The girl frowned, looking a bit puzzled. "No. I don't think that would be wise. Whoever - whatever - did this once might do it again." She shook her head. "You stay a girl."

Joska frowned, then she screamed. "No! You _have_ to change me back! You _can't_ leave me a girl!"

"It's much safe for _me_ to travel with another girl."

"But...others would leave you alone if we pretended to be married," Joska countered. "That would protect you."

"From others," the girl agreed. "But not from you." She made a small incantation, and Joska instantly calmed down.

"What...what did you do to me?" Joska asked warily.

The girl shrugged. "It wouldn't be any fun to travel with a screaming, hysterical girl. I just calmed you down a bit." She read Joska's expression and chuckled. "Oh, don't worry. All I did was make you more comfortable being a girl. It'll be a _lot_ easier on you that way." She laughed aloud. "And on me!"

**********

"You can just sell some of your jewelry," Josella whispered to the girl. In the nearly four months since Joska had been changed to Josella, they'd walked and ridden their way across the continent, a long journey with only what little money they could scrape up doing whatever menial jobs they could get. With little money, food and shelter were scarce, and the winter had been harsh and trying. More often than not, they'd spent the night in the hay of a barn, grateful for any warmth and willfully ignorant of the farmyard smells around them. Most of the time, they were tired, dirty, and hungry. Occasionally, they were aided by a passing traveler offering them a ride. Like now - they rode in the back of a horse-drawn cart that was nearing Paris.

The girl smiled smugly. "I _told_ you, I need my jewelry to help me work my magic." She glanced up and down Josella. "Unless you _prefer_ to stay a girl, I need to keep it."

Josella frowned, then she shut up. The girl had a good point. "So what do we do? I don't know about you, but I don't speak any French. And I don't think it's going to be easy to earn any money if no one can understand us."

The girl smiled. "That's no problem." She bit her lip and stared at the ground for a moment, lost in thought, then she looked up and started an incantation. She made some motions with her hands, then she touched her own throat and ears, and the throat and ears of Josella. "Now," she said easily, "tell me what you hear from the driver."

Josella cocked her head to one side in bewilderment, then she turned an ear toward the driver of the cart. "He is singing a song about his pere and mere," she said after a moment of listening. "It is a happy song about their little village." As Josella listened further, her jaw dropped in astonishment. "How is it that I understand this crazy old Frenchman?" she asked.

The girl smiled. "It's magic," she answered softly. She glanced around, at the buildings of the small town, with one eyebrow raised quizzically. "Pardon, monsieur," she said in perfect French, "I think this will be a good place for my friend and I to stop."

The cart driver glanced over his shoulder, then he nodded. "Of course, mademoiselle." He tugged the reins, and the horse stopped.

The girls clambered from the back almost before the cart was halted. "Merci," the two said in unison. "Merci."

"Now what?" Josella asked as the cart clattered off down the cobblestone street.

The girl smiled and pointed to an inn by the roadside. "That inn," she answered. "There are jobs there waiting for us."

Josella frowned. "_I'm_ not going to work in a tavern," she protested strongly. "Not again! If the inns are anything like the old country, they will pay poorly and we will have to work very hard."

The girl shrugged. "Suit yourself. There is a much quicker way to earn money," she said. Josella's eyes lit up in anticipation. "But I didn't think you were yet desperate enough to sell your body to any passing man for a franc or two."

Josella's face paled as she realized what the girl was implying. "No," she said quickly. "No! Not that!"

The girl smiled and nodded. "Nor I." She marched toward the inn, to where her magic had told her jobs awaited.

**********

"How much longer must we work like this?" Josella protested as she laid down on her straw mat. The two girls had been working for nearly a month. It was hard work for low wages, and part of their pay went for this tiny room in the attic. It wasn't much of a room, but it kept them blissfully dry and warm. From the few francs left each week, they were saving for passage - to London and thence to America. The money seemed to accumulate far too slowly - especially since the girl was nervous about being found by the village elders. Already, she and Josella had moved from jobs and towns several times when the girl had sensed a magical aura nearby.

The girl shrugged, an unseen gesture in the dim light. "Another week or two, perhaps."

"It would be easier if you just sold your jewelry," Josella grumbled.

"At least we're no longer sleeping in barns and stealing food," the girl countered. "In a short time, we will have saved enough money to travel to England. But I fear we will have to work more there before we can afford to purchase tickets on a steamship."

Josella sighed. "I know. I just wish you would use your magic to persuade the innkeeper to pay us better. Or to not work us so hard."

The girl trembled inside. She'd thought of that, but had decided not to. It seemed too easy, and too tempting. It _felt_ wrong. She wasn't going to tempt the blackness, not again. She shuddered inwardly at the thought of the ever-present blackness. Every time she used her magic, it seemed to be there, lingering, waiting to tempt her. Unknown to the girl, her fear of the blackness was still keeping her from using all her magic by making it harder for her to concentrate properly. At times, only the ritualistic reminders of the carefully arranged jewelry and baubles gave her a tenuous link to her powers.

"Sleep well," the girl said simply. She rolled over, turning her back to Josella across the attic, and let the bliss of sleep wash over her.

**********

The girl sat up with a start, and she glanced around in the dark attic. The lack of light was no hindrance to her senses. She frowned when she realized what had awakened her. Josella was sitting up on her mat. Her soft sobbing disturbed the silence of the attic. The girl rolled over and crawled to Josella's side. "What's wrong?" she asked as she put her hand on Josella's shoulder.

Josella collapsed into the girl's arms. Her sobbing increased, and the girl could feel Josella's tears soaking into her nightshirt.

"He...he..." Josella was trying to speak through her sobs. "He...Monsieur LeBlanc...did...things...to me!" Her sobs broke into outright anguished wails.

The girl's eyes narrowed. "You'll be okay," she said, trying to sound soothing to Josella while she herself seethed with anger.

"He...tricked me!" Josella continued. "He lured me to an empty room and...and..." She couldn't continue.

The girl calmed her mind, then focused on Josella's thoughts. Almost immediately, she understood, and once she knew the source of Josella's anguish, the girl fought to control her anger. How _dare_ he! To take advantage of an innocent girl like Josella? What a monster!

She forced herself to take a deep breath and calm down. A quick spell calmed Josella down so she would sleep. Then the girl rose and padded to the stairs. Down she climbed, a look of determined resolve on her face. Down another flight, guided by her senses, to the main floor. A light was on in the bar; she followed the glow until she paused at the door to the bar area.

Monsieur LeBlanc sat at a table, a glass of wine in his hand and one of his foul cigarettes in the other. He didn't notice the girl until she was well into the room. He spun, and his features cleared into a warm, pleasant smile. "Ah, mon cheri," he said easily. "I did not expect anyone else would be up at this hour." He nodded toward his glass. "Can I get you a glass of wine?"

The girl didn't sit. She stared at the innkeeper for several seconds, her face an icy mask.

He seemed puzzled by her behavior. "Won't you sit?" he invited once more. "Since neither of us can sleep, we can enjoy each other's company."

"Is that what you said to Josella?" she asked quietly.

The innkeeper's eyes widened, but only a bit. "What did she tell you? That she came down for a glass of wine? That she got a little drunk?" He shrugged. "Is it my fault that she cannot hold her liquor?"

The girl shook her head. "No. She didn't tell me that." His innocent explanation confused her, weakening her anger and resolve.

Monsieur LeBlanc smiled as if he'd already won the argument. "Then what can I say? That I shared wine with an attractive young lady who found me irresistible?" He grinned. "Or did she not tell you that, either?"

The girl paused, and her face went blank as she used her senses. Quickly, quietly, she probed the man's memories. "No. But I _do_ know that you took advantage of a girl that you tricked into getting drunk. And that's not the behavior of a gentleman."

"I am wounded," LeBlanc said with mock indignation. "You impugn my reputation." He took another sip of wine, and his unsteady hand sloshed some of the maroon liquid onto the table. "Bah!" he croaked. "See what you have done! You have so upset me with your insinuations that I have spilled my wine!"

The girl closed her eyes a moment. LeBlanc was a drunken old sot. A fool and a lech who happened to prey on his employees whenever he had the chance. He was...a waste of a human being.

As she considered the man's worth, a dark force sneaked up on her. 'Yes,' it seemed to be confirming, 'he's a drunken rapist. He deserves to be destroyed.' The girl shook her head, wondering where such a vile thought had come from. She looked again, and for a brief moment, LeBlanc appeared to be a vicious, leering, truly wicked man. But then the image cleared, and he sat as he really was - just a drunken, lonely old pathetic fool who had, out of a sense of loneliness or mistaken need to feel manly, stooped to raping his employee.

The girl thought for several seconds. LeBlanc seemed to have already forgotten about her as he tipped the bottle to pour another glass of wine. How could she punish him? How could he be made to feel the anguish that he'd inflicted on Josella?

The inspiration hit her like a flash. She waved her hands, and in a few moments, Josella padded into the room. Her eyes were sleepy, but that cleared, to be replaced by fear, when she saw LeBlanc sitting drunk at the table. The girl pulled Josella near, wrapping one arm around her waist to support and comfort her. "I promise you he won't harm you again," she said soothingly.

LeBlanc looked up, his eyes half glazed from too much wine. "Ah, do my eyes deceive me, or are there now two mademoiselles who need me to comfort them?"

The girl felt Josella flinch. She smiled, then waved her hands and began to incant.

LeBlanc froze. In slow motion, his body began to reform itself. His nearly bald head was quickly overgrown with luxurious hair that continued to lengthen until it spilled to his shoulders. The visible knob of his broken nose vanished, and it shortened slightly, leaving a proud but distinctly feminine Gallic nose. His cheeks lifted and his lips became more full. His hands, too, were affected as they became more delicate. Slowly, two small breasts inflated on his chest. Within seconds, LeBlanc sat, still frozen in place, but now totally and completely a young woman.

The girl turned to Josella. She made another incantation, and Josella regained her masculine form as Joska. He stood, a bit bewildered, staring at the young French girl, then at his companion. "You may have her," she said simply.

Joska glanced at the girl, then at the former innkeeper. With a sneer, he stepped to the table and pulled her upright. The audible rip of fabric announced the baring of her breasts, and Joska grasped one, cupping it firmly. LeBlanc's eyes were wide with terror as she slowly realized, despite her drunken state, what was happening to her. Joska bent forward and began to kiss LeBlanc's nipples as he tore at her skirt that had only recently been pants. LeBlanc's whimper of fright was barely heard, but her eyes were filled with fear at what was happening to her.

Suddenly, Joska stood, backing away from the girl. He shuddered, then he glanced at the girl. "No," he said firmly.

"No?" the girl asked, amazed. "After what he did to you?"

He shook his head again. "No. If I did, it would make me little better than he was."

The girl stared at him for a few seconds, then she nodded. With a quick flourish, she incanted again, and Joska changed back to Josella.

"Wha...why did you change me back?" Josella complained when the spell was complete.

The girl shrugged. "Do you think _I_ want to take any chances?"

Josella started to answer, then she hung her head sheepishly. "No, I suppose not." Then she looked up at LeBlanc. "But what about her?"

The girl looked at LeBlanc, who was trying to pull the tattered remains of a blouse about her chest. "How many?" she demanded. "How many girls have you taken advantage of?" She shook her head. Then she cast yet another spell. "As punishment, you will stay a girl until you have been ravished as many times as _you_ have taken girls." LeBlanc's eyes widened; the girl knew that it was a large number. She turned to Josella. "Come. We must leave at once." She saw Josella's puzzled look. "It isn't...safe to stay. Not now that I've used my magic." She shook her head. "There will be questions about Monsieur LeBlanc. And there are probably some who will sense the magic, and come looking for its source. We must leave."

**********

"But I've got the tickets," Josella protested, holding forth the treasured tickets for the girl to see.

The girl frowned. "I know. Sell them."

"What?"

The girl shook her head. "We _can't_ go."

"Why not?"

"I don't know. It just doesn't...feel right. Something's going to happen."

"What could happen? It's the safest ship ever built!"

The girl shook her head again. "I just _know_ something bad is going to happen."

Josella stood for a moment, her mouth hanging open in shock. Then she angrily threw one ticket at the girl. "Then _you_ go on another ship!" She turned and stormed out of the room.

The girl stood for a moment, stunned by the anger in Josella's response. Then she hurried out after her. She _had_ to stop her. She was absolutely certain that they shouldn't sail on the ship. She ran around the corner into the main street, and stumbled, nearly tripping over a baby carriage. "Oh, I'm sorry," she said quickly to the woman pushing the cart.

The woman with the cart turned up her nose at the girl. "You should be more careful," she said in a very snooty tone as she walked on.

The girl turned, only to see a mass of people. Everyone seemed to be moving in one direction - toward the docks. After all, this was a big day for Southampton - the maiden voyage of the biggest, most grand liner ever to sail the seas. She couldn't see far through the milling throng of people; Josella was nowhere to be seen. She began to walk, slowly and carefully, but with an increasing sense of urgency, weaving through the crowd and dodging people and vehicles.

As she hastened down the street, she suddenly felt it. She stopped abruptly and began to look around, looking for the source of the magical aura which she'd felt. Her eyes were wide with uncertainty, even fear. She remembered clearly the tales of the chase to Paris to punish the evil outcast. While this wasn't Paris, she wondered if her fate was to be the same, albeit in a different city. If Paris wasn't too far to pursue one tinged by the blackness, surely Southampton wasn't too far, either. The girl ratcheted up her power, trying to use her 'vision' to see the telltale magical aura which until now she'd only felt.

There, on the far side of the street, amid a throng of people moving slowly toward the docks, she could see the glow of a very powerful aura. She turned, fleeing down the street, glancing over her shoulder as she went to see if it was still there. And with each glance, she saw that the glow was not only following her, but was drawing nearer. In a state of near panic, she turned down a side street to avoid the crowd, where hopefully she could run faster.

It was a blind alley. By the time she realized the street had no exit, she could see the aura at the alley's entrance. She tugged at a door, then a second, desperately searching for an exit. But the doors were bolted, and she realized to her dismay that she was well and truly trapped. She turned to face her pursuer, and a strange calm came over her. This was it. The end of the chase. Just like in the old tale. She'd touched the blackness, used it to destroy two lives, and now her people would see her punished by destroying her.

The robed figure chasing her slowly drew back the hood as she stepped confidently toward the girl. The girl gasped; it was the matron, the elder of her clan. She felt the fear return - the matron was the most powerful woman of the clan. Compared to her, the girl's powers were insignificant.

"Are you...going to...?" the girl stammered fearfully.

The matron stepped ever closer. "You touched the darkness," she said in the old tongue, her voice even and devoid of emotion. "You destroyed lives by using black power."

The girl pressed herself back against the wall. "But..." she protested feebly. "They _raped_ me!"

"You touched the darkness," the matron intoned again with not a shred of emotion in her voice. "You know our rules."

The girl felt tears welling up in her eyes, tears of anger at herself, anger at the matron, despair for her own mother, and helplessness. She dropped her head as she wiped at the salty drops now flowing freely from her eyes.

_It_ was back. Without warning, the deceptive calm of the blackness intruded into her thoughts again. It beckoned to her, practically begging her to touch it again, to use its power to save herself from the matron.

"No!" the girl wailed, startling the matron. The girl's eyes were but narrow slits for a moment, then they cleared. Instead of fear or anger, they showed sadness. The girl took a deep breath, then she looked at the matron and bit her lip. "Let it be done," she finally said in a hushed voice.

The matron smiled, surprising the girl. "Well, go on! Get it over with!" the girl practically screamed.

The matron stepped closer and put her hand on the girl's shoulder. "It _is_ over," the matron said softly.

The girl's eyes reflected her confusion as she gazed at the matron. She sought answers to the dozens of unspoken questions.

The matron smiled. "You were tested," she answered simply. She looked down, trying to form her thoughts. When she looked back at the girl, there was a pained expression in her eyes. "I am breaking rules which I helped to create, but I can see that you are not a danger."

"I don't understand."

The matron shook her head. "No, of course you don't, my child." She gazed over the girl's head, as if focusing on thoughts and images miles away. "You see, I was your mother's teacher. I...owe your mother for saving my life...more than once. I couldn't let you be destroyed unless I was certain that you were dangerous."

The girl's eyes narrowed, and she studied the old matron with her magical senses. Then her eyes widened. "Joska!" she exclaimed. "He was part of your test?"

The old woman nodded solemnly. "Yes. Like others. I have watched you for all these months. Many times, I have seen you be tempted by the darkness, and each time, you have fought it, not allowing yourself to touch it again."

The girl looked down, suddenly feeling shame. "I _wanted_ to. A few times, I was tempted." She looked up at the older woman, her eyes tearing. "Why does it not leave me alone? I defeated it! I chased it away! And yet it returns, time and again, to tempt me!"

The matron shook her head sadly. "And it will always come to tempt you. Such is the power, that once you touch it, it stays with you forever." A thin smile crept across the matron's features. "Even those who have never touched it battle its temptations always. Such is the power of darkness that lurks in the souls of men!"

"Then..." The girl shook her head. "What I did to Josella, I didn't need to do?" Her eyes widened in fear. "Josella!" she cried. "I must stop her!"

The matron's hand on her shoulder stopped the girl. "Tell me what you see, my child," the old woman said soothingly.

The girl closed her eyes, concentrating, then they opened again. "I see the ship...sinking! I see hundreds...dying!" She shook her head. "I have to stop her! She'll _die_ if I don't!"

The matron shook her head. "It's too late, my child," she said softly. "The ship sailed only a moment ago."

"But..." Tears welled up in the girl's eyes. "She was my friend! I can't let her die!"

The matron nodded. "Even if I hadn't been certain, I know now. Your feelings for your friend betray the goodness in your heart. But even with our powers, we cannot stop the cold finger of death." She clutched the girl tightly, wrapping her arms around the girl to comfort her. "Look again, my child. What _else_ do you see?"

The girl paused, bewildered. Her eyes closed again in concentration, and then opened them. "I see...Josella...in a lifeboat!?"

The older woman smiled. "Your...gift...to Joska - changing him to a girl - is what will save his life. For if you hadn't changed him to Josella, he would not be permitted into the lifeboat, and he would die." She hugged the girl tightly. "And that is my final lesson to you. You can never know all the consequences of your magic, so you must use it carefully." She pushed the girl to arm's length, held by hands on her shoulders. "Now, you must go! I am breaking rules by letting you live, so you must promise me that you'll _never_ come back!"

"But..."

"Promise me!" The woman's tone was firm and demanding. "I will...lie...to the others."

The girl looked into the matron's eyes, and then she nodded slowly. "I promise."

**********

"Push!"

The girl, her face covered with sweat, cried out in her pain, then she focused on the faces around her. The nurse held her hand for encouragement, and the midwife watched, waiting.

"Come on, push!" the midwife urged again.

The girl drew a breath, then she gritted her teeth against the unrelenting pain in her abdomen. With all of her remaining strength, that not depleted by the hours of hard work, she bore down and pushed. "Uuunhh!" she groaned through tears of pain.

And then suddenly, the pain was gone, and with it, the pressure. She sank back onto the raised back of the hospital bed.

"It's a girl," the midwife announced as she began to clean the little baby.

The girl began to cry, tears of happiness that she'd successfully given birth, and tears of sadness at what she knew she had to do. As the midwife wrapped up the baby, the girl spoke. "Please. Can I have a moment with her? Alone?"

The midwife glanced uneasily at the nurse. "It's not our policy," the nurse said in a firm voice.

"Please?"

The midwife nodded, and the nurse backed off. "Just a moment." She carefully handed the baby to the girl, then backed slowly away as she watched the girl.

When the two were far enough away, the girl peered into the face of her daughter. Tears flowed freely. "I'm sorry, little one," she said softly. "I can't keep you. I want you to have a better life than I have, and I can't give it to you." She kissed the tiny baby on the forehead. "I want you to have a family to love you and take care of you in a way that I can't." She hugged the little girl closely. "I don't want you to have to work in a dingy sweatshop, sewing shirts for a few cents an hour. I don't want you to have to grow up in a dirty attic apartment. I don't want you to have to face the humiliation of being an illegitimate child in our ghetto." She shook her head sadly. And suddenly, a song was in her heart, a song she'd known well. She started to softly sing to her daughter the same song that she knew her own mother had sung to her. She sang even as tears streamed down her cheeks.

The nurse intruded into her little moment. "It's time," she said simply.

The girl looked up, sadly, then gave her baby another kiss. Slowly, delicately, she handed the child to the nurse, then turned her face away and sank back against the pillows. The tears continued to flow freely, and she barely heard the nurse leave the room.

**********

Two nurses, one on each side, were helping the girl walk down the hall. It was important that she get her exercise after such a difficult delivery. "Reverend Mother says you can stay until your strength returns," the nurse said reassuringly.

"That's very nice," the girl answered, "but I need to get back to my work. I have to earn money to pay for my room."

The nurse smiled sadly. "You had a difficult birth, my child. You need your rest." Holding the girl's arms, the nurses led her down the hospital corridor until they came to a room. They led the girl in and helped her into the bed, and one stayed to cover the girl gently with the bedding. "Now, if there's anything you need, you can ring your bell." As the girl settled in, the nurse smiled. She knew the girl would be fast asleep in moments. She turned to leave.

"Sister?" the girl asked hesitantly.

Surprised, the nurse, a nun, turned. "Yes?"

"Did I do the right thing?"

The nun canted her head, a curious expression on her face. "That question is for you to answer," she said softly. "You, and the Lord."

The girl nodded slowly. "Can you talk with me? Keep me company?"

The nun smiled, then she pulled a chair to the bedside. "We always have time for our patients," she answered. "Especially when the troubles are with the soul."

The girl nodded, trying to understand. She glanced around, at the three sheets hanging that separated the beds, and the patients. "I...was raped," the girl finally said, her voice barely a whisper. There was no anger left, nor shame, nor embarrassment. Her labor had left her too weak for emotion. "Does that make me bad?"

The nun smiled gently. "No, being...abused...in such a way does not make you bad."

Something inside the girl gave way. A torrent of emotions, dammed up by her ordeal, burst forth like a flood. "It was in the old country," the girl sniffled. "I was...shamed...in my village. I had to leave, to come to this country. And I...I," she shook her head slowly, "I...I had a...companion. He...left me when he knew I was with child." She
lowered her gaze. "I feel like I'm...nothing."

The nurse put her hand on the girl's. "Everyone is valuable in the eyes of our Lord," the nurse said in a reassuring voice. "Especially the meek and the poor. And everyone can earn forgiveness for any sins they may have committed, simply by turning to Him."

The girl nodded. "Do you know what it was like?" she asked. "Being alone, in a strange land, surrounded by people who treat you like an outcast?" The girl shook her head sadly. "Working twelve hours a day for barely enough money to pay for room and food?" Tears started to trickle from her eyes again. "I hoped I would find comfort with people from my home country. Instead, I found scorn and rejection because I was stupid enough to get pregnant without being wed!"

The nurse simply nodded, letting the girl speak. At times like this, she'd long since learned, it was best to allow the troubled to unburden their souls.

"I couldn't let my child grow with the burden of being illegitimate. I couldn't raise a child by myself, in those conditions. She deserves so much more than I could give her." She turned to face the nurse. "What will happen to her?"

The nun shrugged. "Only the Lord knows what her fate will be. She will go to our orphanage, and if she is fortunate, she will be adopted by a loving family."

The girl closed her eyes. For a moment, the nurse thought she'd drifted to sleep, and she began to rise. "Yes," the girl answered, opening her eyes again. "She _will_ find a family to love her." Her words had a confidence that surprised the nurse.

"You need to rest now, my child." The nurse rose and pushed the chair back out of the way.

The girl nodded. "Yes," she answered simply. "Tomorrow, I must leave."

The nurse looked at her, surprise showing on her face. "I...cannot stay, knowing that my daughter may be nearby. She must have her own life, and I must find mine." She smiled at the nurse, a calm, peaceful smile. "Tell your Mother Superior that I said thank you for the care I've received. I will never forget it, nor all the Sisters who have been so kind to me."

"Where will you go?" The nurse sounded concerned for the girl's future, a concern that didn't go unnoticed.

"I...don't know. Not yet. But I have to go."

**********

The gold bangles clinked and tinkled as the girl swirled her hands. "Come, let Madam Zelda tell your fortune. Madam Zelda knows all, sees all." The girl winced inwardly. The accent was as fake as a three-dollar bill, and her costume was worse. Her long red skirt swirled with her moves, and as directed by her boss, she exaggerated her hip movements to add to the effect. A simple white peasant blouse was left strategically open to display some cleavage - though not as much as the boss wanted. Gold bangles adorned her wrists, with similar cheap baubles in her ears and around her neck. Her long dark hair was worn beneath a red scarf to complete the ensemble - and the effect.

The couple passing by her tent gave her a glance, and the girl looked up at her partner. "Oh, Robert, please," she begged, tugging lightly on the man's arm, "let's give it a try!" She had the outward appearance of an easygoing girl, a young woman interested only in entertainment. Wearing the tight skirt and blouse and short haircut that were the uniform of a 'flapper', she seemed totally disinterested in anything but her own amusement.

The man laughed lightly as he patted the flapper's hand in a patronizing gesture. "Oh, come now, Delia," he chided, "surely you don't believe in that rubbish, do you?"

The girl choked down a laugh. 'If only they knew,' she thought to herself. "Rubbish?" she asked in a tantalizing tone. "You do not know the secrets, so you do not believe."

"Nice try," Robert said with a faint smile. "No, we're not interested."

The girl paused a moment, then she swirled her hands again for effect. "Perhaps the young lady can visit this evening while you go to the club, then." She gave the man a wry smile.

Robert's condescending smile froze and slowly his eyes narrowed. Delia, the flapper, glanced at the girl, and then looked up at the man. "You told me you weren't going to the club tonight!" Delia said, her tone uncertain. "You're not going to meet that awful Hawkins woman again, are you?"

Robert's face betrayed conflicting emotions. "It was just a guess on her part," he laughed, though uneasily. "And so obvious, too." He tried to sound confident, but to the girl, he was failing miserably. "Come on," he prodded his date. "Let's go see what other attractions there are."

Delia glanced at the girl, then she turned to follow her beau. The girl closed her eyes for a moment and smiled to herself. The young lady, Delia, would be back, while her gentleman friend was at the club seeing 'that awful Hawkins woman'. The young flapper would learn all about that, and some of the other secrets of his life. By the time the young lady was done, the man would be firmly in Delia's control.

**********

The girl sat like a statue at her table, her face ashen and her cheeks tear-stained, while her hands trembled uncontrollably in her lap. The tent flap hung closed; she couldn't bear, at this moment, to face more 'customers', even though her job, as dictated by her boss, was to tell happy fortunes and leave the customers giddy as to prospects of riches or love or power. But the girl couldn't do that. Not after the last
ones...

For a long while, the girl cursed her powers. She cursed the awful gift which allowed her to see the future, to read people's intentions and destinies. And it had proven to be such a terrible gift. They were so innocent - a young lady, her husband, and their new baby daughter - a happy, picture-perfect family. They had everything in front of them - especially the man, who had somehow managed to survive the terrible killing fields at Belleau Wood. The mud, the trenches, the death, the gas - they hadn't dimmed the spirit of the man, much to the girl's astonishment, and he was so eager to raise his family.

The girl nearly choked as she gazed into their futures. She saw the torn metal, the broken machine that had been a fine automobile, and the blood - oh, the blood! She stifled her anguish at the hideous tragedy that she _knew_ awaited this model family. Somehow, and she would never know quite how, she placated them with some reassuring words about their futures, and they left with the same smiles that they'd worn on entering. And all the while, the girl's heart ached - she knew that her powers, while they could see what the fates had in store, were far too meager to do anything about the impending tragedy. As the tent flap rustled shut, she put her face in her hands and bawled. She hated her own weakness, her inability to help them because she'd had to flee her village and clan and teachers before her learning was completed. She hated her ability to see what their fate was to be.

It was late, far past her normal dinner break, when she seemed to rouse herself from her sorrowful trance. She felt something - and she knew that, as expected, Delia had returned. The girl stood slowly, then she dabbed at her eyes and cheeks, hoping that the traces of her tears were gone. She braced herself, pasted on a warm smile, then she flung open the tent flap. Outside, Delia was glancing around uncertainly. With the tent flap closed, Delia had wondered if she was too late, and the gypsy had closed for the night. Her features brightened when she saw the girl. "Can you really tell my future, Madam?" Delia asked nervously.

The girl nodded with a smile. "Come into my tent, and I will show you your future." With a swirl of her skirt, she ducked through the tent opening.

Inside, the girl sat down behind a cloth-covered table. Atop the table, as expected, was a crystal ball. Delia gasped as she drank in the surroundings. Everything was _exactly_ like she expected a gypsy fortune-teller's tent to be, from the cozy size to the deep maroon tablecloth, from the crystal ball to the flickering candle stands casting an almost eerie light inside the tent. Of course, the candles were electric, but otherwise, the effect was complete. Delia took her chair with an almost school-girlish giggle of delight.

"So what do I do?" Delia asked with a nervous twitter.

The girl gazed into her eyes. "Place your hands on the table, beside the crystal ball. Gaze deeply into the ball."

Delia complied, and as the girl swirled her fingers about the ball, it clouded inside. Then, from the mist, faint images began to appear. Delia gasped, but continued to focus. The images were unsettling to the girl - Robert was both charming and vicious. In business, he was a ruthless tycoon-in-training, eager to prey on competitors and utterly destroy them. It became clear, through the misty scenes, that he treated Delia much the same, as something to acquire and own rather than as a partner to love and cherish. And the images showed the depth of Robert's fidelity - even as Delia sat in the tent, Robert was busy satisfying his carnal lust with Sarah Hawkins. As the last image of Robert faded, Delia gasped and drew a hand back to cover her gasp.

The girl looked at Delia. "You love him, do you not?" she asked simply.

Delia seemed stunned by the question. "Yes," she answered after a noticeable hesitation.

"Even though he doesn't love you? Even though he thinks of you as a possession?"

Delia fought back tears. "What choice do I have?" she asked plaintively. "My father was killed in the war, and Mother and I were left with nothing. Nothing!" Delia dabbed at her eyes. "If it weren't for Robert..."

The girl felt a cold chill run down her spine. Robert was a monster for the way he treated Delia. Even _Delia_ knew it. And she felt helpless to escape. She felt an instant bond with Delia - both of them had lost so much and were struggling to keep what little they had left. And the girl knew, without a doubt, that she had to help this poor girl. This was one case she _could_ help.

"Would you think differently if you knew that Robert was going to lose his fortune in less than three years? That everything he has - all his money, his property, his businesses - were going to be gone - would that change how you felt?" She watched the anguish in Delia's eyes as Delia contemplated her words. "Or that Robert would take his own life in sorrow over his losses? Would _that_ change your feelings?"

"Robert would _never_ do that!" Delia protested weakly.

The girl waved her fingers, and an image returned to the ball. As the two women watched, Robert's image climbed slowly out a window onto a ledge, and then, with not even a glance behind, plummeted off the ledge.

"No!" Delia said over and over as she grasped the horror of the image. "Robert would never do that!"

"And even then, he still will hurt you, leaving you a penniless former mistress rather than a widow. He will take everything you have to give, and give you nothing in return but grief and misery." The girl's pronouncement echoed like a prophecy of doom. "You knew, all along, what Robert really was, didn't you?" the girl asked. "And yet your heart made you deny it."

Delia sat, shaken. "What...what must I do?" she finally asked, softly.

"What would you have Robert do?" the girl asked simply.

Delia started. This wasn't quite what she'd expected. "Why...I guess I'd have him quit being so ruthless - in business, I mean." Delia thought for a moment. "His business...it seems so...speculative!" she added. "If it were up to me, I'd have him change to something a little more...solid. Less risky."

The girl knew, now, what she needed to do. "And with you?"

Delia blushed. "Why, he should settle down and raise a family."

The girl nodded her agreement. Delia, though she appeared to be a silly flapper, had more than her share of common sense and enough acumen to survive in the business world. From beneath the table, the girl produced a simple vial. "When next you and Robert have a moment together, put this into your drink and his."

Delia looked puzzled. "What will it do?"

The girl smiled. "It will...change his outlook. And yours."

Delia took the vial, and left her money on the table. From the entrance of the tent, she paused, looking back uncertainly. The girl nodded solemnly. Delia braced herself, then she walked purposefully from the tent.

The girl started to sit back for a moment of peace. Using the vision, she saw that, within a day, Delia would use the potion for herself and Robert. It was a simple spell, the girl thought with a smile, but its effects would be devastating to the dastardly Robert, as he and Delia would exchange bodies. Thereafter, in Delia's body, he would learn humility, and what it was to be a 'weak woman' in a male-oriented society, while Delia, in Robert's body, would use her common sense and compassion for good rather than for greed. She could see that Robert would learn love, and would eventually be happy as the woman, and Delia would preserve the business through the coming market collapse. Though the steps would seem drastic to both Robert and Delia, it was better for them - in the long run. And the girl knew that she'd done something positive with her powers. The burden didn't seem quite as heavy as it had only moments before.

**********

The girl's senses interrupted her vision, alerting her to an interloper. The tent flap opened and a heavy-set man walked in. "You haven't done too well today," he said bluntly as he sat down. Absently, he reached up to twirl one end of his handlebar moustache, while the other hand adjusted the bowler hat atop his balding head. A tan vest over a shirt with bold red vertical stripes would have been out of place - except here, in the carnival. Here, it proudly advertised his position as the 'ringmaster', the barker, the man who made this carnival happen.

The girl shrugged. "Not many people want their fortunes told today," she answered simply.

The man shook his head. "No," he retorted sharply, "you aren't friendly enough. You don't give them what they want."

The girl frowned. "I give them the truth," she answered.

"No one wants the truth!" he barked. "They want...to feel good. They want to have hope and happiness and love. Not gloom and despair!"

"Bah!" the girl sneered, shaking her head. "They pay me for the truth, I give them the truth. You want me to be a fake? A fraud?"

The man nodded. "Give them what they want!"

"Even if it's just cheap parlor trickery?" She frowned. "There is so much more I could do, if you would let me!"

The man rose. Clearly, this was a familiar argument to him. "The customers want a gypsy fortune teller. So quit arguing and be a gypsy fortune teller! Unless you'd rather find something else to do!" He stormed out of the tent, leaving the girl sitting alone in the dim light. She sighed at the futility of her arguments - again.

**********

Something caught the girl's attention even before the tent flap pulled back. She was suddenly alert, watching the entrance warily, her eyes narrow slits and her expression grim.

"Hi, doll," the nattily-attired gentleman called in a pleasant tone. His gray chalk-stripe suit was obviously expensive, and his Brylcream-slicked hair and moustache added a certain Hollywood flair to his looks. Many women would have considered him dashingly handsome, a Douglas Fairbanks or Rudolph Valentino of the twenties.

Without waiting to be invited, he pulled up the chair and sat down, neatly but casually crossing one ankle atop the other knee. "I waited for you at the club last night," he said, his tone cheery but still somehow threatening, "but you didn't come."

The girl frowned. "I had a busy night last night."

The man smiled and laughed. "I chatted with Mister Hooper this morning," he said. "You could have taken last night off." Despite his warm expression and tone, there was a steely coldness behind his eyes.

The girl knew that the man was dangerous, in spite of his outward appearance. She didn't see it, not with her eyes, but she knew of the shoulder holster beneath the suit, and of the menacing gun it contained. This man was a thug, a criminal heavily involved in trafficking illegal liquor and in extortion. "I'm just a simple immigrant girl," she said with a disarming shrug. "Why would so important a man as yourself want to waste his time with someone like me?" Her question was a deliberate stall.

The man smiled. "I've always been attracted to the simpler things in life," he lied. The gold chain of his very expensive pocket watch laid rest that falsehood. "And with such a beauty as yourself?" He let his smile fade. "I'll have a talk with Mister Hooper, and you can take the rest of the night off."

The girl frowned inwardly. "Weekends are our busiest times," she said in a further stall for time. "I doubt..."

The man smiled again. "I doubt he'll be able to resist my offer," he said confidently. The charm in his voice didn't conceal the menace of his words. Hooper _would_ let her off.

"I told you," the girl said firmly, "I'm not interested. Now, please leave."

The man reached across the table and grasped her arm firmly. It hurt, and she winced. "But _I_ am," he insisted. There was no disguising the fact that he was very accustomed to having his way.

The girl felt panic gripping her, and she fought it down. Then she cleared her mind, focusing on the man. Her wide-eyed fearful look vanished, replaced by a look of understanding. She quickly muttered an incantation as her fingers traced out intricate motions in the air.

Even as the man firmed his grip on her arm with one hand, his free hand started to reach for his weapon. It never made it. Instead, he found himself frozen in place, unable to make his body respond to his commands. "What...what have you done to me?" he asked. The calm confidence was gone, replaced by nervousness and uncertainty.

The girl frowned. "You are interested in me as an object of pleasure," she said scornfully. "You find me attractive and wish to satisfy your ego and needs with me." She sneered and shook her head. "I'm not just some girl you can bed because I caught your eye," she hissed.

The man's eyes were wide now, filled with terror. "No," he protested weakly. "I swear, I wasn't thinking of that."

The girl shook her head. "Don't you realize," she asked, "that I can read your every thought? Nothing is secret from me."

The man lowered his eyes. With her words, it was clear that she knew. But only part of his secrets.

The girl's eyes widened. "You wanted to use me!" she cried as the last truth was revealed to her. "You _knew_ I had the gift of sight, and the powers of my people, and you wanted me to use them to help you!"

With her words, the man realized the futility of trying to fight - or own - this girl. But perhaps, the thought occurred, there was still a way. He shrugged his acknowledgement of her accusation. "Yes," he admitted. "One of my...men...told me he could sense your magic. He told me that your ability to see the future could be very helpful to my...enterprises."

The girl was startled by his change of direction. She'd expected a weak protest, a feeble denial.

The man sensed her unease. He hadn't gotten to be a minor crime boss by not being able to read people. "And just think of what I can give _you_!" he crooned. "Money. Cars. Dresses, furs, jewelry." He was in his own element - luring people to his bidding through bribery, coercion, and intimidation. Since the threats rang hollow with this girl, the tool of choice was bribery. "You'll be treated like a queen, my closest ally, my trusted aide. No one will dare to cross you like Hooper did a bit ago! You'll get anything you want! Just think of it - a luxurious mansion, servants waiting on you hand and foot..."

"Until I outlive my usefulness," the girl concluded, her face grim.

It was the man's turn to be startled. "But..."

The girl shook her head, the frown still present. "Your colleagues have a disturbing habit of disappearing when they're no longer useful to you."

The man shook his head. "But you're different! Your ability will always be there! You'll always be a valuable ally. And if nothing else, a very charming and beautiful woman to keep me company!" He was thoroughly rattled and grasping at straws.

The girl shook her head. "You have _no_ idea of the power with which you're dealing," she said, her voice almost sad. "You think all I can do is stare into a cheap crystal ball and see the future?" Her face flashed anger as she swept the crystal ball from the table, dashing it to bits on the hardened dirt floor. "This is _nothing_!" she hissed. "I could _destroy_ you with the wave of a hand!" Her eyes were a fearsome sight to behold; the merest glance of them had the hardened criminal nearly quaking with fright. "You wish me to aid your crimes? To aid your _evil_?" She shook her head defiantly. "I was taught by my elders to use my powers for good, to resist evil. And you have the audacity to tempt me toward evil?" She waved her hands, and the man tried to cower; her immobilizing spell prevented it. Instead, he sat, terrified, as the girl worked some unknown magic on him.

And then, suddenly, he was free. His body, which had been moving prior to her freezing him, lurched awkwardly from the chair. After a brief moment to regain his balance, he realized he was free and stood. Slowly, the calm confidence came back to him. "You don't know who you're tangling with, doll," he said condescendingly. "You'll come back to me," he purred, "begging. Only it'll be on my terms the next time we meet." As he was talking, his hand started sliding inside his jacket, slowly, so as not to arouse suspicion.

The girl laughed at his feeble threats. With a wave of her hand, the jacket vanished, leaving his holster exposed. Sensing the change, he glanced down. His eyes widened as he saw the empty holster. He glanced up, and saw the girl holding his gun - and bending it like it was made of rubber!

"Did you lose something?" she asked, mockingly, as she toyed with the now useless revolver.

The man snarled, then turned to leave. He ignored her impudence and his altered gun.

"Oh, by the way," the girl called, causing him to turn back, "since you think you're such a Don Juan also, you might want to make sure you haven't lost anything else." She laughed mockingly as he stormed out of the tent. It would take him a while to realize the full extent of her threat, but whenever he became aroused, he would lose his precious organ. In its place, he would find the female sex, which would remain with him for at least two hours. She laughed again; she was _sure_ he would never reveal that to any of his counterparts.

It took far less time for Hooper to reappear than the girl had anticipated. She had barely cleaned up the broken glass, and was packing her things in anticipation when Hooper barged angrily into the tent. The girl barely heard his threats as he ranted about her ruining him. Didn't she know who the man was? Didn't she realize that by turning him down, she threatened the livelihood of _every_ employee? The girl finished packing the accessories in the tent, and without a glance over her shoulder, walked wordlessly out of the tent, leaving her boss following her, still trying to yell. Without a word to Hooper, she walked easily to her trailer, gathered her bag, and within moments, was leaving the carnival grounds.

As she walked through the city streets, the girl contemplated her next move. She knew she couldn't stay. Despite her powers, she was still in mortal danger from the gangster. Even if he wouldn't reveal his new 'handicap', he might become so irrational as to have her rubbed out. No gift of sight, no sense, could provide perfect protection, especially since a threat could come from a distant rifle shot. No, she realized, she had no choice but to leave.

It was a welcome sound when the conductor called, "All Aboard." She heard the whistle, then the 'chuff, chuff' of the engine laboring to pull from the station. With increasing tempo, the engine puffed, while the train slowly accelerated down the track, until the sound settled into a soothing rhythm. She realized, as she sat wedged in the corner seat, that it had been a long day, and that the power she'd used dealing with the gangster had left her exhausted. Between the soft clattering of the wheels on the tracks and the gentle swaying of the car, her senses were slowly lulled until her eyes fell shut.

**********

"Excuse me, miss?" There it was again - the voice interrupting her rest. It seemed dreamlike, but dreams didn't repeat so precisely. Ever so slowly, she forced the fog from her mind. Even that meager effort was a struggle against the comfort of sleep.

"Miss?"

She forced open her eyes, expecting to see the face of the conductor hovering over her, trying to wake her to announce that it was her stop. Instead, she saw a stranger. She thought, briefly, about closing her eyes and ignoring the man. After all, he was another _man_.

Still, there was something about this one that struck her. Though he looked rather young - perhaps in his late twenties or early thirties, there was something in his eyes. They sparkled with a mirth the girl hadn't known for many years, and his face seemed content, at peace. And through that all, she sensed wisdom, a depth of experience that belied the apparent age of the man. In brief flashes between his mirth and contentment, it seemed that his face was etched with the wisdom of a thousand lifetimes.

"Yes?" she asked slowly. She was trying to figure out what this man wanted, why he had chosen to interrupt her nap.

"Is this seat occupied?" the man asked, gesturing to the seat opposite her.

The girl frowned. She glanced around the car quickly, noting with visible disdain that the coach was almost empty. There was no reason for the man to want to sit beside her. He could have had his pick of dozens of empty seats. And yet... She kept returning to his eyes. This man was a free spirit, a man who enjoyed life and happiness, and yes, even a joke or two. "I suppose...that is, I guess it's free."

The man smiled and sat opposite her. "Good," he said pleasantly. "I so enjoy company when I choose to travel. This way, that is," he added with a wink.

The girl knew that further napping was out of the question. "I suppose it does help pass the time." She gave a quick glance out the window, to where the dim moonlight made visible the eerie shadows of passing trees, bereft of leaves in this late autumn, and lining the track like an army of phantom soldiers. The strange sight did little to cheer the girl.

"If I were a betting man, which, by the way, I am," the man said pleasantly, "I would wager that you work in a carnival. Perhaps as a fortune teller?"

The girl's mouth dropped open in surprise. "But..."

The man smiled. "Your costume gives you away," he added with a twinkle in his eye.

The girl glanced down, remembering the Gypsy costume she'd worn even when she boarded the train. "Not very discreet, am I?" she asked rhetorically.

"That, and you have a charming touch of an accent from your homeland." The man smiled. "There are few real Gypsies, apart from carnivals and side shows, on the Great Plains," he explained.

The girl nodded slowly, and a smile crept onto her face. For some unknown reason, despite her experiences and wariness, she found herself liking this man. "Touche," she acknowledged. "Used to."

"Used to?"

She nodded. "I had a...dispute with my boss. I quit."

The man nodded deferentially. "A wise move, perhaps. I've found the fakes and charlatans of carnivals to be so...annoying."

The girl narrowed her eyes. "Including me? After all, I _was_ one of those carnies."

The man tilted his head. "Touche," he said with a grin, acknowledging her verbal riposte. "I should have excluded present company. No offense intended."

The girl realized she'd tensed up at his words. She forced a deep breath to relax. "None taken."

"So, now what are you going to do?"

She shook her head. "I haven't decided yet," she answered. "It seems as though I've spent my whole life running from job to job." She _knew_ that she shouldn't be talking to this man - that she should just ignore him, but there was something compelling about him that she just couldn't ignore.

The man's eyes, for a brief moment, seemed to overflow with anguish, as if her words had recalled his own bitter memories. The look vanished, and the girl sensed that he'd forced the emotions away - perhaps to protect himself from their power. "Sometimes, when one is running, it pays to stop to see if you should run _from_ one thing, or _toward_ another."

The girl mulled his words for a moment. "Perhaps," she agreed. This conversation was heading toward ground she wished desperately to avoid. It was time to change the subject. "From your attire," she observed as she glanced up and down the man's suit and bag, "I would guess you are a merchant returning from a vacation. Or perhaps a salesman?"

The man's smile returned. It was as if he, too, was glad the conversation was back on simpler subjects. "Businessman," he confirmed. "I run a...curio shop." The twinkle was back in his eyes.

"And where is this curio shop that you travel in business attire in the middle of the night?"

The man tilted his head back and laughed aloud. "What a sharp wit and incredible intelligence you have," he chuckled. "It is so refreshing to see." He shook his head. "My shop is wherever the customers need me."

The girl frowned, puzzled by his riddle. "So you have a series of stores, then?"

The man chuckled. "No. But perhaps someday..." His eyes took on a far-off look for a second, then he shook his head. "I doubt that it would be easy to manage all those stores, and I really don't think I could find managers I could trust. You see," he added, leaning close as if telling state secrets, "my merchandise is very...special. It takes a special skill to sell it properly."

"Oh." The girl lapsed into silence, confused by his seemingly contradictory statements. Even when she tried to use her power to discern his meaning, she came up empty. It was as if she was too tired to read his mind.

The man started. "My goodness," he exclaimed suddenly. "Where are my manners? Would you care to join me in the dining car for some tea or coffee?"

**********

They talked as they drank tea, him sitting across the tiny table in the nearly vacant dining car. Over and over, she found the conversation steering toward her own life and background, and repeatedly she returned it to 'safer' subjects. Despite her best efforts and questions, she still didn't know precisely what the man's line of products was. He was diligent in being circumspect about his business. After a few attempts to get him to spill his secrets, she gave up trying. A good businessman, she reasoned, would be practiced at not giving away trade secrets, and obviously, this man was a good businessman.

As the sun rose above the prairie, the conductor strolled lazily through the dining car. As he had all night long, he called out the name of the next stop.

This time, he caught the girl's attention. "This is my stop," she said to her newfound acquaintance.

The man nodded. "Yes," he said simply, as if he already knew. He stood and helped her retrieve her small bag of possessions. "It was a pleasure traveling with you," he said with a smile.

The girl looked up at his remarkable eyes. "And with you," she answered, surprised at the truth in her words.

The man glanced out the window, then back at the girl. His eyes, once more, took on that far-off haunted look. "Be careful," he admonished her. "Not everything is as it seems, and a friendly offer of help may disguise an underlying danger."

She was startled by his warning. "Yes," she said hastily, "I will be." As the train glided to a stop, she stepped down onto the platform. In mere moments, the train was rolling again, and she got one final glance at the mysterious stranger, still standing in the door of the dining car. Her mouth dropped open in surprise, and the man smiled at her expression, taking obvious delight in his last little joke. His aura shone like a beacon, strong and clear. How had she missed it all that evening? Were her powers fading? Was she so exhausted? Or was he _that_ powerful that he was able to disguise his aura from her? And if he did have such power, then he'd known all along that she had the gift as well - and he'd not spoken of it. The girl stood on the platform, watching the vanishing train and wondering about the stranger. Who was he? And would she ever meet him again?

**********

Something caused the girl to look up. It wasn't the sound of the bell tinkling over the door; heaven knows that she heard it often enough. It wasn't the hot, dusty wind blowing through the opening, either. Both of those events were so common that they barely earned notice any more.

The man stood, framed in the doorway. Slowly, deliberately, he swept his gaze slowly around the store, as if taking in the contents of a country store was an experience to be savored. His gaze returned to the girl, standing as she was beside the flour bin.

The girl felt...something. The man wasn't overly large, nor was he movie-star handsome. Still, there was something about him that seemed to command attention. Locks of white hair poked from beneath a thoroughly out-of-place bowler hat, and his skin was fair, even soft, unlike the heavily tanned and lined faces of most customers the girl saw. His hands rested atop an ebony walking cane, and from his hands, the girl could tell that he was not a common laborer. His dark blue suit seemed perfectly tailored, and that, too, set him apart.

The girl gasped as she _felt_ the man's gaze settle on her. It was clear that he was studying her, and his gaze seemed to penetrate into her heart and soul. Instinctively, she made a small gesture, an old spell of protection, and the uncomfortable feeling vanished. At the same time, she opened herself to the _other_ senses.

Another gasp escaped her lips as she saw it. The man had an aura about him that was unmistakable and incredibly strong. She shut her magical sense off, to avoid being overwhelmed by the intensity of the man's aura.

The corners of the man's mouth turned up in a wry smile. He _knew_ what she'd done.

The girl glanced around the store nervously. Something didn't feel right; her instincts were warning her that something was wrong, even if she didn't know what. She felt like she _needed_ an excuse to get away from this man. Her duties, however, didn't permit that option. "Can...may I help you?" she forced herself to say.

The man smiled. "I would speak with you," he said in a tone that sounded commanding, and like he expected his words to be followed.

The girl trembled. "I...must attend to my duties," she stammered. In truth, this man made her nervous. Such a raw display of confidence and magical power was highly uncommon. Her mother and teachers had always taught humility and caution in displaying power, and this man flaunted all the rules she'd learned - so long ago.

The man smiled and glanced around. "At the moment," he said, "it seems that I'm your only customer."

The girl steeled herself and drew herself up straight. Compared to the man's dapper suit and demeanor, the girl knew she looked ragged. Her dress had been mended several times, and her long hair, though pulled back into a ponytail, had several strands hanging about her face. She felt suddenly inadequate, and not only in her clothing.

The man looked impassively at the girl. "Why are you here?" he asked simply. "Why do you toil in this meaningless job in this meaningless little town like thousands of other meaningless towns?"

The girl drew herself up straight. "In case you hadn't noticed," she said sternly, even sarcastically, "these are hard times. Many people are out of work. I'm lucky that I could find a job that pays enough to earn my keep."

"But," the man whispered, his voice as insistent as the gaze in his eyes, "you have power to be above this..." his nose wrinkled in distaste at his thoughts, " ...this petty scrambling for a subsistence."

The girl drew back, surprised. "What...what do you mean?" she stammered even as she tried to read his mind and his intentions. The sheer power of his magic aura overwhelmed her meager attempts, leaving her clueless as to the stranger's thoughts.

The man smiled pleasantly. "Merely that your talent, raw and unpolished as it is, is strong. Too strong for you to waste your time and energies doing menial labor, when you could be learning the arts and enhancing your already strong skills."

"I...I want no more to do with the arts," the girl stammered, her voice full of uncertainty and fear. "I left them behind me...when I left my village."

The man cocked his head ever so slightly. "Indeed. Is that why you practiced as a fortune-teller?"

The girl squirmed at his words - he'd spoken only the truth. "I...I was just trying to earn a living," she said defensively.

"I meant nothing accusatory," the man apologized quickly. He wrinkled his brow and a look of consternation flitted across his countenance. "Where are my manners?" he asked himself. With a flourish of magic, a card appeared in his hand, which he handed to the girl. "Permit me to introduce myself. I am Eldor the Younger, son of Eldor the Powerful, and," he smiled, " as you guessed, a practitioner of the arts."

The girl stared at the card given her. The lettering on the card, announcing the man's name and position, sparkled like an unworldly jewel. She glanced up at Eldor. "And what, pray tell, would a powerful mage such as yourself want with a humble maid such as myself?"

Eldor laughed heartily. "Well said, young one," he roared, "well said. I come from that place your people knew as the 'Otherworld'." He saw the girl's mouth drop in astonishment. "Oh, yes," he assured her, "the 'Otherworld' does indeed exist. It's not just a place of myth as your ancestors believed."

"But...they were only _stories_!" the girl insisted, trying to deny that which her heart and senses were telling her.

"Your ancestors left the 'Otherworld' centuries ago...for this," he glanced out the door, his arm sweeping to encompass everything in his view, "charming little place." The sarcasm in his voice was unmistakable, and his choice of words, given the dustbowl conditions surrounding this tiny community, was deliberate and mocking.

"What do you want of me?" the girl asked again, plainly. Her forehead was furrowed in sudden concern.

The man smiled his charming smile again. "Only to help you, little one," he said in a soothing voice. "You have talents that should, nay, _must_, be developed. I have an opening for an apprentice."

"You will forgive me for being skeptical," the girl said, her arms crossed defiantly, "but I don't see why you should be interested in me."

"Touche," the man said with a grin. "First, I gain an assistant during your apprenticeship. Second, and more important, in the 'Otherworld', one's status is marked not only by how powerful they are, but also by how well they pass on the arts."

"Honest," the girl observed.

"On your own," the man continued, "you would never fulfill your potential. If you'd been born in the 'Otherworld', you'd have been in a - school - for learning to use the arts." He smiled, as if sad. "Now, without the benefit of the formal schooling, without your _elders_ to teach you, an apprenticeship is the only recourse you have to complete your training."

The girl forced a frown, while inwardly she trembled. Eldor spoke a harsh truth. Cut off as she was from her own people, she had no way to learn more magic. But could she trust Eldor? She wished desperately to have her mother, or the matron, to talk to, to seek their advice. "I...I will have to think," she said softly.

Eldor smiled. "Of course," he said pleasantly. He turned to leave the small store.

"How will I contact you ?" the girl asked after him, too quickly, she immediately realized.

"On my card is an incantation which will contact me." He smiled. "Without that card, you can't find me." He saw her confusion. "Your ancestors placed on themselves and their descendants a spell which prevents travel to the Otherworld, at least until the age of twenty-three."

The girl frowned. "Why?"

Eldor shook his head. "No one knows. Perhaps it was to foster loyalty to this world. Perhaps they sought to retain control over how and what they taught." He shrugged. "In any case, you, too, have that spell, and thus, you cannot travel to the Otherworld to find me." The smile returned. "But the incantation will send me a message, and I will return - if you so desire." He turned, and almost as soon as he cleared the door, his form vanished.

The girl looked at the empty air where Eldor had vanished, then she stared at the card. As she slipped it into a pocket, she muttered, as much to herself as to anyone, "Mother, what do I do?"

**********

"How did I get myself into this?" the girl asked herself for perhaps the ten-thousandth time. "How could I have been so stupid?" She sat, alone, on the hard stone bench, in the austere hall just outside the chamber. Through the ornate bronze doors, her fate was being decided, and she had good cause to question the events that had led her here.

Even as she asked herself the question, she knew the answer. It was her own naivete, her lack of experience, coupled with the lure of learning more about the arts. She laughed bitterly at how she'd missed the warning of that mysterious stranger all those years ago. Back on Earth. Back in the Midwest. In the hardships where jobs were scarce, poverty was rampant, and even the land had turned on those who had tended it, changing in a heartbeat from docile fields into savage dust storms as the winds whipped the dry soil into an angry frenzied storm that assaulted anything and anybody. In those conditions, it was impossible to be happy, given the struggle that mere survival had become. Hardship had made offers of salvation all the more valuable.

After his mysterious appearance, Eldor returned now and again for a few weeks as she debated herself on his tempting offer of apprenticeship. During his visits, he freely gave her advice on her powers, watched her use her skills, and praised her lavishly for the talent she already had, he dangled the promise of even more skills - skills which would surpass even the elders of her clan. She could show them that she'd become powerful without being destroyed. She could reclaim her heritage, her name, her birthright, her place among her people. She could learn from him, serving as his apprentice. Eldor had known how to lure the girl, and he'd played it masterfully.

To accept the offer of apprenticeship, of course, she'd have to leave her dimension, her world. But then, what had Earth and its world given her but misery? She eagerly accepted his offer, formalizing an agreement to serve as his apprentice.

At first, she barely noticed as he went about his magic. He kept her busy with her studies, honing her existing skills and learning new ones. But slowly, she began to see something in Eldor that troubled her. His use of his power seemed to lack...compassion. Unlike many other apprentices of many other wizards, the girl was not allowed out of his keep. At first, he scoffed at her doubts, saying that she was an inexperienced apprentice, and didn't have enough knowledge or wisdom to understand. He seemed indiscriminate in his magic, and slowly, the girl saw darkness in his power. She realized that now, in the last year of her apprenticeship, he was almost gleefully demonstrating his evil to her. She became truly frightened.

And she found out how trapped she was in Eldor's web of evil. Her agreement, which she'd barely read, gave him the right to exact any retribution he saw fit if she broke the contract. She tried to run once. She was found after a tortuous hunt in which Eldor toyed with her, taunting her with escape only to yank it away when it seemed in her grasp.

She found herself powerless. The Wizard's Council wouldn't hear her complaints, because she was, after all, just a lowly apprentice. Even though she'd learned much, her powers seemed insignificant next to Eldor's magic. And Eldor's was a powerful voice in the chambers of the Wizard's Council.

She also discovered one more thing; until she was of age, she couldn't freely travel of her own accord from this realm. She was stuck unless and until another mage happened to assist her in traveling back to her own world. Without such help, she was trapped and at Eldor's mercy. Never had she felt so alone or helpless.

**********

"Come here, girl!" It was Eldor's booming voice, dripping contempt and evil from every syllable.

Meekly, the girl complied. She knew better than to delay and arouse the wrath of her master. One week of torture had been enough. "Yes, master?"

Eldor sneered at the girl. "I've decided to terminate your apprenticeship," he announced angrily. "Your skills are pathetic. I don't know why I ever thought you could live up to being my apprentice."

The girl felt a glimmer of hope. "It's over?" she asked meekly.

Eldor laughed, a harsh sound that frightened the girl. "And since you didn't complete the training, you owe me payment for my tutoring."

The girl sensed danger, but it was already too late. Even as her eyes widened in fear, Eldor waved his hands and the girl found herself strapped, naked, to a rack.

Eldor laughed again. "And I am entitled to take payment in any form I choose!" He waved his hand and his own trousers vanished, revealing his intent to rape her. As he stepped slowly toward the girl, his eyes burning with evil, he sneered, "You're going to be mine for a long time to pay for the lessons I've given you."

The girl felt her fear rising. And then, through the fear, she felt _it_. The darkness, feeding on her terror, began to approach her. 'Use me to save yourself,' it seemed to call to her. 'Let me save you.' The girl glanced again at her approaching dark master. Her fear rose, and with it, the darkness drew closer. 'I can help you,' it called again.

Eldor sneered again. "You are helpless, little one," he sang out. "You have no defenses against me."

'Yes,' the darkness called to her. 'I can defend you.'

The girl started. The darkness - it called to her with Eldor's voice. He was one with the darkness! It was working through him, to force her to touch it again, to embrace it! The darkness wanted her. And with that realization, her fear of her master waned as the old teachings of her elders came forward. 'Do not touch the darkness', her old teachers had said. 'It will turn you toward evil.'

The girl knew, somehow, that the darkness calling to her was under Eldor's control. She shuddered at a sudden thought - perhaps _he_ was under _its_ control. It was trying to force her to use the dark magic. He wanted her fear to rule her, and her anger. He wanted her to touch the darkness.

Eldor sneered again. "I'm going to enjoy raping you over and over," he taunted. "I'm going to make you pay for weeks."

The girl fought back the fear his words tried to provoke. Her mind retreated from her physical senses, to save her from the torture of being raped. She remembered a lullaby her mother had sung all those years ago, a warm, happy memory from her childhood. She _felt_ her mother's presence, as if part of her mother were with her, helping her, comforting her. With all her might, the girl grasped that memory, that thought, to distract her from the evil and horror of what Eldor was doing to her.

**********

With the death of such a prominent wizard, the Wizard's Council took the investigation very seriously. Eldor's corpse, blackened and twisted in agony, was discovered next to a catatonic girl chained nude to a rack and singing an unintelligible song over and over. The girl, after months of therapeutic counseling and tutoring from the elder women of the Council, had recovered from the trauma, but even then, she was of no help. She remembered that her former master was trying to rape her to push her to using black magic. She remembered the memory of the lullaby. And nothing else. Which ultimately led to the Council chambers.

The massive bronze doors swung open silently, ominously. A shadowy figure in a hooded robe emerged from the chamber and turned toward the girl. "Come," he beckoned in a voice that echoed like a tomb.

Nervously the girl stood and stepped toward the door. She paused between the massive gates to the chamber and felt a shudder run down her spine. She knew that the Council had the same power over her life that her elders had so long ago. She grimaced and stepped into the chamber, into a small circle of light on the stone floor of the dimly-lit chamber. In the shadows, she could barely see the outlines of the council, so high above her, as they sat, stone-faced and silent. It struck her as a scene from a medieval witch trial, something to instill fear and terror. It was working.

"You stand accused of the murder of Eldor the Young," a voice boomed from above.

"Yes, sir," she answered meekly.

"We have conducted a thorough investigation, as is our custom, as to the events which led to his...demise."

The girl nodded. She'd been in this chamber before - many times, in fact - during the 'official inquiry'.

"Are you prepared to accept the judgement of the Council?"

The girl swallowed hard. This was it. "Yes, sir," she answered in a tiny, squeaking voice.

"Very well."

From the shadows, the elder woman glided forward to stand at the girl's side. "We would like to remind the Council that the girl's memories of the...event...are incomplete. By our own laws, she cannot be held accountable for something she does..."

"It has been noted, Mirala," the voice atop the bench boomed, interrupting the plea of the girl's counsel.

"In view of the nature of the death and the circumstances surrounding it, the Council is inclined to rule the death self-defense."

"Inclined?" Mirala's forehead wrinkled in concern.

"There is the enigma of the song. It contains an incredibly powerful magic that we do not understood."

The girl looked puzzled. "As I have told you so many times, it is a simple lullaby my mother sang to me."

The counsel frowned. "I would remind the Council that our investigations cannot recreate any magical power that could be used for an attack. At best, it would appear to be some type of defensive shield."

"You cannot recreate _any_ magic from the song!"

The counsel paused, then nodded slowly. "True," she admitted. Then she looked up suddenly. "But if the song has no inherent magic, then..."

The head of the Council nodded slowly. "The finding of self-defense is upheld." A gavel banged, echoing loudly in the chamber. "You are free to go."

**********

Between the flickering red and orange flames and the red flashing lights of the sirens, the dark streets were bright in an eerie way. Shouted orders sounded among the firefighters, a volunteer lot that, despite their lack of training as a unit, were struggling hard to battle the flames licking eagerly at the two-story corner building. Though the building was stone, it contained plenty of flammable material - the floors, the wall coverings, the furnishings - and that flammable material was well ablaze. Bright orange light shone out from the window frames; long ago, the heat had shattered the panes of glass and consumed the curtains. Now a dim glow could be seen reflecting from the low clouds, indicating that the roof had begun to burn through.

On the opposite corner, a young woman who looked to be in her early twenties stood in her robe, her eyes emotionless as she watched the efforts of the firemen. Before anyone else knew, she realized that their goals had changed. They considered the building beyond saving. Now, they had to keep the fire from spreading to the adjoining buildings.

The young woman turned suddenly, her eyes narrowing. There...she spied them. Standing there looking so so smug, watching their handiwork, they were...evil. They watched in glee as the fruit of her handiwork, the small curio shop and gypsy fortune-telling parlor which she'd so laboriously built into a modest little business, burned to the ground. She knew that the fire was their doing, that their boss had ordered the torching to make an example of her because she wouldn't pay his 'protection' fees. The woman's jaw clenched tight in a barely contained rage. She thought of the men, of what they'd done to her, and of what she should do to them as retribution. In the span of a second, she visualized dozens, even hundreds, of ways she could hurt them, each worse than they'd hurt her. And the boss - he was going to suffer worse than any of them...

"It's not worth it."

The hand on her shoulder had caught her unaware, as had the voice in her ear. She spun, startled.

A gentle face looked sadly at her. His head shook slowly from side to side. "It's not worth it."

She frowned. The face - it looked somehow familiar. And the voice... With a start, recognition hit her. "You're the..."

The man nodded, a faint smile on his lips. "I'm touched you remember."

"But..."

The man shook his head again. "I know they hurt you," he said slowly. "But it's not worth it. Not after..." He let his words hang.

The woman frowned, then she let her eyes fall shut. Slowly, imperceptibly at first, her head nodded. "I know," she agreed. Then she looked up, and her eyes almost pleaded with the man. "But they _deserve_ it!" she protested.

The man nodded slowly. "Yes," he agreed, "they do." He glanced around, and realized the woman seemed so out of place in her robe. Frowning, he waved his hands. In an instant, the robe was gone, replaced by a ladies' coat with a long skirt showing beneath the coat's hem.

The woman looked down, then she looked up and smiled. "I suppose that's better than my robe."

The man smiled warmly. "There's nothing else you can do here. How about if we go to an all-night coffee shop, and you can cry on my shoulder if you need."

The woman glanced over her shoulder at the flames, then she nodded. "I think that would be a nice change of scenery." She sounded tired.

The man waved his hand, and the corner vanished. They were standing outside a tiny coffee and donut shop. "Shall we?" he asked as he opened the door. Above them, a bell tinkled to announce their arrival.

"A booth, or the counter?" the man asked as he hung up his coat. As befit a man of the time, he assisted the woman in removing her coat, and he hung it as well.

"Booth, I think," the woman said cautiously as she glanced around the room. Somehow, she knew their conversation would tend toward the...unbelievable...and the tiny bit of added privacy of a booth would be welcome to both of them.

The man smiled. "I agree completely." He led the way to a corner booth, and scooted easily between the table and the seat. "So what _really_ happened to Eldor?"

The question stunned the woman. She'd barely settled into the booth, and had expected something a little less...direct. She shook her head. "I...don't know," she admitted. There was something compelling about the man; try as she might, she couldn't avoid his gaze. It was...comforting.

The man shook his head. "The Council still doesn't believe you," he laughed. "Doddering old fools!"

"What do they think I am, some kind of super-wizard out to destroy them if they cross me?"

"Yes."

The woman's mouth dropped open. Her question had been intended as irony; instead, she got an honest answer. "They really think that? But...but I'm just..."

"A weak neophyte?" the man completed with a laugh. "And a woman?"

She looked at him, confused. "Yes."

The man shook his head, a knowing and sad expression on his face. "And yet you have so much power within you. You come from a long line of very powerful mages. That's why they're afraid. They wouldn't challenge you because they don't know how Eldor died, and they don't understand the power of your song, and they can sense your power." He watched the woman soak in his words. "And it's why your own elders were so frightened of you, even when you were too little to remember. They were afraid of you turning to dark magic."

"But...I fought it. I didn't succumb to it."

The man smiled. "Yes, I know. You even managed to avoid giving in when Eldor tried to force you." He watched her eyes widen. "Oh, yes, he was trying to force you to use the power. He wanted you to 'touch the darkness'. Because once you used it to fight him, you'd have been trapped in the darkness forever."

"It was a trick," she said simply, his words having confirmed what she'd suspected - that Eldor had been trying to force her to use her power for evil.

"Yes," the man answered simply. "You did well to fight him, even if you don't know how." He glanced at the approaching waitress and stopped talking. Discussion of magic in a coffee shop could be...embarrassing.

The bored waitress quickly took their orders - coffee for the man, and tea for the woman, then she scampered off.

"So what happened here?" the man asked. "You seemed to be doing well."

The woman shook her head. "If it only had been that easy."

The man simply watched her, not speaking, not demanding anything, just waiting for her to tell her story. The woman sensed he was...different. She glanced down at her lap uncomfortably, wondering whether this was, after all, a good idea. Finally, she decided and looked up. "Big Mick. That's what they call him, anyway." She shook her head. "Ever since I moved here, he's been an obstacle."

"In what way?" the man asked. "What obstacle that your magic couldn't overcome?"

She snorted. "It's not that easy," she said, bitterness evident in her tone. "I know I _could_ do that. Heaven knows vermin like him deserve something like I could do! Maybe I _should_." She shook her head. "But it feels...wrong. Like..." She seemed to be fumbling for words.

"Like 'touching the darkness'?" the man finished her sentence.

The woman's eyes widened a tiny bit in surprise. After a second, she let her eyes close and she nodded. "Yes. Like touching the darkness."

"So what was the problem with Big Mick?"

The woman shook her head again. "His family is from...near...the old country. He learned their...prejudices...against my people." Her voice sounded sad, defeated. "He intimidated the city council to require a permit for my shop - a permit required of no one else. Whenever I located a building for my shop, his men pressured the owners to not lease to me. Or he used his influence in the city to have the building condemned, or to require extra permits or inspections. Anything to block me."

The man smiled. "And when you persisted and opened your shop?" Somehow, he sensed a kindred spirit in this woman, and he knew that she wouldn't have let someone like Big Mick stand in her way.

She snorted again. "Then the intimidation really started. His thugs came around to extort money for 'protection'."

The man laughed aloud. "And..." He stopped abruptly and glanced up. The waitress was returning with their drinks. After she set them down and left, the man smiled and continued. "Even after your...surprises...for his goons?" He laughed again. "I particularly liked it when you turned the big one into a bitch. Did you know she had puppies?"

The woman frowned. "They deserved their fates." She sounded defensive.

The man grinned. "I wasn't judging," he said quickly. "I just thought it was...amusing." He laughed aloud again. "Like the way you handled that excessively brutish bully."

The woman looked down toward the table, her cheeks blushing, and she gave in to a small smile. "I guess I figured that someone who acts like such a strong, intimidating man needed to..." She frowned again as she searched for the right words.

"Someday, they'll call it 'getting in touch with his feminine side'! And he'll be a petite, meek little thing every time he tries to threaten someone, too! Such a sense of humor and justice."

The woman glanced up, surprised at the compliment. Her cheeks were practically aglow from her embarrassment. She took a sip of her tea. After a few silent moments, she shook her head sadly. "But it wasn't enough, was it?" she asked, her voice heavy. "I guess I knew that Big Mick would resort to violence eventually." She shook her head. "I wasn't powerful enough to sense all, to protect everything. So his men burned my building."

The man nodded solemnly.

"I _should_ have been powerful enough!" the woman burst out suddenly and angrily. "I should have been able to stop him!"

The man shook his head sadly. "No," he answered simply. "That kind of power comes with too high a price. And you know it."

She stared at him, her lips pressed tightly together, her eyes narrow and angry. After a moment, she lowered her gaze and her features softened. "I know," she admitted slowly. "I know."

"So now what are you going to do?"

She sipped her tea and gingerly set the cup back on the saucer. "I don't know," she answered. "I guess I'll...survive. Like I have before." Her gaze dropped, and with it, her voice. "So many, many times before."

The man's hand moved slowly, coming to rest on hers in a surprisingly gentle and tender way. She looked at the hand, and then looked up into his eyes. She saw something there that she'd not seen...since her mother. Tenderness. Caring. Concern. Compassion. She felt overwhelmed that someone, at last, actually cared about _her_! As she struggled to contain the tears, she moved her free hand atop the man's.

**********

Raindrops fell all around, but the woman seemed not to notice them. Either that, or she'd decided that the rain wasn't worth her worry. Around her, others waiting for the bus huddled under wind-blown umbrellas, or held newspapers over their heads in a futile attempt to shelter themselves from the drops. Even though there were no words, their thoughts were audible to the woman. The cursing at the rain, at the lateness of the bus, at the prospect of yet another day of hard work at a lousy job. These and the hundreds of other normal unspoken complaints that sounded around her whenever she opened her senses. She sighed and shut off her magical power.

Only to turn it on again an instant later. There had been something there, something that was...different. As she started to sort through the myriad of jumbled thoughts, the bus lumbered to the curb and, with a giant splash from under the front tire, halted. The sullen crowd pressed around her, trudging up the steps onto the bus.

The woman found herself face-to-face with a tall man. A tall, rather handsome man of about twenty-seven or so. As she lifted her gaze, ignoring the drops hitting her face, she saw a smile.

"Morning, ma'am," the man said pleasantly, tipping his hat, before he stepped around her and onto the bus.

She stood in the rain for a moment, confused. She'd sensed...amusement? As if the man had found some measure of...beauty...in watching her brave the rain without grumbling or complaining.

She shook off the confusion and clambered onto the bus, reaching up to grab a handrail, barely catching it before the bus lurched away from the stop.

All day she was distracted by the memory of the man, wondering why he could have found her wet predicament amusing, why he seemed so...different. Finally, she heard a clock chiming six and closed up the shop. Without thinking, she climbed aboard the bus, sitting this time as a man rose to offer her his seat.

At her stop, she rose to leave the bus, still distracted. Now, she was getting angry with herself for allowing herself to become so distracted, so pre-occupied. It wasn't like her. She scowled as she stepped down from the bus.

She stopped suddenly at the foot of the steps, so suddenly that passengers behind her nearly knocked her over. Muttering apologies, she stepped out of the way, her gaze still fixed on the bench, or more precisely, at the man sitting on the bench.

It was him. The man from the morning. And he was watching her with the same pleasantly bemused expression. A frown formed on her face. "You're following me," she accused.

The man smiled. "Actually, I was here first, so you're following _me_," he retorted pleasantly.

The woman stopped, open-mouthed. "But..." she stammered. His response had caught her by surprise. "Okay, you weren't following me, but you _were_ waiting for me," she finally said.

The man smiled. "Guilty as charged."

"You've been watching me!"

He shrugged. "Sorry, but I can't help myself. You're just nice to watch." He saw the anger on her face. "Oh, no," he hastily added. "Not like that." He wrinkled his nose. "Well, I mean, I guess a little. After all, you _are_ an attractive woman." He tried to escape the verbal trap of his own making. "It's...well, you seem...different."

The woman cocked her head slightly to one side. "Oh?"

The man flinched. "I have to admit that you have me at a loss for words, madam," he finally said with a smile. "I attempt to pay you a compliment, and you answer by setting a trap for me with my own words."

It was the woman's turn to draw back, startled by his words. "I...I wasn't trying to be rude," she stammered.

He smiled and stood. "I merely meant that you have an air of self-confidence that I find refreshing."

"Oh." She seemed a bit...disappointed.

He laughed at her reaction. "I already said that I find you attractive. I didn't think it wise to spend too much time reminding you for fear that you'd begin to think that you're too attractive for a man like me."

The woman smiled - finally. "You, too, seem a bit different."

It was his turn to be surprised. "Oh? In what way?"

She laughed. "Most men seem to be so preoccupied with their jobs or their own sense of importance that they would never sit on a damp bench at a bus stop merely to meet a woman."

"Really?"

The woman nodded solemnly. "Yes. Unless they had wicked intentions."

The man drew back as if cut. "But..."

The woman smiled again, halting his protest mid-word. "But you are different. I can tell you don't have any such bad intentions. Just curiosity about a young woman who caught your eye because she was a little...different."

The man raised his eyebrows. "You seem awfully sure of your opinion of me," he said carefully. "How can you be so certain?"

The woman laughed again. "It's the little things that...a woman...learns to watch for. For example, you are standing between me and the road. If an auto were to pass by and splash water and mud, _you_ would be the one with a soiled coat, not me."

The man stared at her for a brief moment, then he nodded, laughing softly. "And here I thought you were using some kind of magic," he chuckled. "Am I that transparent?"

The woman seemed a bit startled by his reference to magic, but she quickly recovered. "Perhaps," she said cautiously.

"Then why am I here, in the damp dusk hours, talking to you?" he challenged her.

The woman paused, opening her senses, but only for a brief moment. She smiled. "You are a single gentleman, and you presume that I am a single woman." She sensed something else, and she started to blush as she realized that he really _did_ think she was attractive and about twenty-two or twenty-three years of age. She felt an inward smile as she remembered that thanks to her magical ancestry, she was far older than his estimate, but that she only appeared to be in her early twenties. Her people aged slowly, living far longer than 'normal' people. "And you wish to ask me to a picture show," she offered.

The man did a very good job of masking his surprise. "Perhaps not a picture show," he said carefully. "Perhaps you might prefer to start with a cup of coffee?"

The woman felt conflicting emotions. She wasn't used to having a man treat her so politely, so _gentlemanly_. And yet, she didn't trust men. Not after all her experiences.

The man watched her, knowing that she was thinking about his offer. "Forgive me for having been so impolite, but I just realized that I hadn't properly introduced myself! I'm Tom. Tom Wilkins."

The woman nodded to him. "I'm pleased to meet you, Tom." She could have used his proper name, perhaps _should_ have, but something inside told her not to, to call him 'Tom' instead. "If you don't mind, I would like time to consider your offer, especially since I must get home to my daughter." She tuned her sense to the man to see how he'd react to the news that she was a mother.

Tom smiled. "I've seen you with her from time to time. She's as pretty as her mother. Is she about three?"

The woman nodded. "Yes, just three." Inwardly, she felt her confusion grow. She'd expected condemnation or worse from the man. After all, unwed mothers were not common, and some of the more puritanical folk openly talked of them as harlots. But this man was simply charming. She glanced around her, feeling suddenly nervous. "I have to get home. The Sisters at the convent are kind enough to watch her while I work, but I do not want to abuse their kindness."

The man nodded. "I understand," he said simply. "I'll see you from time to time on the bus, and my invitation stands. Until then, good evening." His smile was warm.

The woman nodded, then turned and hurried away, leaving the man watching her with a pleasant smile on his face.

***********

The woman woke suddenly and bolted upright in her bed. Her eyes narrowed, then widened again. Her hand lifted to her mouth. "No," she cried softly. "No!" Slowly, tears started seeping from the corners of her eyes.

A rustle sounded in the hall, the soft scuffing of slippers on the bare floor as they pattered down the hall toward her room. In the pale moonlight filtering through the open curtains, a tiny, angelic face appeared in the doorway. "Momma?" the tiny voice called out softly, uncertainly.

"I'm here, Chessa." She sensed fear and uncertainty. "Come here," she said in a soft, soothing voice.

The girl pattered quickly to her mother's bed. In the dim light, she looked to be four or five. The quick motion set her long hair moving; even in the dim moonlight filtering through the drapes, she appeared raven-haired, like her mother.

"What is it, dear?" the woman cooed as she caught the girl in a comforting hug. "Why are you awake?"

The girl looked up into her mother's eyes. "I had a...a dream. A bad dream." She didn't sound like a four-year old; her voice carried like a girl much older.

"We all dream, Chessa," the woman said softly. "I was dreaming myself."

The girl looked into her mother's eyes. Something...unspoken...passed to the girl. Her eyes narrowed. "You had the same dream, didn't you, Momma?" the girl asked plainly.

The woman knew better than to hide the truth. Her little one was perceptive beyond the woman's belief. "Yes, Chessa," she said. "I dreamed that...Tom is...was...dead."

The girl simply nodded. "It wasn't a dream, though, was it, Momma?" Somehow, the girl saw the agony in her mother's eyes and read the pain in her heart. "He was killed at someplace..." she closed her eyes for a moment. Concentration was written on her little-girl features. "It was a jungle. On an island. Something blew up and killed him."

The woman fought back her emotions. "Yes, dear," she simply answered. "A place called Tarawa."

"He's never coming back, is he?"

"No, Chessa, he's not." The woman clutched the girl tightly, fighting the emotional tide which threatened to sweep her away and drown her. "He's not." The tears were flowing freely as she remembered. How Tom had come to her shop time and time again, not to buy anything, but just to talk. Eventually, she'd given in - against her fears of men and their motivations - and had gone to a picture show with him. He'd been more charming than she thought possible, and slowly, she began to realize that he'd won her trust, and miraculously, her heart as well.

On a cold Sunday in December, her little world - and that of so many Americans - was shattered as war came. She knew he would volunteer, not waiting for the inevitable draft notice. She remembered so vividly that conversation, his arm around her shoulder and her head on his, as he explained that he _had_ to go. It was his duty. But before he went, he'd begged her to marry him. She remembered how uncertain she'd felt, how unworthy of his love and trust, but he'd persisted. "There'll be time enough for that when you come home," she'd told him, too afraid to look at his future to see if her words were really true. Now, there would be no future with Tom, and nothing for her but more bittersweet memories. She wondered if she should have tried harder to stop him, even as she realized that she never could have.

"Why did he go?" the girl asked innocently. "Did someone make him go?"

The woman shook her head sadly. "No, dear. He went because he needed to fight to defend us against some very bad people."

"Couldn't you stop him? Or stop the bad people?"

"No, dear," the woman answered sadly. "I didn't even try to stop him. He knew it was his job."

"But why didn't you stop the bad people?" the little girl persisted.

The woman closed her eyes for a moment. "Because," she answered, opening her eyes again, "I'm not powerful enough to do that."

"You should be," the girl said firmly.

The woman started at the suggestion. "No, dear," she said quickly. "Using magic like that can make you as bad as the evil you are trying to fight. Sometimes, you have to accept that you can't change the world, and that sometimes, people go away and never come back."

"Like your Momma? And your family? Like they're not coming back from ... Aush ... Ash ..." She frowned as she struggled to pronounce the foreign word.

"Auschwitz," the woman said with a visible shudder. She cringed at the way the girl had so easily opened the recent wound. "Yes, my dear, just like my...family."

"Why didn't they use their magic to save themselves?" Chessa asked innocently. "They could have used the magic, right, Momma? Why didn't they use their magic?"

The woman fought back a torrent of tears. She knew very well why her entire village had perished; they were so reluctant to use their power that they would have let themselves be herded to death rather than fight and publicly use their magic. It wasn't their way. She remembered the dream all too vividly; she could see their faces as the gas began to fill the chamber, the toxic fumes inexorably suffocating the life from the women and children. In her mind, she could picture the German colonel, his jet-black tunic with silver insignia as he sat imperiously, selecting who would live and who would die. Some of the men got a temporary reprieve, if being starved and worked to death could be called a reprieve. The women and children, though, were of no economic value, and so were herded into the sealed death-chamber. In the dream, the woman saw her mother, as the last bit of life slipped from her heart, calling helplessly to her long-lost daughter, as if she knew that her daughter was - miraculously - safe, and that somehow, that was enough for her to be at peace.

The woman clutched her daughter tightly. The girl was too young to understand the pain her words were causing. She was just...curious. "It wasn't their way," she finally answered. "They thought that using their magic that way would be bad."

The girl simply nodded. "Was it magic that made me know?" she asked with all her childish innocence. "Do I have the magic, too? Like you do?"

The woman relaxed her grip, holding Chessa gently by the shoulders and staring into her eyes. The emotionless, unfeeling eyes that seemed so devoid of compassion. "Yes, Chessa," she answered. "You have the magic, too."

"I would have used my magic to get away," the little girl pronounced after thinking a moment. "I wouldn't have let the bad men kill me or you."

The woman hugged the girl tightly once more. "It's time to go back to bed," she said firmly.

The girl gave her mother one more hug, and then she hopped down from the bed. At the door, she paused and looked back at her mother. "Tom...wasn't my real daddy," she said with conviction. "Was he?"

The woman closed her eyes a moment, and swallowed. "No, dear, he wasn't."

"Who is my daddy?"

"A...friend. A very good friend."

"Will I meet him? Does he use magic, too? When can I meet him?" The girl seemed to explode with questions.

The woman shook her head. "We'll talk...later. It's time to go back to bed. I have to go to work in the factory tomorrow, remember? And you have school." She blew a kiss to the girl. "I'll see you in the morning."

"When will you teach me the magic?" Chessa had paused to ask one last question.

"Scoot," the woman said firmly, sending the girl scampering down the hall to her own bed. As she heard the girl climbing back into her bed, the woman sighed. She rose quietly and padded to the window, where she gazed out to the moonlit backyard. It all seemed so peaceful, so quiet. It was hard to believe that the world was aflame with death and destruction. And yet, in a way few others knew, the woman _felt_ the war. And now, with Tom's death on a remote Pacific island, it had really become personal to her. She felt the pain of his loss; for once, she'd overcome her fears and had given her heart to a man, and had been rewarded with genuine love. And now, war had taken her husband. Like it had taken her family. Once again, she found herself alone.

She was going to have to start teaching Chessa the magic. She knew it. If she didn't, someone else would. The woman shuddered at the memories of Eldor and his evil. She wanted her little girl to stay pure, to not be exposed to such dark magic. And that meant she had to teach the girl herself, just like her own mother had.

And yet, somehow, she felt inadequate. She hadn't completed her own tutoring as a girl before she'd had to flee. Her own mastery of the magic was incomplete. How was she supposed to teach her daughter?

A thought crossed her mind - perhaps _he_ could... Almost as soon as it came, she banished it from her mind. No, she couldn't ask him. It wouldn't be fair - not now. He didn't even _know_ that he was Chessa's father. How would he react if she showed up claiming paternity of Chessa, and then demanded that he help teach Chessa the magic? No, such a thing was not conceivable. She was going to have to do this herself. Somehow.

**********

The door opened softly, and in a moment, it closed just as softly. A faint metallic sound announced that the lock was being engaged.

The woman didn't stir from her chair where she sat hidden in the shadows. "You're late."

The figure inside the door didn't flinch. "So?" The voice was a soft, melodious alto.

"You promised you'd be home at ten. You have school tomorrow, remember?"

"You're slipping," the voice laughed. The room light snapped on, revealing the figure of a young woman peeling off her jacket. "You used to be able to hide from me."

"The point is that you gave me your word." The woman sounded tired, like she was replaying an old argument.

The girl shrugged. Raven-haired like her mother, she cut a striking figure in her tight sweater. Perhaps seventeen, she had a very attractive figure. "So? What are you going to do about it?" Her words, though spoken so easily, carried a not-so-subtle threat. She waited a moment, and then she laughed. "That's what I thought!"

The woman shook her head. "You're misusing your magic," she said sternly. "You're close to touching the darkness."

"So?"

The woman closed her eyes sadly. "Once you touch the darkness, the power will rule your life. It will destroy you."

Chessa laughed. "So you say. And so your village said." She shook her head as she smiled wickedly. "Look what their fear of the 'darkness' did for them!"

The old woman cringed. Her daughter's words were a cruel blow, a deliberate knife in her feelings. "It's what I _know_!" she said angrily. "I was almost trapped by the darkness." Her words sounded an ominous warning.

The warning bounced off the girl. "I'm not as weak as you are," she mocked. "I've got more power than you - or my father!" She pronounced 'father' scornfully.

The woman nodded slowly. "Maybe, but you don't have the training to use it all. And you don't have the experience to use it wisely."

The girl shrugged. "Whatever you say, mother."

"Where's your date?" the woman asked, changing the subject to something a little less confrontational. "I didn't sense him."

The girl laughed. "No, you didn't sense _her_!"

"Her?"

The girl shook her head as she laughed. "He was so...boring! He had some very old-fashioned ideas about not being intimate until he got married!"

The old woman's eyes widened. "You-"

Chessa laughed as she cut off her mother. "I left _her_ on the corner downtown, with some new ideas about sex." She grinned. "By now, she's probably had relations with three or four customers."

"That's...not how I taught you to use your powers!" The woman's mouth hung open in shock at what her daughter had done.

The girl laughed in the woman's face. "He was just a mortal!" she said as if that made it all right. "It's not like he was worth anything!" She grinned wickedly. "Besides, it's such fun to play with them."

"Go to your room," the old woman demanded in a very menacing, angry tone. "Now."

The girl crossed her arms defiantly. For several tense seconds, it was a contest of wills. Finally, Chessa dropped her arms and relented. Without a glance behind her, she climbed the stairs to her room.

The woman sank slowly back into the chair, clenching the arms to keep her hands from shaking. She shook her head sadly. What had she done wrong? Chessa was out of control, careening down a dangerous path toward dark magic. She was openly contemptuous of mortals, treating them as amusement for her own whims.

And _he_ wasn't any help, either. Her father had no more idea of how to deal with Chessa than her mother. After she'd reached her wit's end with Chessa, she'd finally decided that she should try to get his help, but without telling him the truth - that Chessa was his daughter. She couldn't bring herself to admit to him that their one...intimacy...had left her with child. With Chessa. But he was still a friend, and she thought that maybe, just maybe, he could help. And he had tried. She shook her head; he'd tried _everything_ to be a friend to Chessa, even to the point of being a father-figure. She'd rebuked his advances in as hurtful a way as possible. She couldn't blame him when he quit trying.

Once more, she wondered whether she should have taught her daughter the magic. She should have listened to her doubts, to that nagging voice that said she wasn't ready to be a teacher. She should have let Chessa's magic go untapped, untrained.

True, the girl would have discovered some powers as she grew, but it would have been dismissed as flukes. The visions - just vivid dreams, and the fact that they came true would have been called a coincidence.

The woman stopped that line of thought. She remembered the old teachings. The darkness preyed on untrained magic wielders. It sought out their magic energies, and slowly, inexorably, it drew them into its destructive web, luring them with promise of the power that seemed so elusive.

Oh, what she would have given to talk to her mother, or to the matron of her clan! Someone older and wiser and more experienced. Someone to help her deal with her defiant daughter. Someone with words of wisdom to help her guide her daughter, to steer her away from the darkness that seemed to loom so large in her future. She sat in the chair, sadly, wishing, wondering, and let her weariness descend into sleep.

**********

"I'm not moving." Chessa defiantly crossed her arms beneath her ample bosom.

The woman sighed. "We've talked about it, Chessa," she said wearily. Every conversation with the girl was turning into a confrontation. "I'm getting tired of the winters."

"You're getting old and weak," the girl retorted acidly.

The woman drew herself to full height, which was still two inches shorter than Chessa - six counting the girl's high heels. "I've got an idea for a business. California looks like a good area."

The girl glanced down at her mother and laughed. "Why do you even _bother_ with that nonsense?" she asked scornfully. "When all you have to do is...?" She laughed. "A little spell, and you could make anyone _give_ you everything you need. Instead of _working_ for it the way you insist!"

"You're right," the woman said sadly. "I _am_ getting older. And unlike you, I'm not using my magic to make myself stay young and attractive."

The girl frowned. Her eyes blazed with anger at the implied insult. "Well, maybe you should try. Because having guys desire you is fun!"

"Speaking of which, I thought Don was going to pick you up this afternoon."

The girl eased into a chair, laughing. "I got tired of him," she said as if discussing the weather. "I told him not to bother."

The woman's eyes narrowed. "You didn't..."

Chessa laughed, and even that sound made the woman flinch. Her laugh had an ominous, even evil, ring. "Not yet. To be honest, I haven't really decided _what_ I'm going to do with him." She scratched her chin thoughtfully. On her youthful body, the gesture looked somehow - ridiculously out of place. "I could turn him into a garden slug." She glanced at her mother, mockery in her eyes. "He's so infatuated with that car of his, maybe I should turn him into a car himself. What do you think, mother?" She pronounced 'mother' scornfully and contemptuously.

The woman frowned. "That would be very evil."

Chessa laughed aloud at her mother's words. "You're right. It's not a really fitting punishment. Do you know, he's so selfish? Last time we had sex, he didn't even care about _me_! Once he was done, he was ready to go home! Wasn't that terribly rude of him?" She donned a false mask of hurt. "I think he needs to learn a lesson, don't you?"

"Chessa-" her mother started.

The girl interrupted her as her features lit up. "I know!" she said with a snap of her fingers. "He needs to know what it's like to not be satisfied! That'll teach him not to be so selfish!" She grinned wickedly. "Maybe I'll make him so aroused that he'd sleep with anything, but unable to have any satisfaction but once a month!"

"Chessa, you're abusing your powers!" the woman scolded firmly.

Chessa laughed mockingly. "So?" She waved her hand and vanished, leaving her mother to sigh and wonder what she could do about the growing problem.

**********

She recognized the young man almost instantly. He stood by the car, leaning casually on the fender of his convertible, while the attendant pumped gas for him. The two were laughing and joking easily, so she thought better of approaching him right away. Not for _this_.

She waited a while. The young man was in no hurry. Finally, though, he paid and, as the attendant walked back into the station, he circled the car toward the driver's door.

"Excuse me, Richard?" the woman interrupted as she approached the car.

The young man looked up, a bit startled. Then his face brightened. "Oh, hi! You're Chessa's mother, aren't you?"

The woman nodded, trying hard to smile. It wasn't easy. "Yes, I am," she confirmed. "And that's why I'm here."

Richard's eyes widened. He looked a bit frightened. "Honestly, I haven't touched her!" he protested. "I've been a perfect gentleman with Chessa!"

The woman closed her eyes and sighed as she nodded. "Yes, Richard, I know." She looked back up into the young man's eyes. "And that's the problem."

"But...I don't understand."

The woman sighed, feeling the weight of her daughter's mischief and her burden as the responsible parent. "You see, Richard, Chessa is a dangerous girl."

Richard's eyes narrowed. "I'm not sure I understand your meaning."

She sighed again. "What I'm going to tell you is going to sound unbelievable. But you are in grave danger, and I _have_ to tell you. To warn you."

Richard frowned. "Danger? From what?"

"From Chessa." She watched as his shock started to metamorphose to amusement. "Oh, yes, Richard," she said firmly, "Chessa is very dangerous. And you're in line to be her next victim."

"You make it sound like she's some kind of mass murderer or something."

The woman shook her head. "If only it were that simple." She looked back at the young man. "You see, Chessa is a...well, a witch." She saw Richard's disbelief, and she knew he was going to take this as a joke. "No, dear boy, I'm not joking. She's a witch - in the sense that she uses magic. Dark magic. And she's dangerous to young men with whom she's become bored."

"But she's such a sweet-"

"No, she's not!" the woman interrupted. "She's a selfish, self-centered, powerful girl who doesn't know how to control her power. And she uses it in ways that are...wicked."

Richard frowned as he thought for a moment. "No, you're wrong," he finally declared. "She's a very nice girl, and I want to keep seeing her." His eyes narrowed. "That's what this is about, isn't it? You want to scare me off so I won't keep seeing her?"

The woman sighed and shook her head sadly. "Dear boy, I have nothing against you. But I'm trying to _protect_ you..."

"You really should have listened to her," a voice called sweetly from nearby.

Both spun at the new voice, and were surprised to see Chessa sitting atop the seat inside the car, watching over the windshield.

"Chessa!" Richard called with a smile. "Your mother was telling me some fanciful-"

Chessa shook her head and laughed viciously. "She was telling you the _truth_!" she cackled. "At least, part of it. You see," she snapped her fingers and disappeared from the car seat...

Only to appear standing beside Richard and her mother. "I _do_ use magic." She smiled at the stunned look on Richard's face. "And I really _am_ bored with you!" she added in a sickeningly sweet voice. "You're such a...good boy. But I want a _bad_ boy!"

Richard's mouth hung open for a moment, then he glanced at the woman. Slowly, he began to edge away from Chessa.

"You're slipping, Mother," Chessa scolded as she would a child. "You should have known I was coming! You're getting old and weak!" She frowned, then she waved her fingers toward Richard. "Really Richard," she scolded as she faced him, "you should know not to try to run away from me!"

Richard's face was frozen in a mask of terror. He'd realized - belatedly - that the woman was right, and that Chessa wasn't really as nice a girl as he'd thought. As he felt his body become strangely unfeeling and immobile, he wondered if maybe, just maybe, some of the strange tales of disappearances at school were true...

Chessa looked up and down the wooden statue that stood beside her mother. "Much better, don't you think?" she taunted. "It does _so_ match his wooden personality."

The woman's face was crimson, and her fists were balled, so great was her anger. "You're...evil!" she spat at the girl. "You had no right to do this to him!"

Chessa glared at her mother. "And just what are you going to do?" She grinned in triumph. "Nothing! Just like you've always done! Because you know you're not powerful enough to stop me!"

"Chessa, you're becoming evil! You must stop now! Before it's too late!" the woman pleaded. "Please!"

"Please?" the young lady asked sharply. "Please?" She sneered at the woman. "Is that what you're reduced to? Begging?"

The woman struggled to remain peaceful inside. "If I have to beg to save my daughter, then I'll beg. I don't want to see you destroyed by the darkness!" Her voice trembled. "I don't want you to use your powers wrong!" She shook her head. "You're treating people like they're toys for your amusement. You lure young men, play with them, and then destroy them! It's wrong!"

Chessa glared at her mother, then she snapped her fingers and vanished, leaving the woman standing, shaking her head, beside a wooden statue that used to be Chessa's boyfriend. And the woman knew that it was very unlikely that anyone but Chessa could reverse the spell she'd cast.

**********

She felt like a spy. Or a Peeping Tom. She sighed, and knew that she had to do what she was doing. Discretely, she watched the car, knowing full well the acts being performed in the back seat.

Her eyes widened suddenly. She felt something wrong. It took only a moment of concentration, and she knew that she had to act. Moving quickly, she abandoned her watch post and hustled through the brush, circling the car carefully, until she emerged further down the lane. Her timing was impeccable - within seconds, the lights of another car rounded a corner. She cast a quick spell.

She watched, feigning fear, and then relief as the police car came closer. "Oh, officer! Thank heavens it's you!" she fairly begged through false sobs.

The car stopped and the officer peered through the window at her. His flashlight shone up and down her figure - from the mussed hair and makeup, down the torn blouse and disheveled skirt to the bobby socks and one missing saddle shoe. "Are you all right, miss?"

The girl stumbled as she stepped toward the car, leaning on the door handle for support. "I...I guess so," she sobbed. She looked down, and then began to shake. "My...my friends were coming up here for..." She looked down, as if embarrassed. "They said we were going snipe hunting," she said. "And then they left me!"

The officer glanced at her clothing, then he nodded knowingly. "Snipe hunting?" he asked skeptically.

"I...got lost, and I tried to run back to the car when I heard it drive off. I guess I tripped."

The officer nodded slowly. "I suppose I should give you a ride home. Unless you have something else you'd like to tell me?"

The young lady looked surprised, then she shook her head. "No, that's what happened. And I would appreciate a ride home." She walked around the car and climbed into the police car, then gave the officer an address.

The cop glanced out the window as she walked slowly up the walk toward the porch. "Are you sure you're okay now?" he asked again.

The girl turned and smiled feebly. "Yes, now that I'm home, I'm okay." She turned and opened the door.

As soon as the door shut, she leaned heavily against it. A tiny wave of her hands, and her form shifted. No longer a teen-age girl in poodle skirt and sweater, she appeared the middle-aged woman that she truly was. She sighed. That one had been close.

"Nice move, mother," Chessa's voice sounded from the sofa.

The woman frowned. She _should_ have sensed her daughter's presence. Maybe Chessa was right. Maybe she _was_ getting old. "Better than you doing something to the policeman."

Chessa laughed. "I wouldn't have done anything more than he deserved. Do you know that he goes to Lover's Lane to watch young people having sex? Why, he even hides in the bushes and masturbates while he's watching!" She wrinkled her nose. "It's so...disgusting!"

The woman took a deep breath. "That doesn't give you the right-"

The girl waved her fingers and vanished. It was a defiant way to avoid having to listen to another lecture from her mother. The woman sighed. Then she closed her eyes and thought for a moment. She waved her hands as well.

The woman appeared beside a fraternity house. She closed her eyes and thought for a moment, then she climbed the stairs and rang the bell.

"Yes?" a young college man asked as he opened the door.

"I'm looking for Jeffrey Hardy."

The young man ran an eye appreciatively up and down her figure, then he nodded. "Would you like to come in?"

The woman smiled at the unspoken complement. Maybe she didn't use her magic to stay attractive, but she realized from his look that she was still a lovely lady. She shook her head. "No, the night air is nice, so I think I'll wait on the porch."

It only took a few seconds for the young man to appear. Like all of Chessa's 'toys', he was tall and very athletic in appearance.

"May I help you?" he asked, oozing charm, as he stepped onto the porch.

"Perhaps," the woman said with a curious smile. "You see, I have to save you from danger."

Jeffrey's eyes widened with amusement. "Oh?"

"Yes," the woman said. Then she waved her hands and chanted in some mystical-sounding language.

Jeffrey's body began to shift. Slowly, his muscles seemed to lose their mass, while his entire body began to shorten.

"What...?" he asked in a voice that changed even mid-word, moving from a husky bass to a mid-alto. His hands raised to the expanding mounds on his chest, but they froze as his eyes caught sight of his hands in the porch light. No longer strong and masculine, his fingers were, even as he watched, becoming fine and delicate. Woman's hands.

"What are you doing to me?" he asked, flinching at the sound of the words echoing in his ears. Untold, his hand reached up and brushed the lengthening locks from around his face, and as he realized what he'd done, his eyes widened more.

"You've been dating my daughter," the woman said softly, almost soothingly. "She's becoming bored with you. So I have to protect you."

"Protect me? By making me a-" he clutched at the breasts which had appeared on his chest, "-a girl?" It sounded almost comical.

The woman nodded. "If I don't, she'll do something far worse to you." She made another incantation, and Jeffrey's clothing began to shift. The vest vanished, and the shirt beneath flowed like liquid until it was a dressy blouse. The legs on Jeffrey's pants flowed together into one tube, then continued to change until Jeffrey was wearing a very smart skirt. His socks flowed up his legs, becoming stockings, while his shoes sprouted heels even as they morphed into something more suitable for a woman.

"But..." Jeffrey tried to protest in the face of an inconceivable situation. His mind, to protect his sanity, began to shut down.

The woman said one more incantation, then she touched his forehead.

The girl's eyes popped open in surprise. "What...what happened?" she asked in bewilderment.

The woman caught her arm. "You fainted, dear," she said reassuringly. "Lucky for you, I was nearby. Do you feel okay?"

"I...I think so," the girl asked tentatively. "Where are we?"

"Outside a sorority house," the woman answered calmly. "Did you hurt your head? Do you remember your name or where you live?"

The girl frowned a moment. "No, I feel fine. I'm Jennifer Harriston," she answered after a moment. "And you're right - I live at this house, the Beta Gamma sorority." She shook her head. "I guess I should say thank you."

The woman smiled. "Not at all. Now if you're certain you feel okay, I'll leave you and go about my way." She left the semi-confused girl standing on the porch - a different porch than the one upon which Jeffrey Hardy had met her - and walked to the sidewalk. She took one glance over her shoulder. Jeffrey should be safe. Chessa would _never_ think to look for her boyfriend as a young woman living in a sorority house. She felt saddened - Jeffrey had been a nice young man, and it was a drastic move on her part. Still, it was necessary. She glanced across the road, at the fraternity house where, until a few moments ago, they'd been standing and where Jeffrey had been the vice president.

Now, no one, except her, would remember Jeffrey. And, she realized sadly, it was better that way.

**********

It was easy to ignore the bright sun outside the coffee house. While it was still warm inside, the ancient stone walls and wooden-beamed ceiling were only dimly lit. The cozy, cool feeling the cafe imparted stood in stark contrast to the dusty stone streets of the old town. The woman sipped her coffee and smiled. "Now I know why you like this place," she practically purred.

The man seated across the table from her smiled pleasantly. "It's got everything. Nice atmosphere, great coffee, and few of the locals speak English." He took a sip from his cup. "And you really should try the Baklava. It's worth the trip by itself."

The woman took another sip. "Why won't the Council help?" she asked bluntly. "Can't they see the danger?"

The man snorted derisively. "That bunch of old fools?" He wrinkled his nose. "They wouldn't recognize danger if it bit them in the rear!"

The woman shook her head. "But...she's threatened them! Pretty blatantly, too! How can they ignore _that_?" she asked, sounding completely exasperated.

The man shook his head sadly, frowning. "Most of them are afraid."

The woman nodded slowly. "She _is_ quite powerful." Then she frowned. "But together..."

The man shook his head again. "She's done a very nice job of dividing them. Armando is staying neutral, hoping to gain by not losing. Only three of them are actively against her, and she's bribed..."

The woman nodded sadly. "Her empty promises of power if they help her. Yes, she's neatly split the Council. After Horel and his apprentice...disappeared..." She shook her head. "Can't they see how black her aura is? Why do they refuse to admit that they're just toys for her to use to gain what she wants?"

The man nodded. "She's more evil that even _I_ thought possible. Even more so than Eldor." He watched the woman carefully for her reaction to the name. "They're afraid. She's got them not trusting one another, and so they can't unite. Not until it's too late, anyway."

The woman shook her head. "So what am I supposed to do? I'm her _mother_! She's supposed to be my responsibility!"

The man shook his head sadly. "All you can do is raise them, and try to teach them right from wrong, and then you have to let them go and hope you did right."

"But-"

The man shook his head. "No. You did your best. You can't be responsible for what she's become. She's a grown woman now. She's making her own choices." He sounded like he understood exactly what the woman felt.

The woman stared at him for a moment, then she looked down at her steaming coffee. "I just feel like I've got to do _something_!"

"But she lives up north, and you live down south. You have to let her go." He looked up suddenly and gestured to a waiter. "I'll get some baklava. You'll love it!"

"How's your shop doing?"

The man smiled. "I'm having a lot of fun with it. And it's doing pretty good business."

The woman smiled. "I've seen your idea of fun." She shook her head. "I bet you wouldn't do nearly so well if your male customers knew they'd end up looking like pinup girls!"

The man laughed. "And you're so different?"

"Yes, it's completely different." She frowned. "My place is a refuge for women. Not a trap to change people!"

"But you do that occasionally, too, don't you?" He sipped his coffee, then sat back to allow the waiter to place the plates of sweet dessert on the table. "How'd you get the idea, anyway? A water park in a coastal city? I didn't think it would work!"

The woman smiled. "You read your customer's minds, too," she admonished her friend. "I guess if you were a woman, you'd understand." She shrugged. "Most women want a quiet place to relax, where there aren't men staring at them."

The man nodded slowly. "But enough to make a business?"

The woman smiled. "Young ladies don't want to be looked upon as sex objects." She saw the man's eyebrows raise, and laughed. "Well, not all the time! And not every woman has a perfect body. Some women are afraid to go to a beach because they feel unattractive. With no men around, they don't have that fear."

The man nodded slowly. "I see your point, but I still don't see how you can make it economically. Most men are the breadwinners-"

"And the women stay home all day. With my park, they have a place to go during the day."

"I see your point. How's business?"

She smiled. "I'm surviving. In fact, I think I'm going to have to add another pool, and maybe another water slide."

"You know, you might think of using a theme to tie all your attractions together. You know - to make it have more of a unified feel."

The woman laughed aloud. "Are you reading my trade journals again? Or are you hatching some plans to take over _my_ park?"

"Heavens, no!" the man protested through laughter. "The way you have it set up, the water would change me, and I don't particularly want to look like a pinup myself!"

The woman smiled. "Somehow, I can't picture you in a bikini, either."

"Besides, I like my own little line of business." He took a bite of the baklava. "Are you sure you won't try some? It's really good!"

"No, I think I'll pass." She took another sip, emptying her cup. "Now, where's that waiter? I need a refill." She spied him and lifted her cup as a signal. "Why don't you settle down in one spot? Why keep moving?"

The man laughed. "More customers. Besides, if I settle down, I'll have to deal with all the red tape and rules and regulations you have to put up with."

"Touche," she acknowledged. "I guess your way has its benefits. But moving all the time - doesn't that take a lot of...effort?"

The man laughed. "No. I used the same trick you did. The magic to move is captured in the shop itself, the same as you captured the magic in the water. All it takes is a little effort from me to control it."

The woman shook her head sadly as the waiter refilled her cup. "What am I going to do about Chessa?" she asked.

The man shook his head. "There's a lot of trouble ahead. She's getting very evil, and eventually, there's going to be a confrontation for control."

"Of the Council?"

The wizard's face was grim. "Of the Council. And the 'otherworld'. And this world."

**********

"I'm surprised you're here," the woman said cautiously. She stood at the door of a modest suburban ranch house, visibly nervous.

"I can't spend all my time in the otherworld," Chessa said. Her voice was carefully neutral. "I suppose you'd like to 'visit'."

The woman shrugged. This wasn't going as badly as she'd feared. Not yet, anyway. "I haven't seen you for almost a year," she said, trying not to betray her mixed emotions. "And you _are_ my daughter."

Chessa almost hid her disdain for her mother. Almost. "I suppose you'd like to come inside? Maybe have some tea or something else mundane?"

The woman sighed. Always, Chessa was so scornful of her. "It would be nice to talk."

Chessa opened the door and stood to one side, gesturing for her mother to come in. "Why not? It's not like I have anything else to do for a while."

The woman gasped in surprise as she stepped into her daughter's home. Outwardly, it was a normal home. But on the inside...her daughter was obviously using the dimensional shifting technique. It was spacious and lavish, like a royal castle. Ornate Baroque moldings adorned the walls and ceiling, surrounding richly colored paintings on the plaster. The floor was tiled with marble, and elaborately carved mahogany with red velvet upholstery made up the furnishings.

"You like it?" Chessa asked mockingly. "I know it's a little meager, but we do with what we have."

The woman steeled herself against the verbal abuse. It wouldn't do any good to get mad - again. "No, it does rather fit your...extravagant...taste. Although, I really thought you'd have gone with something a little more stylish than Rococo."

Chessa laughed aloud at the implied insult. "Well, like you always said, we have to make do with what we have." She sat down easily on one of the chairs.

The woman sat down in another chair, deliberately choosing the least ostentatious of the furniture. "How have you been?" It seemed safest to start with small-talk.

Chessa leaned back. With a flash, a wine glass appeared in her hand. Beside her mother, a wooden tea cart with sterling silver tea service appeared. The tea pot was steaming from the hot liquid inside. "If I remember, you like Darjeeling tea, with no milk or sugar, right?"

The woman leaned forward and poured herself a cup of tea. "Thank you," she said graciously. "What have you been doing lately?" she asked carefully. "I've heard rumors and talk, but..."

Chessa took a sip of her wine. "Nothing...tame, I hope," she said with a wicked grin.

"I _so_ wish you could be a little less..."

"Fun? Daring?" Chessa laughed again. "You wish I'd be a little more boring, like you and that friend of yours? What was his name?" She looked at the ceiling thoughtfully. "Oh, yes. It's-"

"Would you leave him out of this?" the woman said sternly. "I'm not worried about him. I'm worried about _you_!"

Chessa started. "You worry too much, mother." Again, she pronounced 'mother' with all the scorn she could muster.

The woman sighed. "I'm your mother. It's my job to worry."

Chessa rolled her eyes. "Oh, great. Here we go with another 'why can't you be a good girl' lecture."

"No," the woman said, her voice heavy. "It wouldn't do any good."

Chessa's eyes widened in surprise, then she recovered. She shook her head, looking almost disappointed in the lack of argument. "No, it wouldn't. I'm a grown woman. And I have the power."

"Yes, I know. And..." The woman's eyes widened. She stared for a long time at her daughter. "And..."

"I see you finally figured it out, mother," Chessa said sarcastically. "Yes, I _am_ pregnant!" She smiled triumphantly.

The woman sighed at the irony. She'd had a daughter out of wedlock, purely by accident, and had raised her alone, struggling to teach her daughter so she'd do better. Now her daughter was starting down the same path, but deliberately so. "Who's the father?"

Chessa shrugged. "I don't know. Probably Armando."

"From the council?"

Chessa's smile confirmed the guess.

"But...didn't he...oppose you?" The woman wondered what Chessa's game was. Whatever, it was bound to be dangerous.

Chessa tried - and failed - to look surprised. "I heard something like that." She glanced down at her body, at the prominent sexy curves she possessed. "It's amazing what even a vague _hint_ of the possibility of sex will do to a man."

"What did you do to him?"

Chessa smiled again, knowing that her mother understood the truth. "Nothing. Yet. If he knows what's good for himself."

The woman understood the not-so-veiled threat. She knew that Armando's very existence hung in the balance.

"He's a member of the council. If you just...destroy him, the others will...notice. And they will punish you."

Chessa laughed. "Not likely," she said with a confidence that made the woman's spine tingle. "Besides, I wouldn't just...destroy him. I'd probably let him join Mike over there." She waved her hand in the general direction of a statue.

The woman glanced, then did a double-take. What appeared to be a Greek statue was something entirely different. Not only was the face that of Mike, one of her many former lovers, but the statue also had an enormous phallus.

Chessa tilted her head and thought for a moment. "Then again, maybe I _should_ get rid of him." She patted her stomach. "I've got what I want, and the last thing I need is Armando trying to interfere, to be some kind of 'daddy'."

"You can't keep getting away with this," the woman warned, cautious of her words as if she sensed just _how_ dangerous her daughter was becoming. "The Council will stop you."

"That bunch of fools?" Chessa laughed. "They're a worthless bunch of self-important egos! Half of them know that it's just a matter of time before change sweeps the Council away, and the other half is clinging blindly to outdated traditions and the past!" She absently rubbed her tummy. "And then there are some like Armando. He's so transparently trying to have it both ways, to offend no one so he can keep the trappings and prestige of a do-nothing office!" She sneered. "Maybe joining Mike would be too good for him. Maybe I should change him into a dog that can fuck itself! That way, he'd _really_ be having it both ways!" She laughed aloud, and the woman cringed at the evil sound.

The woman knew it was time to leave. Chessa was getting more insulting and scornful. "Well, I need to get back to my business," she said as she stood. She set her cup carefully on the tea cart, taking care not to spill. She knew her daughter would think such actions foolish. Still, it was a matter of manners.

"Yes, I suppose you do," Chessa said. "Although, I still don't know why you bother doing things the hard way." She took another sip of her wine.

The woman shrugged. "I guess I like the satisfaction of earning something without...cheating."

"Whatever," Chessa said with a shrug. "If you enjoy having to fight _men_ who are determined to not let you succeed. If you enjoy struggling to keep a business working."

The woman sighed. "You _do_ have a point; I've been fighting all my life to succeed. And mostly, it _has_ been men who've opposed me." She shook her head sadly. "In these times, it's hard for a woman to be a successful businesswoman. But times are changing, and it makes me feel good to play a small part in those changes."

Chessa laughed. "You haven't changed a bit. 'Fight the good fight,' and all that crap!" It was her turn to shake her head. "Why do you even bother with this world? It's so...backward!"

The woman shrugged. "Maybe because I _like_ this world."

"If the Council would listen to me," Chessa said, with more than a hint of threat in her voice, "we could _fix_ this stupid world instead of sitting idly by because of some ancient rule of non-interference!"

The woman felt a chill go down her spine. Chessa _was_ a danger to this world. "Well, I think the rule works just fine." She glanced at her watch, a pretext to end this unnerving conversation. "It's getting late, and I've taken up far too much of your time," she said in a feeble lie.

Chessa wasn't fooled. "Nonsense," she said with false warmth. "We should get together _more_ often. I enjoy our little chats."

The woman smiled, a transparent attempt to be sociable. "I'll give you a call so we can get together again." She turned, and saw Chessa starting to move. "Please don't bother yourself," she said quickly. "I can show myself out."

Chessa shrugged, then sipped her wine. "I hope to see you again soon, mother." Again, the scornful emphasis on the word 'mother'.

As the door closed behind her, the woman shuddered visibly. She was more thoroughly rattled than she should have been.

**********

The woman appeared outside what seemed to be an office. She knew better - in the otherworld, appearances were almost always deceiving. She paused a moment, wondering if this was right, but when she thought again, she knew what she had to do. Her knuckles rapped on the massive wooden door.

In response, the door opened slowly, and seemingly of its own accord. "Won't you come in, please?" a pleasant sounding masculine voice called.

The woman braced herself, then she stepped in.

An older man stood to greet her, a smile on his pleasant features. There was a certain nobility about him; he had the appearance of a Southern gentleman, complete with a neatly-trimmed white beard. His bald pate, coupled with his precisely tailored suit, gave him a distinguished air. "Please, won't you have a seat. Can I get you some refreshments? Tea? Wine?"

The woman shook her head, smiling at the display of hospitality. "No thank you," she responded warmly. She glanced around, spotted a richly upholstered chair, and eased herself down.

The man sat down only after the woman. He looked thoughtful for a moment, then he smiled. "You're...Chessa's mother, correct?"

The woman nodded, but without smiling. She knew how he'd done his little _trick_. It was standard courtesy in the otherworld to identify your guest without prying too much into their business.

The man read her lack of smile wrong. "I do hope you aren't upset that I've been...dating...your daughter," he said hesitantly.

"Oh, no," she answered quickly. "Not in the least bit." She forced a smile. "After all, Chessa is a grown woman."

"And every bit as lovely as her mother," the man added graciously. His reputation as a charmer was well-deserved.

"That's very nice of you to say, Armando." The woman frowned again. "Your courtesy is well-appreciated," she added. "Especially after the visit I just had."

Armando smiled. "I try to be a gentleman. Now, what can I do for you? I sense urgency in you."

The woman nodded grimly. "Yes, and unfortunately, it has to do with my daughter."

"Really? How so?" Armando seemed quite...surprised.

The woman gave a heavy sigh. "She's...dangerous."

Armando seemed relieved. "Are you referring to her...unorthodox ideas?"

The woman shook her head. "She's...evil. Her aura - it's black as night. She's dangerous."

Armando laughed off the concern. "I grant you that she's a bit wild and uncontrolled."

"No," the woman insisted, "she's _dangerous_. And especially to you!"

"To me? In what way?"

The woman knew she wasn't getting through to Armando. "Since she was a teenager, she's treated men like...playthings. Except that, when she's tired of a man, she doesn't just discard him. She...does whatever evil suits her whims. Men have just disappeared. She's turned them into dogs, statues, and lots of other things." She shuddered at the memories of some of the more bizarre and hideous transformations Chessa had wrought.

Armando leaned forward and gently touched the woman's arm. His face radiated warmth - and a lack of concern. "I appreciate your concern, dear lady," he said. "Really, I do. But you must realize that I am more than able to take care of myself."

The woman shuddered. "Did you know that she's pregnant?" She watched his eyes widen. "Oh, yes. And she said it is very likely your child."

"A father? Again? And at my age?" Armando seemed more pleased than worried. "How quaint!"

The woman frowned. "You don't understand! She's gotten what she wants from you. Now, you're...disposable! Just like Horel!"

Armando's expression changed at the sound of Horel's name. He'd been as baffled by his disappearance as the other members of the council. And now, Chessa's mother was implying that Chessa had something to do with that. And that meant...

Even as he thought, the woman began a quick chant, with some intricate finger motions. Armando raised his hands to incant a ward, a defensive shield, but he was too late.

The woman's spell began to take immediate effect. The bald head sprouted hair, deep auburn instead of gray, that began to cascade toward his shoulders. The beard seemed to vanish into Armando's face; his angular nose softened, and his eyes seemed to widen even as they changed color to a soft blue. "What-" Armando cut off his words as he heard the strange noise echoing in his ears. "You're changing me?"

The woman nodded as she watched the continuing effects of the spell. The business suit softened into something a lot more feminine, even as breasts sprouted from his chest. His hands, now clutching the armrests of his chair, became finer, more delicate, and more feminine.

As the spell finished, Armando seemed to snap out of a trance. "Why have you done this to me?" he said, his voice strangely devoid of anger. "You realize I'll undo the spell as soon as you leave, don't you? And for casting this spell, you'll have to face the Council."

The woman nodded. "I realize that. But I _have_ to do it. It's the only way I know how to hide you, to protect you." Her words were heavy. "It's the only way I've been able to hide some of Chessa's lovers from her wrath."

"Is _that_ how you hid them, _mother_?" Chessa's voice seemed to fill the room. With an audible 'pop', she appeared, standing so she could face both her former lover and her mother. "I _knew_ you had something to do with them disappearing."

"Chessa," her mother said sternly, "this game has gone on long enough. You _can't_ go around changing people. Especially _here_!"

Chessa rolled her eyes, then she looked at Armando. "See? She's always lecturing me!" She glared at her mother, then glanced back at Armando. For a moment, she actually looked concerned. Then a wicked grin came over her features. "Well, I guess it _is_ a fitting punishment," she sneered. She made a quick incantation and touched Armando's forehead.

The changes were far more dramatic than what her mother had done. Armando's breasts swelled to enormous proportions, while the modest dress changed into a very daring miniskirt and low-cut blouse exposing a vast valley of cleavage. Armando's hands sprouted long, deep red fingernails. His lips puffed up, while earrings seemed to sprout from his ears.

And his eyes - the light blue eyes seemed to go dull, as if the flame of intelligence had been almost completely snuffed out; what remained was but a bare flicker. His - her - expression changed gradually from shock at what was happening to one of...uncaring boredom. She absently chewed on gum which had appeared in her mouth.

The woman stared in utter horror. "What...what have you done?" she stammered.

Chessa grinned wickedly. "You know, mother, I didn't think you had it in you." Her voice dripped contempt. "But I can't think of anything more fitting than to leave _Amanda_ as a sex-starved slut!" She eyed the newly-formed girl. "Especially since _he_ wasn't that great in bed!"

The revelation that she'd had a part in Armando's transformation struck the woman like a thunderclap. She staggered against Armando's desk, leaning on the furnishing for support. "I was...trying to protect him," she muttered, her eyes wide. "I didn't mean...for anything so...evil...to happen to him!" She fought back tears. "I didn't...I wasn't part of _this_!"

Chessa sneered at her mother. "Always so noble, aren't you _mother_!" she mocked. "Is this how you hid all the others?" She grinned triumphantly. "I'll find them. And they'll _all_ share in Armando's fate!" With a snap of her fingers, she vanished.

The woman sobbed. It was true - she was the direct cause of what had happened to Armando, and what would happen to all of Chessa's other former lovers that the woman had 'hidden'. She watched as Amanda wandered absently from the office, and she started to cry. If she hadn't come, then maybe, just maybe, Armando might have had a chance. She'd distracted Armando, giving Chessa a chance to cast her spell before the old wizard could defend himself. It _was_ her fault.

Another thought struck her, and she began to shake. Chessa had gotten to her with her words, leaving her stunned and defenseless. The girl had distracted her; Chessa could have as easily gotten rid of _her_, too! It was only a matter of time before she got in her daughter's way, and she couldn't let her guard down - not for a single instant. And yet, she had.

**********

The woman paused at the door of the house. She didn't look forward to these visits, and yet, she had to come. She owed it to her daughter.

Even before she could ring the doorbell, the door opened. Chessa appeared, dressed as a typical American working mother. She looked over the woman. "You're looking...older," she observed, skipping any pleasantries.

The woman started at the comment. "Yes," she admitted with a nod, "I guess I am." She followed Chessa into the house. Unlike those visits so long ago before Chessa had her child, the house appeared perfectly normally _inside_ as well. Chessa sat on the sofa. "You know, it's so easy to keep your youth in this world."

The woman nodded. "I know." She felt the weight of her years. "And I know I look like an old woman now. But I spent too many years keeping myself looking young. I got tired of it."

Chessa laughed. "Well, I'm not tiring of it. It's so much easier to get your way when you're a beautiful young woman."

The old woman sighed. "Maybe. But I've found it's a lot easier to get respect when you appear older and wiser."

Chessa laughed. "Is that why you've had to fight your city council and your business groups for your 'water park'?" She shook her head. "Once again, so noble. It's such an easy spell to influence those who stand in your way. Or to get rid of them."

The old woman didn't bother frowning. She knew where Chessa's comments were going. "I'd rather do it my way."

Chessa answered as expected. "Is that why you got rid of those hoods? Or the nasty councilman who tried to rape you? Or-"

The old woman shook her head. "I never claimed to be perfect, or that mortal ways work best." She sighed. "Haven't we had this _argument_ enough times?" she asked softly. "Can't we talk about something more pleasant?"

Chessa laughed. "And you're just as stubborn as you always were, so I'll never convince you that I'm right."

"How's my granddaughter?"

Chessa waved her hand and a glass of wine appeared in her hand. "Can I get you anything?" she asked, feigning cordiality. She saw the look on her mother's face and laughed. "Oh, don't worry. Anya is out with...what's his name? Greg? She won't be back until later."

The woman nodded. "So, you haven't told her yet?"

Chessa shook her head. Her face had an enigmatic - and worrisome - smile. "Not yet. It's not time. But she's been having the visions, and she's sensing others' thoughts." She grinned. "She's going to be a powerful magic user when she learns."

The old woman nodded. So far, Anya hadn't been tainted by her mother's evil. But it was only a matter of time, she realized.

"And no, mother," Chessa sneered, "I _don't_ want your help teaching her! I plan on doing that myself!"

The old woman's eyes narrowed. She realized that Chessa was playing a game here, and it involved Anya. "How are you going to turn her? What kinds of anguish are you going to use to incite her anger? Who's going to suffer so you can make your daughter as evil as you are?" She was sitting on the edge of her seat, her senses alert and ready.

Chessa laughed wickedly. "So you finally figured out what I'm going to do." She sneered. "It took you long enough. In the old days, you would have known even before I started!" She stood menacingly, her eyes seeming to glow with the force of evil. "Well, since I'm done with you, I guess you might as well know, since you're part of it."

The old woman forced herself to take a deep breath and to repeat the calming exercise her own mother had taught her all those years ago. She needed her mind to be clear and focused.

"How do you think Anya is going to react when her _favorite_ grandmother spurns her and turns out to be petty and nasty? Or when her friend Greg, who she's slowly falling helplessly in love with, is caught having sex with three other girls, all of whom are Anya's rivals? Or when she's rejected by her friends at school?" She sneered. "How do you think _that_ will sit, especially after Anya has discovered that she has powers that none of her so-called friends have?" She shook her head, the evil grin broadening. "It'll take almost nothing to turn her."

The old woman raised her hands, making the old gestures to guard herself against magic. "It's time you were stopped," she whispered. "I should have done it years ago, but my love for you blinded me to just _how_ evil you were."

Chessa laughed. "Your powers are weak, old woman!" she sneered. With a magic blast, she knocked the old woman down easily. "You want me to quote Anya's favorite movies while I destroy you?" She laughed again. "It would be ironic, wouldn't it. 'When we last met, I was but the learner. Now I am the master.'"

The old woman rose to her feet. The blast had shaken her, but her guards had protected her - some. "Fitting," she observed as she loosed a blast of her own, one that Chessa easily deflected. "Only a master of evil."

Chessa laughed as she loosed another blast. This one caught the old woman squarely and knocked her through the picture window to the lawn outside. Chessa glided through the air after her, lighting on the dark lawn. "Don't give me that feeble, 'You can't win,' line, _mother_!" she said acidly. "There's no way you can become more powerful! And with Anya at my side, I'll have all the power I need to take over the Council!"

The old woman struggled to her feet. Chessa was _too_ powerful, she realized. She couldn't win. But she had to try.

A pop sounded beside the door, startling Chessa and the old woman. It was _him_.

"Watch out!" the old woman called quickly. Her warning was too late. Even before the old wizard could react, Chessa loosed a blast which knocked him through the door.

It was an opening the old woman needed. Chessa had been distracted. Incanting some of the old magic, she loosed a lightning bolt at her daughter. It caught her squarely, and for a moment, the old woman thought she might have gotten in the edge.

Only for a moment. Chessa seemed to glow as she absorbed the energy that _should_ have flattened her, charring her to ashes. Instead, she snarled like a wounded cat. "Is that the best you can do, _mother_?" She loosed a bolt of her own which staggered the old woman. "Anya is going to _love_ this!" she sneered. "It's so Star Wars! And _you_ started it! I couldn't have planned it better myself!" As the energy flowed from Chessa, the old woman staggered, slumping to the lawn. Chessa paused, glaring down at the weakened lady.

"You fool," she sneered, "you could have had this power! You could have been a great wizard! But you turned your back on it all. And for what? For a pathetic existence on a planet of-"

The blast from the house surprised Chessa. It was a powerful burst of energy, and it knocked her down. She snarled, and turning, she loosed a blast at the old man.

The old man deflected the energy - mostly. "If you're going to kill your mother," he said through his grimace, "you'll have to kill us both!"

Chessa grinned. "I always intended to. You both stood in my way." She tapped into some unknown reserve of energy and blasted at the old man again. It knocked him down, and she felt his aura fading.

Grinning triumphantly, she turned back to her wounded mother. "Now, it's time to finish this!"

The old woman gazed at her daughter through a mask of pain. She saw the evil, the pure black of her aura. She struggled to get to her knees, and she let loose a burst of energy, which Chessa easily deflected.

Chessa cackled evilly as she loosed a long bolt at her mother. "Now, _mother_, you will die."

Pain was quickly pushing conscious thought from the old woman. She fought valiantly to hang on, to retain any bit of consciousness she could, for she knew that if she let go, she was done. With the bolt of energy dancing about her, clouding her vision, its tendrils searing her every nerve, the old woman felt herself fading. 'So this is how it ends,' she thought. 'My own daughter. Is this what my mother feared so long ago? That I'd be like this?' She thought of that image, her own mother cradling her, comforting her, through all the turmoil and challenges of her childhood. And there was always the song. As her consciousness lapsed, the old woman began to chant the old, soothing lullaby.

The old man crawled through the shattered door. His left arm hung limp, and every motion was an adventure in agony. He saw the old woman lying on the lawn, her energy spent, her defenses down. Chessa stood in triumph, her black energy seemingly unstoppable, as she directed blast after blast into the old woman.

As the old woman lay, dying, her lips started to move, and a smile formed on her mouth. A last pleasant memory? One last thought as she died?

The ball that formed around the old woman seemed as bright as the sun, an incandescent orb with the old woman at its core. And suddenly, the energy that Chessa was directing at her mother stopped short, absorbed into the glowing ball. Chessa frowned, then she snarled like a frustrated animal. She visibly redoubled her efforts, focusing on penetrating the shield and killing her mother.

As Chessa's attack waned, her arm drooping in frustration and anger at the impenetrability of the shield, a bright spot formed on the ball, brighter than the rest. Chessa's features showed her confusion, then her shock and fright as the spot shot a tendril of intense energy back toward her. It caught the young woman, twisting and bending her as it wracked her body.

The old man pulled himself painfully to his feet. Chessa lay in a heap on the lawn, her clothes scorched and smoldering. Slowly, he staggered to the old woman, still encased in the glowing ball. He could barely make out her features, and he grew concerned for her life. Hesitantly, he reached toward the shield, expecting it to throw him violently back or to discharge its energy into him. But his hand passed easily through it.

He knelt beside the old woman. Her eyelids were closed, and her breathing was ragged and shallow. He sighed with relief that she was still alive - barely. And he felt something else - another presence. As if part of someone else's life force was there. He paused, and let his mind open, and with startling clarity, he understood. The shield - it _was_ the old woman's life force. Hers, and - impossibly - her mother's. The lullaby was an ancient spell of pure good, a relic of eons gone by when darkness was such a threat to the forces of good. That was why the council didn't recognize it. It wasn't the song - it was the way the song focused the old woman's energy, rearranging it into a shield. And the woman's mother had infused her with part of her own life force - as a parting gift and a way to defend herself, knowing that it could never be used for dark purposes.

Then he sensed it. Impossibly, Chessa was struggling to her feet. Her skin was blackened in spots, her hair disheveled and her eyes wild and aflame with anger. Tiny whiffs of smoke emanated from her singed clothing. "You'll never stop me," she hissed.

The old man tensed his jaw. "It's over," he said evenly. He knelt beside the older woman and cradled her head tenderly. His eyes cleared, then he focused on his old friend. "Sing," he said softly. "Sing." He felt energy flowing from himself into the weakened, injured friend.

Chessa sneered. "You pathetic fool!" She raised her hands, and with all of her dark power, she loosed a monstrously powerful energy blast at the two.

The man knew that, if he hadn't given energy to the woman's shield, Chessa's blast would have overcome it, given how weak the woman was. But the glowing aura held, absorbing the energy. Then, in one cataclysmic burst, it shot out a bolt which completely engulfed Chessa. Her body was tossed, wracked, tortured, as her own energy devoured her.

The old wizard watched the young woman, saw her aura flicker and fade and finally go out. He felt the weight of a thousand planets fall onto his shoulders, and he staggered. Slowly, he returned to the old woman. She was unconscious, and the glowing shield was fading. He sank to the ground beside her and gently lifted her head, cradling it in her lap. "Why didn't you ever tell me?" he asked over and over as he tenderly stroked the old woman's forehead. "Why didn't you tell me?" Tears rolled down his cheeks.

**********

The old woman sat mutely on the stone bench, staring blankly at the opposite wall. Beside her, the old wizard sat as well, staring at the floor between his knees.

"It wasn't your fault," he said softly.

The woman closed her eyes and shook her head. "I killed my daughter."

The old man looked up, directly at her. "No, you didn't. It wasn't your fault." He shook his head sadly. "We both knew she was evil through and through. We both knew this day was going to come sooner or later."

"I killed her when I failed her as a mother and a teacher," the old woman said as tears started to flow. "I killed her when I let her become evil."

"No. Her own evil killed her," the wizard insisted, feeling again the heartache at Chessa's death. "It wasn't you."

The old woman shook her head. "I appreciate that you're trying to protect me," she said softly. "But I killed her."

Across from the bench, a pair of heavy doors suddenly opened. The old woman and the old wizard looked up suddenly at the robed figure, his or her face hidden by a cowl. She started to rise, but the robed figure gestured for her to stop. It pointed at the old wizard.

With a quick questioning glance at the old woman, the wizard rose and followed the robed figure through the doors. They slammed shut behind him with a heavy sound, as if to signify audibly the isolation they caused.

"Our investigation is nearly complete," a voice boomed from above.

The wizard looked up, at the old wizards seated at the medieval-looking jurist bench glaring down at him from above. "Damn you," he spat. "This is all your fault! You were warned how dangerous the girl was. But you ignored the warnings. Some of you even hoped to profit from her power!"

"This is not the time for false recriminations," the voice boomed from the panel.

The old man grew angry at the words. "False? False?! How many members of the Council disappeared over the years? How many of you did she do away with? And you're too blinded by your power and trappings of office to realize that she would have done away with all of you! Even her supposed allies - once she gained the power she sought, she'd have been done with you, too!"

"Enough!" The voice betrayed anger and impatience. "This isn't about the Council. It's about misuse of dangerous magic."

The old wizard glared, then his features softened and he nodded.

"Does she remember?"

"No," the wizard answered sadly. "She doesn't remember anything."

"And her powers?"

The old man shook his head. "Apart from a couple of minor spells, she can't do anything. The experts think that the trauma of the battle, coupled with the knowledge that she killed her daughter, have left her helpless. Her magic caused the problems, so she's subconsciously afraid to use it again."

"We read the reports," a voice on the panel sneered.

The old man nodded. "Then you know that she's no danger to you - or to anybody else."

"But this is twice that she's used that...unknown magic to destroy someone. Or have you forgotten Eldor?"

The wizard shook his head sadly. "And in both cases, it was self-defense. Or have you forgotten?"

"We can't trust her. It's not safe."

The wizard closed his eyes for a brief moment and shook his head. "So you're going to be done with her?" he asked sadly. "Or have you forgotten that her granddaughter is still out there, and she's discovering her own magic?"

"You care about her?" Blunt, direct.

The old man closed his eyes and nodded. "She's a special...friend." He felt the anger welling up again, and he forced it back. "Why don't you just leave her alone? Hasn't she already lost enough?"

"Then the burden is on you. You can accept the task of watching her, to make sure that when...if...her magic returns, that she doesn't turn against...us."

"Or?"

"Or she will be punished for murder."

The old man gulped. That meant oblivion. Termination. He nodded slowly. "I accept the task."

"And you will help as her granddaughter learns. If the girl starts to learn dark power..."

The old man nodded. "I understand."

A gavel banged. "So be it. Take her back to her own dimension, then."

**********

The young, dark-haired girl glanced warily at him as he approached. "You're a friend of my grandmother?" She was dressed as a typical teenager - not rebellious, but free-spirited. She was seated on a park bench, watching the autumn leaves fall lazily from the trees. There was a slight nip in the air.

The old man sat down, making sure he had a comfortable distance between himself and the girl. "Yes, that's true," he answered cautiously. "And I knew your mother, but not nearly as well."

Anya sniffled and turned, trying to hide the tear and her effort to wipe it away. She turned back. "I still don't understand what happened," she said, struggling to contain her emotions. "It...doesn't make any sense."

The old man nodded slowly. "It was because of magic," he explained carefully.

The girl frowned, then she shook her head. "You're nuts," she decided.

The old man shook his head sadly. "It was all about magic. There were...some...who didn't approve of your mother's form of magic. It resulted in a magic duel that left your mother dead."

The girl started to shake her head. "There's no such thing..."

The old man laughed. Suddenly, he vanished.

"As magic?" the voice sounded from behind her - as if the old man had instantaneously moved from one side of her to the other.

Anya spun. He had. "But...that's impossible!"

The old man smiled. "But you're not sure, are you?" he asked. "You've started having the gift of sight, haven't you?" He watched the girl's face, the disbelief and confusion. "You've seen some glimpses of future events - probably in dreams. True? And you've known what others were thinking. Again, true?"

The girl nodded, her mouth agape in surprise. "But..."

"The police couldn't explain the damage to the house. They couldn't explain the reports of bursts of energy, or of glowing spheres on the front lawn. They couldn't explain the scorch marks on your mother. They couldn't-"

"Stop!" Anya exclaimed, holding her hands up to her ears and closing her eyes as if to shut out the truth.

The old man's voice came to her - in her head. "Search your feelings. You _know_ it to be true."

Her eyes widened. First, she shouldn't have been able to hear him, but she did. Second, he'd used references from her favorite movies. "But...how?"

The old man shook his head. "You have much to learn," he said softly. "You've lost your mother. Your grandmother lost a daughter. It seems to me that you two need each other a lot right now."

Anya felt the tears rolling down her cheeks. She looked into the old man's eyes, and slowly, she began to get a feeling. Yes, the man was unknown to her, but she sensed tremendous compassion. He _understood_. "Maybe I _should_ give grandmother a call."

**********

Epilogue

"Does she know?" Greg asked softly as he paused in the doorway of the little shop.

The old man nodded slowly. "Her grandmother is telling her now." His face seemed sad, and yet, relieved of a terrible burden he'd carried for many years. "And yes, you _did_ guess the truth. It's why this doesn't seem so impossible to you. You guessed, and Grandmother put a spell on you to hide the truth from Anya."

Greg staggered. With a remarkable clarity, he remembered - the conversation with the old woman in her office. He _had_ guessed that the old woman had confronted dark magic once - and that she'd had to destroy her own daughter because of it. Her actions, the intricate spell she'd cast, they all seemed so clear now. It was as if a fog had lifted, revealing those memories. It was all so...impossible! And yet, he knew it was the truth.

"Are you...Anya's grandfather?" Greg asked softly.

The old man thought for a moment. Should he tell Greg the truth? Or was that the old woman's place? He shook his head sadly. "I don't know. Only _she_ knows."

Greg nodded, understanding. Numb from the shock of the tale, he walked to his car, then he drove to the park. Though it was closed, the lights in the office were still on. He sat in the car, waiting.

**********

Inside the office building, the old woman turned her chair away from Anya. "That's what happened," she said, her voice heavy.

Anya sat silently, staring stunned at the back of the chair. The story...seemed impossible. And yet, just like the old man had taught her so long ago, her feelings told her that the story was true.

"When you can travel," the old woman said awkwardly, still facing away from her granddaughter, "I _knew_ you were going to ask. Just like you asked Jana to find out about...your mother. There are those who would use your inquiry...to get back at me. To turn you to their...black...intentions." Anya could see the old woman's head shake slowly. "I had to tell you first, before-" She broke off, unable to continue.

The awkward silence was broken by the soft shuffling of Anya rising from her chair.

"I understand if you don't want to ever have anything to do with me again," the old woman said, still facing away from her granddaughter. She waited for the sound of the door opening, dreading the sound of it closing and shutting another family member out of her life.

"Grandmother." The voice was close. The old woman opened her eyes to see Anya squatting beside her chair, her soft eyes full of both sorrow and compassion.

"Grandmother," Anya said again as she placed her hand on the old woman's arm. Tenderly, Anya reached up and wiped a tear from the old woman's cheek. "You're all I've got left."

The old woman turned to Anya. "But..."

Anya shook her head. "I _want_ to be angry at you, to blame you for what happened." She lowered her eyes. "But somehow, I know that Mom was evil." Her words were soft, cautiously spoken without any telltale emotions, as if Anya had shut off her feelings. "I know...you and she...didn't get along. Mom...sometimes said she hated you." She shook her head again. "I don't know. Somehow, it always seemed that she hated _herself_, and blamed you. I _know_ it wasn't your fault. I know you're not capable of doing something like that unless it was truly necessary."

The old woman nodded mutely, not trusting any words that she might speak.

Anya leaned forward and hugged the old woman. "I love you, grandmother," she said softly. "And you love me. You're the only one who ever really did. I...I could tell that Mom didn't really love me. Somehow, I just _knew_." Her voice cracked as she spoke, and she made no effort to fight back her tears. "She...sometimes, she was so cold to me. Most of the time. Like she didn't have any love in her heart at all." Anya shook her head sadly. "And that old coot was right - we need each other, don't we."

"It wasn't easy to tell you," the old woman said slowly. "I was terrified that you'd leave me."

Anya tried to laugh amid her tears. "It wasn't exactly easy to hear, either," she said as she wiped her cheek. "It brought back a lot of...painful memories. It's going to take some time to get everything sorted out...again."

The old woman nodded. "Since it's summertime, why don't you and Greg take a couple of weeks off. Go to a nice mountain cabin or-"

Anya shook her head. "I appreciate the offer," she said, dabbing her cheeks again. "But right now, I need to keep busy doing something I love to do. And that means being right here with you and the park." She stood slowly. "I'll see you at opening time tomorrow?"

The old woman looked up and nodded as a new wave of tears trickled down her cheeks. "But, there's got to be one condition...for you staying."

Anya spun suddenly, warily. "Oh?" she asked.

The old woman closed her eyes wearily. "If you stay, you're going to have to help me."

"Help you? How?"

The old woman sighed and turned back to the window. "I need...to learn to be less...harsh...with my magic." The effort of making that confession seemed to have sapped all of grandmother's energy. She looked down. "And..." Her words came painfully to her. "And...I...I don't remember much of the arts." She sounded humiliated at having to admit what Anya already suspected. "I...can't," she choked off her words, ashamed to go on. For a few awkward seconds, there was only silence. "I...can only remember one or two spells," she finally admitted softly. "I _want_ to remember. But I'm...afraid." She looked up at Anya, tears in her eyes. "I...need...help. To find my old magic."

Anya sighed with relief. "Of course, grandmother," she said quickly. "I'll help any way I can." She turned, but then paused at the door. "Did you ever...look?"

The old woman frowned, then she understood. "No, dear," she said sadly. "If your aunt is still alive, she has her own life to live. And I'm not sure she'd understand that I abandoned her."

She watched as the door closed. It was probably better that she hadn't told Anya about her grandfather. Not yet, anyway. She didn't want to see her rush off to find him, to suddenly become a granddaughter he never knew he had, burdening him to teach her magic and to try to make up for a lifetime of not knowing her grandfather. It would strain Anya's relationship with Danni. No, she assured herself, now was not the time.

**********

Greg saw Anya coming across the asphalt, and he knew, from the way she walked, that she was trying to deal with a torrent of emotions. She climbed silently into his car.

"She told you?" he asked softly.

Anya nodded. "Yup."

"Are you okay?"

She shook her head. "I don't know."

Greg nodded. "I'm here - if you need a shoulder or something."

Anya glanced at him, then she smiled - a bit. "I guess that's why he told you, isn't it? So you could help me?"

Greg shrugged. "I guess so." With one more glance at Anya, he slipped the car into gear.

Anya suddenly stifled a laugh. Greg stole a glance at her, concerned. But she shook her head, smiling. "You know, you may be the first person to walk out of that old man's shop the same as you walked in."

FIN