This one was written for a contest with a word limit. I'm posting it here the way I submitted it. Happy Halloween everyone! Go Trick or Treat, go to a costume party, and have fun on the day.

A Small Matter of Equity

by

Maggie Finson

Anton Burgess carefully examined the ornate gold ring in
his hand. It was beautifully crafted, with an intricately
shaped Ouroboros swallowing its own tail as it wrapped its
shining coils around a simple set of measuring scales.

The serpent had one dark opal eye and a bright diamond for
the other. Both glittered as if the thing were really alive
and waiting for its owner to command it. The sense of the
thing’s readiness to do... something was not only pervasive,
but almost insistent.

Pulling his mind away from the near hypnotic gems, Anton
returned his attention to the slightly built, scruffy
individual of indeterminate sex who had offered the ring
to him.

The creature, Anton could call it neither he or she, waited
patiently for him to finish examining the ring. Patiently
didn’t quite describe the attitude that one was showing;
indifferent might have been a better term for the near lack
of interest that one had for Anton’s examination of the
artifact.

“What did you say your name was?” he questioned the rather
odd individual.

“I didn’t,” that one responded in a throaty tenor with a quick,
almost feral, grin. “But you can call me Harmony, if you need
a name.”

“Harmony...” Anton nodded, deciding an odd name went well with
the being he was talking to. “All right, Harmony. Just what
do you expect to get out of this piece, and why did you approach
me on the street instead of in my shop?”

Harmony glanced up the alley they were standing in to give the
back door of Anton’s Antiques and Collectibles a distasteful
grimace. “I just don’t feel... comfortable in places like that,
sir. Too many old things crying out for a past that can never
be again.

Also,” Harmony continued, “The ring comes with a caveat that I
thought you should hear in private. I assure you that I have
not stolen this object or gotten it from someone else who did.
My offer is legitimate, and perfectly legal in all respects.”

“Oh, I’m sure it is,” Anton dryly agreed. “Which is why we’re
doing business in a back alley instead of inside my shop.
Make your pitch, tell me what this caveat is, and I’ll either
accept or decline your intriguing offer.”

Harmony’s fine featured face crinkled in a grin of real amusement
as he nodded agreement. “As you like, Anton Burgess. This ring
is named The Serpent’s Bargain, and will grant the owner two
wishes. Guaranteed.”

“Now I’m sure you’re some escaped nut case,” Anton moved to hand
the ring back to Harmony, but was stopped by the other’s richly
belling laughter. “Did I say something amusing?”

“Ah, no, forgive me,” Harmony wiped tearing cobalt blue eyes
with one delicate hand while waving the ring in Anton’s hand
away. “Keep it, Mr. Burgess, I’m giving it to you. No strings,
no contracts signed in blood, or other idiotic rigamarole at
all. The ring is yours, until you have used it. Then you must
pass it along to someone else.”

“Why?” Anton grew suspicious. The antiques business was genteel
on the surface, but in actuality was a very competitive -- even
cutthroat business. Fools and dreamers didn’t last long in the
really high end of the business, and Anton had been on or near
the top of the commercial food chain for many years. “Why would
you just give something as obviously valuable as this away?

“Because the concerns I represent wish to gain a foothold in
the markets here,” Harmony chuckled at the other’s suspicions.
“Call it a product promotion. I assure you that the next items
brought in from them will not be in the least inexpensive and
none of them will be free. Try it out, pass it along, and let
me know what you think of the product once you’ve gotten your
wishes.”

Harmony handed a small, but elegantly engraved business card to
Anton and smiled. “I’m just a sales rep glad-handing potential
future customers, you see. This ring is in the nature of a
free sample, that’s all.”

Something compelling about the ring, and a little frightening,
made Anton give it another look. The opal eye blinked up at him,
almost as if it had winked. He accepted the business card without
even looking closely at the scrolled names on the front deciding
that he had nothing at all to lose. If the ring really did grant
wishes, he was a winner, and if it didn’t, the workmanship and
obvious age of the thing would bring a magnificent price.

“All right, Harmony, I’ll take it,”

“Excellent!” the other’s smile widened and Anton could see that
the being’s teeth were pointed. “There is one thing you should
know before using the wishes, though,”

“Ah, the caveat you mentioned earlier,” Anton smiled in his
turn, waving the matter aside. “Feel free to call on me any
time with your wares in the future, Harmony.”

“I will, and thank you,” the other agreed, then continued. “But
my contract says I have to tell you that the two concerns
granting the wishes each have their choice of which wish to
grant. Those are Good/Light/Order on one side, and Evil/Dark/Chaos
on the other. You won’t know which side will grant what particular
wish, and neither will they until the actual process is initiated.

Also, neither wish will be granted until both have been made,”
Harmony went on with another of those disturbing grins. “That
way neither side can fudge the results of the other’s work.
Do you understand all of that?”

“Sure,” Anton nodded, not truly believing the pitch for a moment,
but going along with things just to gain possession of the ring.
“Angels on one side, Demons on the other, both ready to grant
one wish apiece all at the same time. Does tht about cover it?”

“Simplistic, but accurate enough for the moment,” Harmony agreed,
then began moving down the alley at a brisk pace while calling
over his/her shoulder, “Enjoy your wishes, Anton Burgess. I
have other potential customers to visit!”

* * *

Anton absently rubbed at the odd ring on the third finger of his
right hand while arranging a new display to entice his very
wealthy clientele into parting with yet more of their overly
abundant cash reserves.

He never placed price tags on any of his merchandise on the
theory that if someone had to ask what something cost, they
couldn’t afford to even be inside his shop. Also, depending
on the client’s gullibility, he often increased his planned
asking price to nearly outrageous limits.

With a little stroking of overblown egos, a few quietly genteel
jokes, and a lot of BS slathered on top, none of his clients
had ever complained over the prices he got for items that were
valuable, but in many cases, not nearly so much as he charged
for them.

The practice had made him very wealthy in his own right, and
he held no illusions about himself. He was a weasel, plundering
richer nests to satisfy himself, and felt no remorse at all over
his actions. He had ruthlessly quashed competition, outright
stolen some items that were not for sale, and built his business
from a small, hole in the mall curio shop into the posh,
expensive establishment it now was.

Idly wishing that he had some staff member suitable for modeling
the antique silk gown he was arranging, Anton had completely
forgotten he was wearing the strange ring given to him by the
even stranger Harmony. The slight tingle spreading from his
ring finger, he dismissed as a touch of arthritis complaining
again as the buzzing of his cell phone sent that idea back into
the limbo where it had come from.

“Anton Burgess,” he answered. “What can I do for you?”

“Oh, Mr. Burgess,” the voice of his new accountant and financial
advisor, Maureen Reilly responded. “I’m really sorry to bother
you with this right now, but I’m afraid that the Homes Fund is
in need of replenishing again.”

“I see,” Burgess thoughtfully pulled at his graying shoulder
length hair for a moment. “Where exactly is the shortfall, and
how much will it take to fill in the gaps?”

“The halfway-house operations budget lost the state funding,
and needs $150,000 to keep going until another source can be
scrounged up.”

“Deposit the money to that account, Maureen,” Anton replied,
“With the stipulation that I want a full accounting for every
penny of it spent until more funding can be arranged.”

“Very good, sir,” Maureen returned, “Should I include the
standard paperwork for repayment on the loan?”

“No, Maureen, I don’t work that way,” Anton sighed, getting an
accountant to accept the fact that he had no wish to get that
money back was always the most difficult part of breaking in
someone new. He was glad this was only the second one he’d had
to do that with in his long lifetime. “Just deposit the money
with the specified stipulation, and write it off.

Oh, one more thing,” he added quickly, as a thought hit him.
“Please make sure the Orphanage School at St. Gladys gets another
fifty-thousand by the end of the day. I understand they need some
repairs done on their roof. Make the donation anonymous.”

Will do, boss,” Maureen’s exasperation and puzzlement at the
way her employer seemed to simply throw money out the nearest
window whenever someone needed it coming through in her voice.

“Thank you, Maureen,” an amused Anton closed the connection as
he returned to studying his newest acquisition.

Anton Burgess had grown up in the streets, with no one around to
help except a few poorly funded and undermanned organizations,
and had sworn that when he had reached the financial pinnacle
he had made his goal that he would do his best to see that no
other poor child had to endure what he had while growing up.
Unlike others who had once made such a promise to themselves,
he had stayed true to his purpose.

Keeping only enough of his now admittedly large fortune to live
well, and pay the taxes, he distributed the remainder to various
trusts, grant funds, and a petty cash account that dwarfed most
yearly household incomes for anonymous donations like he had
just ordered his accountant to make.

All without accepting one ounce of recognition for his good works.
He knew, and for the rather complex individual the street urchin
once called scrub by his peers had grown into, that was enough.

The gown, a rich ruby red silk garment from the Regency period
that hugged the mannequin wearing it like a second slick skin,
was exquisite. It’s true value, though, was in its provenance.

Reputedly, the gown had been the favorite of a powerful, and
often malevolent witch who had alternately terrorized and
inexplicably assisted the peasantry around her estate. The
Countess Isobel de Laque had even been rumored to have closer
ties to hell than mere magical bargains.

Her own peasantry whispered that her father had really been a
demon summoned by her Mother, the previous Countess, to get a
child so her husband would not throw her over for a more fertile,
and tractable bride.

Regardless of the truth or falsity of the tales, Isobel had been
a very real, widely feared and admired personage in her part of
France, and was reputed to have been a stunning beauty who made
use of her looks as shamelessly as she did everything else that
would give her an advantage in dealings with others.

Carefully setting the plaque with the history and authenticity
of the gown listed on its mahogany stand to the side of the lovely
thing, Anton stood back to view his work with satisfaction.

“I almost feel as if I knew you, Lady,” he whispered so his
employees present would not hear him talking to a dress. “Kindred
spirits, you and I, I think. I wish you a long peaceful rest and
a chance at redemption.”

* * *

In two separate sections of time/space, selected groups jumped
gleefully into action as the second wish passed the lips of
their latest ‘customer’.

Reality swirled, became fluid, and shifted sideways a bit as the
granted wishes met over a really insignificant little shop in a
twenty-first century city.

Two separate lines of power met within one hapless human and
began working their changes as reality vented a sigh of relief
and jolted back to its usual semblance of normality.

* * *

Anton gasped out loud as his right hand ring finger first tingled,
then felt as if it were jammed into a light socket, then burned
like it had been dipped into the fires of Hell itself.

The unpleasant sensation spread through his hand, up his arm,
and soon engulfed his entire body in a curiously joyful agony.
What came next was... What? Transformation, surely.
Metamorphosis in more than simply body? Probably. Redemption
for a long troubled and tormented soul? In one case, yes; in
the other only the possibility for that boon was given.

Anton felt his bones melt in the ethereal flames engulfing him,
then they reformed into something similar, but different from
his accustomed self. Muscle, tendon, ligaments, soft tissues,
and flesh remolded into the answer to his one wish.

As for the other, in the midst of the terrible, wonderful changes
rippling through his body and soul, an indistinct figure approached
him through the flames.

Seeming impervious to the raging inferno, she stopped in its
center to observe Anton with something akin to loving awe. “You
have taken my shape and my name, mortal, but I can not be angry
with you. My powers, and the knowledge to use them go with the
package. Use them wisely, Lady. You have also my heartfelt,
soul deep thanks for the freedom and peace your wish has given
me.

I also leave you these,” with an almost girlish giggle, the
breathtaking redhead parted her hair just above the forehead to
display two small horns. “To remind you of where you will likely
end up if you do not use my gifts wisely. Farewell, my
benefactress.”

Anton couldn’t even reply as she vanished. Along with the pain,
weird body sensations, and flames that had engulfed her only moments
before.

Isobel Antoinette Burgess smoothed her scarlet skirts, and admired
the antique gown she was wearing in the ornate - and slightly
cursed - mirror standing in one corner of her shop.

Anton, still inside the svelte beauty he had become groaned at the
result of his inadvertently paired wishes. Now, as Isobel, she would
be spending an awful lot of time righting wrongs that should have
been none of her business but were now. The alternative was a quick
trip on the long elevator ride to the basement, and Isobel Burgess
retained enough of the former Isobel’s memories to know that was
an option she truly wished to avoid.

Getting used to being female was really a small matter in
comparison to that possibility.

* * *

The Proprietress of Isobel’s Curiosities and Antiques leaned forward
a bit more to give the young man a better view of her delightful,
milky breasts and cleavage. Brushing her long, lustrous red hair
from her delicate, doll-like face with one slender hand, she
offered the ring to the youth who had come in so late with
intentions of robbing her.

“Really,” giving him a radiant smile, Isobel dropped the ring into
his hand and gently closed it around the thing. “I’m giving it
to you, Charlie, without strings or malice. It will grant you
two wishes, but first, I have to tell you something about how
that works...”