Ethan doesn't remember getting engaged--or drunk!
Are you now or have you ever been a frog?

Part 2 - Have you ever been a frog?

by Wanda Cunningham

Chapter 4

The Fairy Gift

I found the rocks in the wash again, and the little pool of water in the midst of them. I sat on a rock to catch my breath, marvelling a little that I had run most of what had to be a quarter of a mile and I had no urge to wheeze or throw up. The mountain air must really be good for me.

No sign of the fairies, though, maybe I was early. I thought about what Nick the squirrel had said. Someone had told him that I was to be the new King of the Fairies. I rolled my eyes, thinking of that. Not like it hadn't been a pretty frequent thing to get called fairy or worse where I had gone to school.

But what had happened yesterday after the little archers had shot me with their tiny bows? And why didn't I remember?

Around me, the afternoon sun warmed the sandy wash and in the meadow a breeze ruffled the grasses making a sound like--fairy bells? Suddenly, they were all around me, the little warrior fairies and the muskrats-in-waiting, Duke Leandro and the queen herself, Tintabelle.

She stood on a rock that rose almost as high as my head with her weaselly Prime Minister or whatever behind and to her right. She smiled at me. "Good day, Beloved," she said.

"Don't call me that!" I squeaked.

"Oh, 'tis but a formal way of acknowledging that we are betrothed."

"But we're not! I can't be! I'm only thirteen!"

"A mere matter of mortal years, it doesn't make any difference. One can become betrothed at any age. People who haven't even been born yet have been promised to be wed; and that among your own people."

"Huh?" I wanted to ask her if she meant amongst Americans 'cause I sure hadn't heard of such a thing but Duke Leandro interrupted.

"He's quite correct; I don't believe it would be legal for him to wed for another four years and thirty-five days," old ferret-face intoned.

I wondered where he got the numbers but it sounded about right, my eighteenth birthday would be a little over four years away so I nodded. "Uh huh, see? I can't marry you!"

"'Tis a trifle for such as me, but in four years, my dear duke, you will be naught but elegant bones," said the Queen to her weasel.

"Better that than I should see you wed to a human!" said the Duke stiffly. "I shan't rest easy, ma'am, even in the grave, if you continue with this rash intention. This--creature!--slew our good King Fritharic and now you would make him king instead of punishing him as he ought to be?"

"Piffle, it was an accident. We established that at the trial; you didn't mean to kill poor Freddy, did you Ethan?"

I shook my head, a little dizzy to realize that for what might be bad and prejudicial reasons, Duke Leandro and I were in agreement on one thing. "I--I just can't marry you, uh, Your Majesty!"

"Oh, of course you can! And if we have to wait four years to satisfy the customs of your tribe, I can enchant a mound into an Elfhill where we can sing and dance and celebrate through the night and at dawn will four years have passed. Just like that!"

"Gurk!" I said, or something very like it. What would my parents think if I went missing for four years and then showed up with an eight-inch tall bride?

"Didn't you enjoy our betrothal party yesterday, after the trial?" she asked, a little coyly.

"I don't remember any of it!" This caused general laughter among the fairies and small animals, a tittering and giggling that made my hair stand on end. The Queen covered her tiny mouth with both hands but I could hear her bell-like laughter, too. Almost I did remember something then.

"I sat at judge for the trial and pronounced sentence. In accord with ancient barbaric law, since you have killed the king must you become the king," she explained after the laughing subsided. She danced a little in place. "Aren't I clever to have thought of such a solution to laws requiring your death?"

"When you put it that way," I admitted.

"So," she continued. "I sentenced you to marry me, elevated you to an earldom so such a marriage would not be prevented because of difference between our ranks and then graciously accepted your proposal." She tried to look demure in her diaphanous gown but succeeded in scaring me again with the sly glance she gave me.

"I proposed?" I said wonderingly.

"Yes, and very romantic, too." She nodded. "You shouted it, in fact."

Duke Leandro commented sourly, "I believe the young man shouted, 'Me marry you?' in protest and astonishment, Your Majesty."

"But I ruled that it was a proper proposal in caveman style, the most ancient tradition of his tribe," said the queen. "That's when the party really started. I think you must have drunk four or five thimbles full of faerie spirits, my love." More laughter from all, all except the taciturn weasel and me.

This jill of a queen would have her way no matter what; my doom had been pronounced and I didn't remember any of it! I wondered vaguely if I had finally left the party and gone to the store to buy the comics I had found this morning and if the store clerk would remember that I had been drunk? Maybe not, Mom and Dad apparently didn't notice when I got home last night, Mom had just said I seemed tired.

I got distracted by the arrival of a certain blue jay wearing a yellow waist coat. He fluttered to the rock beside the one the queen stood on and made a little bow toward her. "Your Majesty," he said.

"Ah, my herald. What news, John Jay Audible?" The queen beamed at the bird.

"I am here to make my report, ma'am," he said glancing sideways at me several times.

"Oh, but Ethan is already here," said the Queen, indicating me.

The bird eyed me like a traffic cop. "When I found your betrothed, he was in the company of two young females of his species. The two who were present when King Fritharic was killed."

Duke Leandro sneered, "Relatives? Paramours? Accomplices?"

"Just friends," I said, knowing that sounded weak. "Acquaintances really."

The queen looked at me indulgently. "I'm sure we will have some famous fights over your other loves, dearest, after we're married."

I choked on the implications of that.

"Subject was also seen in conversation with various animals, a dog, a monkey, and later, a squirrel. I tested his abilities by speaking to him in bluejay first. He understood that as well as he did Faerie or his own barbaric Anglisc."

The queen stared at me, puzzled. I must have looked like a magnifying mirror. "You gained the power to speak Faerie when you slew one of us but how did you learn to understand the tongues of birds and beasts?" she asked.

"I don't know! I thought you must have done it!" I exclaimed.

The miniature monarch of Woods and Meadows put her fingers to her temples and squinted at me. I thought she was about to blast me or something when she laughed. "Oh! My betrothal gift! You must have used it to..." She stopped in the middle of whatever she was about to say. Closing her eyes, she seemed to concentrate again.

Betrothal gift, I wondered. I had the impression that all of us--myself and all the other fairy folk and animals in clothing--held our breaths, waiting for what she would say next. I know I did.

When the queen's eyes flew open she glared at me. "Very clever, Lord Ethan Barnett, Earl of Pincerrie. Or should I say..." but she didn't finish that either, waving her hand abruptly in the middle of her sentence. She snatched her sceptre off a pillow carried by a mole acting as page boy. "You'll not escape marrying me so easily!" Her voice might be tiny but it held a lot of anger.

Some of the little archers had taken up positions with arrows nocked but none of them were aiming at me so far. "I don't understand what's going on," I said.

"That you will discover betimes!" she snapped and with a wave of her sceptre, the entire company of fairies disappeared. They didn't morph out or fade out, just one moment they were there and the next they were not.

I did the usual sort of cartoonish double-take, looking around for them and calling for them. "Your Majesty? Duke Leandro? John Jay?" I didn't know anyone else's names; if I'd learned any during the party last night, I'd forgotten them. I had a hunch that whatever liquid went into fairy cups should be as illegal as Romulan Ale.

After a bit of looking behind rocks and searching the reeds and grasses growing in the weedy channel that ran down the middle of the wash, I gave up. I sat down on the rock next to the one the queen had stood on and tried to think. Down in the little gully like that, I could see up the hill toward the houses on Pine Ridge but I didn't have a good view of the path toward Pine Home Park.

That's why I heard Molly and Dolly before I saw them. Molly was saying, "Efan is a nice boy," as if this were a point in dispute.

"I didn't say he wasn't," said Dolly. "I just said he was a little weird."

Molly giggled, "But he's funny weird, not scary weird."

"Shh," said Dolly. And just about that moment, they came into view, Dolly first, her being the tallest. She waved and I waved back.

Molly yelled, "Efan!" and would have run toward me but Dolly kept hold of her little sister while they reached the edge of the wash and found their way down the sandy, slippery slope.

"Hey," I said.

"Hey," said Dolly.

Molly got right to the point. "Mom woke up because of all the squirrels and she said you could come over for lunch tomorrow and explain how you did that with the tree rats!"

Dolly laughed. "You should have seen it, there must have been fifty squirrels came for the popcorn, every squirrel in the court. I made five bags of popcorn in the microwave then mom got up and made a big batch the old fashioned way in the kettle."

I held my face in my hands and groaned. "Nick overdid it." I said.

"There were birds, too, fitty million of them!"

"There were a lot of birds," agreed Dolly. "Scrubjays mostly." The girls came over and sat beside me on the rocks. Dolly said, "I was worried about you. You were acting kind of like you were sick."

I smiled. "I'm okay. I'll ask my folks if I can come to lunch tomorrow. What time?"

"About four, I know that's late for lunch," said Dolly. "But it's the meal we call lunch; for Mom it's breakfast. She probably won't get home tonight till almost four and she usually stays up for an hour or two."

It sounded like an odd schedule. "Where does she work?"

"In Riverside," said Dolly.

Riverside was a small city about fifty miles away, and half of that on crooked mountain roads. "My dad works in Los Angeles," I offered, "but he only has to go to the office twice a week."

"That's an even worse drive," said Dolly.

"Worser," agreed Molly. Then she asked, "How'd you do that with the squirrels? Make them come to our house and wait for the popcorn?"

I shrugged. "I dunno?" Well, it wasn't exactly a lie, there was a lot about what had happened that I didn't know.

"Could you do it again?" Molly persisted.

I grinned. "I don't have any popcorn."

"I gots some!"

"You do?" Dolly looked at her sister.

"Sure. My pockets are full of the stuff." They were. Molly handed me some grimy popcorn.

"For gosh sakes, Molly. I thought you let the squirrels have all of the popcorn," Dolly said.

"Oh, no. I always put some popcorn in my pockets when we have any. It makes a great snack."

We all laughed and it did help me feel a bit less desperate to laugh. I threw a few not-so-fluffy, not-so-white pieces on the ground near the rocks. "Okay, folks, banquet time."

"Who are you talking to?" asked Dolly.

I shrugged "I dunno."

"No one wants it?" Molly asked after a bit, clearly disappointed.

But I heard conversation in one of the nearby clumps of grass. "You two go over there," I said to the girls, pointing to some rocks about fifteen feet away. "These guys are shyer than squirrels or jays."

Almost holding their breaths, the sisters tiptoed over and sat on the rocks. "Won't they be afraid of you?" Dolly asked.

I shrugged again. Squatting, I peered at the clump of grass. "You can come out and have some of the popcorn now. No one's going to hurt you."

"That's easy for you to say, Your Grace," piped a tiny voice. It sounded a bit like a two-inch tall Barney Fife. "You're a giant and got nothing to fear of cats or hawks or badgers."

I shook my head, grinning, no one had ever called me a giant before. "Nothing will bother you while I am here." I assured them; mice, I thought they must be, and very small ones at that since I still couldn't see them.

Molly couldn't restrain herself any longer, she let out a shriek of sheer four-year-old excitement. I saw the mice for a moment as they--and I! and probably Dolly, too--all jumped into the air about six inches.

"Ow! My ears!" Dolly said behind me.

"An owl! In the daytime!" squeaked the popcorn gallery.

Then another voice, "No owl ever made a noise like that! 'Twere a bobcat!" Amid rustling of leaves and grasses, the voices faded away, still arguing about who or what had made the terrible noise.

I couldn't persuade them to stay, I was laughing too hard.

Molly reluctantly emptied her pockets of popcorn to leave for the frightened mice and we all strolled up the wash until it became too steep to just walk. Rather than climb, we found some more rocks and just sat and talked. Well, Dolly and I sat and talked, Molly ran this way and that exploring while we made sure she didn't make a break for it.

Dolly asked me about where we had lived before and where I went to school last year. I asked her about local places, mostly the school and what teachers would be good to avoid for a freshman. She was a junior and there was almost no chance we would have any classes together, even in such a small school.

"Dolly's real smart," interjected Molly at that point.

"Shush," said Dolly.

"I'm hungry," said Molly. "I'm gonna go back and see if the mice left any popcorn."

"No!" Dolly grabbed her sister. "We'd better head back, Ethan. Mom will be leaving for work at 4:30 and sis is used to eating with her and then taking a nap."

"Okay," I agreed. "I'll walk part way back with you. Say, did you bring any food for the dog?"

"Huh?"

"To get back through the hole in the fence?" I almost explained about my deal with the sleeping Cerebus and realized in time how odd--crazy, insane--it would sound.

"You mean for Bluto?" asked Molly.

"Is that his name? Big black dog with yellow markings on his legs, face and tummy?"

"That's him," agreed Dolly. "But Bluto is just what we call him, I don't know whose dog he is or even if he has a name."

"T.C. calls him Tigger," Molly noted.

"Maybe he's T.C.'s dog?"

"No, they've got a dog. A black and white spaniel, he and the monkey go round and round sometimes." Dolly said. "You met T.C.?"

I nodded. Thinking about T.C., something suddenly happened inside me. I didn't know what it was but it felt both pleasant and painful. "Uh? What's he like? T.C. I mean, not the dog?"

"He's okay," said Dolly. "He's just a freshman this year but he's huge. He's a jock, too. They asked him to play on the JayVee team but he wanted to keep playing with his friends."

"Yeah, he's a big guy." Why did I want to laugh? "I talked to him about that monkey, the one that belongs to his uncle."

"The monkey's uncle," agreed Dolly.

I nodded. "Bowser."

"I thought his name was Matt Clark?"

"No, the monkey. Oh, you were teasing." I grinned at her.

We stopped at the edge of the meadow and stood there talking some more. I wanted to ask about T.C. again but I couldn't think why or what to ask.

"I'd be happy to be friends," Dolly said.

"Sure, we're friends," said Molly. She put her arms up for a hug and I knelt to give her one. When I stood back up, Dolly gave me a hug too. It felt nice to have friends, I'd never been very good at making them before.

"Friends it is, and I hope I can come to lunch tomorrow," I said.

"Chili-mac, chili-mac!" squealed Molly.

"We're not having chili-macaroni tomorrow, that's what we're having tonight," said Dolly.

"But I like chili-mac!"

I laughed and waved at them as they walked toward the hole in the fence. Then I turned and headed toward home myself. I kept my eye out for signs of Tintabelle and her court but they were nowhere to be seen. Soon, I'd reached the path behind the houses on Pine Ridge Road and my own back gate was only a few yards away when someone called to me.

Chapter 5

The Third Wish

I don't know why it hadn't occurred to me that there might be other kids living on Pine Ridge Road but it hadn't. I didn't jump in surprise though; maybe I'd had all the jumpiness surprised out of me already. The shadows under the trees on this side of the ridge were getting pretty dark and with a latticework fence between us, I just hadn't noticed him.

"Hey," said the voice form one of the backyards. "You live up here?"

Maybe he'd been gone the last few days or with only one yard between us, we might have met earlier. And now that I noticed him, I knew I couldn't have missed him. Taller than even T.C. and as blond as Molly with pale blue eyes like cold fire--I imagined they could look right through me for a moment and see all my secrets. It gave me a weird thrill and I laughed.

"What's so funny," he said.

"Nothing, I guess. I just didn't see you standing there."

He came toward his own back gate and leaned on it. "See me now?"

More than the color of his eyes themselves, I noticed that his eyebrows and eyelashes were a reddish gold and he had freckles on his nose. His hair was really more strawberry blond, rather than dark gold like Dolly or bright yellow like Molly. "Uh, yeah?" I felt itchy in odd places.

"So, do you live up here? 'Cause I saw you talking to those girls from the trailer park?"

I couldn't tell if he meant to sound hostile or just cool. "Yeah, I met them yesterday, but I live in number nine, Pine Ridge Road." I pointed and moved the last few yards to my own gate.

He nodded. "Oh, yeah. Just moved in, didn't you?"

I smiled and nodded. The itching spread, seeming to be everywhere under my clothes.

"How old are you?" he asked.

"I'll be fourteen in a few weeks."

"Um." he said. He looked at me pretty intensely for a few moments, like he was taking in the details of my clothes and hair.

I felt my face get hot, I had to resist squealing like Molly and running for the house. I fiddled with the latch of our gate, my hands felt weak and trembly. I wanted to scratch myself or even ask him to scratch the places I couldn't reach. That bizarre notion confused me totally.

He opened the gate to his own backyard and came out onto the path. His clothes looked casual but expensive; highgrade white leather crosstrainers, a blue polo shirt, burgundy slacks. He still wasn't smiling.

I could tell that he wanted to ask me something but I couldn't stand it anymore. I dashed through our gate and through the back door, calling over my shoulder. "Gotta go!"

Closing the door to the dining room behind me I wondered, what the heck just happened?

Mom, at her writing desk in the corner echoed the question, "What happened??"

I still itched so I used that as my excuse. "I got into something that made me all itchy, I'm going to take a bath." I headed for the stairs.

That was the wrong approach. "Goodness, it wasn't poison oak, was it?" Mom started to follow me. The toxic little plant grew all over the Southern California mountains but it was easy to avoid.

"I don't think so, probably just grass seed." I went directly into the bathroom at the top of the stairs and closed the door behind me.

Mom dithered a bit, torn between motherhood and authorship. "Use soap," she said. "And rinse with cold water and if you still itch, I'll bring the calamine. How's your breathing?"

"It's fine, I'm okay, mom," I called through the door. Talking about the itching made it worse. I pulled off my shirt and threw it at the hamper.

"And don't leave a mess in there," mom added.

"Okay, okay." I picked up the shirt and dropped it into the hamper and turned on the water to maybe drown out the rest of what she might be saying.

So she shouted to be sure that I heard her. "Your brothers were just like my brothers, walking toxic waste dumps. Your father's not like that."

That was kind of funny considering that dad dealt with ways of disposing of sewage and garbage for a living. Mom was on a rant though. "My friends all tell me that girls are worse than boys for making messes but it just isn't so. You're almost as bad as Sean and Adam! I just wish you were more like your sister, you could help me around the house and I could get more writing done."

"I'll try to do better, Mom," I yelled back. The water poured into the big porcelain tub with a noise like musical thunder for a moment, a very odd effect. I let it run to get warm while I emptied my pockets onto the counter top. I sorted the stuff and threw the trash away, a piece of popcorn, a leaf, and a receipt for six dollars and change from the Pine View Market. Apparently, I really had bought those manga comics while wandering around in a drunken stupor after my betrothal party.

Betrothal party? Memories niggled at me, a song the Queen had sung? I shook my head, trying not to think about the weirdness that had come into my life.

The sound of the water changed, probably as it heated up. I sat on the toilet seat to take off my shoes and socks. The itching persisted and I paused to scratch my arms and chest. I took down my pants and scratched my legs, too.

I wondered if I had developed an allergy to pixie dust? I was already allergic to olive trees, house dust, dogs and cats--maybe Bluto/Tigger/Cerberus had triggered the itching. But the list of my allergies would fill a whole page, and most of them caused breathing problems, not itching.

I tested my breathing, it really was all right. When you've ended up in the hospital with asthma, bronchitis, pneumonia and whatever as often as I have, you develop an awareness of what your breathing sounds like. I sounded fine but I itched like crazy.

A bath would be the solution to that I hoped. I dropped my socks and pants and underclothes into the hamper, found the soap, shampoo, a washcloth and a towel and put them in place, ready for when I needed them. I reached into the bath and pulled the little lever to send the water to the showerhead, wondering vaguely why I had been being so careful and meticulous and why the room seemed so real and vivid. It almost felt like something that had happened before.

I tried to ignore whatever it was and get on with my shower even though the damp air from the hot water seemed to have made the itching a bit better. Carefully, I got into the tub and let the warm spray get me wet all over. It felt wonderful. I used the shampoo to lather my hair, rinsed it and lathered it again.

I forgot the creme rinse, I thought. Not that I use it that often but it seemed like a good idea just then. I used the extra lather from the shampoo on my face and arms and the itchy places on my chest.

I still hadn't noticed anything wrong, not really wrong-wrong anyway. I've never been muscular and at thirteen I hadn't completely lost the soft flesh of a child. Puberty was still just a concept to me, the doctors said that my illnesses had slowed my development a bit. I didn't weigh even ninety pounds yet, and stood an inch or so short of five feet. "But mice think I'm a giant," I said and giggled about it.

The water and lather did seem to help with the itching, so after rinsing my hair again I worked up a good lather in the washcloth and really started serious washing. I felt a bit zoney but after the events of the day and yesterday, that couldn't be very surprising.

The washcloth kept getting filled up with little rolls of dead skin. It reminded me how after a long camping vacation and nothing but "spit" baths, I had been so dirty that this same thing had happened. I'd been terribly itchy then, too. But I wasn't that dirty was I? I'd had a bath only day before yesterday and I hadn't been rolling in dirt or anything like that. Or had I? Who knew what I had done during my blackout. Fairy melodies and tiny winged women dancing in mid-air?

More weirdness. "People shouldn't give fairy liquor to teenagers," I muttered. "Or force them into getting married, either."

What else had they done to me? I could understand the fairy language and talk to animals too, and only the second of those surprised the Queen. Why? She'd said something about her "betrothal gift" before flying into a rage. It was all too confusing. I gritted my teeth as a wave of weak vertigo washed through me and I almost fell in the tub.

Something wasn't right. I knew I'd felt that weakness and dizziness before but this was stronger, if weakness can be stronger. It lasted longer, too. I squatted down to avoid falling forward then sat down to avoid falling backward. The water beat down on my head and my suddenly over-sensitive skin. I think I may have moaned in fear.

My chest seemed especially tender, as if the itching had gone bone-deep. I bent forward to let the falling water pound my less sensitive head and back. I'd lost the washcloth when I sat down, so I used my bare hands to explore my chest. The tenderness and itching seem to have localized in my nipples.

God, no, I thought.

The mounds of flesh behind and around my nipples were small but definitely there. I know I squeaked in surprise. They were also too sensitized by rubbing and scrubbing to bear much more manual examination; touching them made me want to squirm even though it felt sort of good at the same time.

I had breasts? Dizzy, weak and confused I might be, but that fact seemed inescapable. It had to be more fairy business. I tried to remember what Tintabelle had said, had she threatened anything like this if I refused to marry her?

No. She'd been angry when she left--disappeared--but she was angry at something I had done and not just at my insistence that I couldn't marry her. "Very clever..." she had said. And, "You'll not escape marrying me so easily!" And something about her betrothal gift to me.

I closed my eyes and whimpered. had I done something to myself? What had I done? And more importantly, could I undo it, whatever it was? Dread and fear and something close to panic bubbled in my brain. How far had this gone? Had I somehow used her betrothal gift, probably some sort of magic, to turn myself into a girl?

I laughed a little shakily--okay, I giggled hysterically. If I were a girl I couldn't very well marry the Queen of Fairies, could I? At least, not in Southern California in 1998. Maybe in Canada or New Hampshire or wherever it was? I bit my lip to stop the giggles; this is all impossible I told myself firmly.

But I didn't believe it. I mean I didn't believe it was impossible, too many impossible things had already happened. No, that was an even more confusing way of putting it but I knew what I meant.

I reached for my groin, afraid I might scream if I found what I thought I might find. Opening my eyes and looking down, I saw my penis and felt somewhat relieved. But it looked shrunken, small--tiny, even--like it sometimes got in really cold water and the water still falling on me was undeniably warm. Worried, I felt around it, searching for the customary two companions.

They weren't there. Empty folds of soft flesh hung beneath the remainder of my masculine equipment. I tried to get a better look at what had happened but the whole area seemed further away, further back than before--as if my hips were tilted at a whole new angle.

I took a breath and considered screaming but decided against it. Crying seemed like a good idea, though. It didn't help much and crying in the shower seemed sort of redundant but I did feel a bit better. I found the washcloth and rinsed the dead skin out of it several times before wiping my face.

The weakness and dizziness seemed to have mostly passed so I stood up a bit shakily and sort of finished my bath, trying to figure out what other changes there might be. More dead skin rolled off my arms and legs, the new skin showing pinker and lighter. I used the loofah-on-a-stick that mom had equipped the bath with to scrub my still itchy back. The loofah ended up full of dead skin, too. After rinsing thoroughly, I turned the water to cold, like mom had recommended. I yelped as I rinsed some more and finally turned the water off.

I stood in the tub for a few moments shivering. From somewhere, I heard mom calling, "Ethan? Are you all right?"

"The cold water rinse," I called back.

"What?"

I didn't want her coming upstairs and walking in on me. "I'm just cold from the bath!" I shouted. Shouting in a shower stall is not a good idea, it made my ears ring.

"Well, for goodness sake, dry off and get some clothes on. You'll warm up quickly enough, it's still August."

This time I stuck my head out of the stall before yelling, "Okay!" Then I grabbed the big fluffy towel I'd picked out earlier and pulled it into the tub enclosure with me.

I dried myself carefully; scrubbing and rubbing like I usually did seemed like the wrong thing to do. I felt delicate and fragile, patting myself dry would be less likely to bruise or damage my sensitized skin.

I stepped out of the shower onto the fuzzy blue rug and used the big bath towel and a second towel to soak up water from my hair. Without really thinking about what I was doing, I wrapped the big towel around me and tucked the end in under my armpit. I wrapped the second towel around my hair, dryer side inward and tucked the end of the quasi-turban behind my ear.

Then I wiped the steam off the mirror and took a look at myself.

Phoebe. I looked like my sister Phoebe. Not as she looked now, a nineteen-year-old college student, but the way she looked back when I first started school, when she was in junior high. Part of it, of course, was the towels and the way I had wrapped them. Especially since I seemed to have picked out two pink ones.

Maybe that was most of it, the towels and something about the way I was just standing there. My face hadn't changed much. My cheekbones seemed a trifle more prominent, perhaps my lips were fuller. I gasped when I noticed that my eyes were now more green than hazel. Phoebe had green eyes and red hair. I uncovered my hair and looked but of course it was still too wet to really tell what color it might be.

I unwrapped the other towel to get a better view of my body. Not really much change there, either. The flesh around my nipples seemed puffy; it didn't really look like I had breasts, exactly. But the nipples and the dark areas around them were definitely bigger. As the cool air touched them, I felt my nipples crinkle and saw them get bigger. I desperately wanted to hide them, but I didn't rewrap the towel just then.

Were my shoulders narrower, waist slimmer, hips wider? Maybe. My skin looked paler and pinker. There might have been other, more subtle changes, I couldn't tell.

I choked back a sob again but kept up my examination. I couldn't see well down below and behind my shrunken penis but my fingers couldn't find any opening there. I felt a spark of hope, I hadn't turned completely into a girl. The little cookie-like swellings behind my nipples would only be noticeable if I wore a thin t-shirt I decided. If I kept my clothes on--if my hair hadn't turned red--maybe no one would notice.

I could find the queen, find out how to get changed back, before anyone noticed. Even if it meant I had to marry her, repellent as that idea sounded.

Wait a minute.

Before, the idea had sounded scary, terrifying even. Now it felt more icky and horrible. I couldn't picture myself marrying her at all! Something warned me not to think too hard about that just now.

The first thing to do was to find out if I still looked enough like myself that no one would notice the changes. Then go looking for the Queen of Woods and Meadows. Then...

Briefly I wondered if poor King Fritharic had always been a frog.

continued in part 3 -[If Wishes Were Horses]

Read more [The Fairy King]