The rental car slowly rolled up the sweeping drive, as if the occupant were admiring the surroundings. Or was uncertain this was the right place. Or perhaps was intimidated by the large - and apparently genuine - castle at the head of the drive. Most likely the cause was a combination of those factors.
Rodford Edmiston
The next Masks stories is over 21k words and only about a quarter of the way through, so here's something to hold you in the meantime.
There's a lot of humor in this tale, but it's darker than my usual. Also, as with Weave of Life it ends after some immediate problems are solved but with the larger situation still needing to be addressed.
I began this set of stories in 2000 and the last installment was in 2002; which gives you a clue as to how fast (or slowly) I write.
Castle Freak: Part 1
Strange Crew
by
Rodford Edmiston
The rental car slowly rolled up the sweeping drive, as if the occupant were admiring the surroundings. Or was uncertain this was the right place. Or perhaps was intimidated by the large - and apparently genuine - castle at the head of the drive. Most likely the cause was a combination of those factors.
Abruptly, the car stopped, as the driver spotted an attractive young woman on her knees, planting bulbs in a flower bed near the drive. Down went the window.
"Excuse me," the man inside called out, "is this the home of Dr. Richard Frique?"
"Oh, well, of course it is," the woman replied, beaming as she rose and walked gracefully to the car, "and I should know; I'm Winnifred, his wife of nearly fifty years and mother of his children and, as you can see, keeper of the grounds."
The driver was rather taken aback; the woman didn't look over twenty, much less old enough to have been married for half a century.
"Oh, uh, well, thank you," he replied, with a nervous laugh. "I wasn't sure. The guy at the gas station gave me some very strange directions. He actually said that if I need to know if I was at the right place I should just ask the talking dog."
"Well, isn't that just the silliest thing you ever heard?" the woman tittered. "A talking dog, how silly."
"That's what I thought," the man replied, a bit relieved the women could realized absurdity when she heard it. "Can you tell me..."
"I wonder if he meant Oliver, our werewolf?"
Now the man definitely knew he was talking to someone who wasn't all there. Even if she was startlingly beautiful. He was about to say something else, when a gravelly voice with a thick Southern accent interrupted him.
"This gentleman bothering you, Winnie?"
The man was startled; he hadn't seen or heard anyone approach. He glanced around, trying to see who had spoken, but all he saw was a large, grey dog, standing under his car window. It must have walked up while the driver was distracted by the woman's odd speech. Strange, how it stared at him. Almost like it knew...
"This here's private property," said the dog, which the driver now realized was actually a wolf. A very large wolf. "Unless you got an appointment with the Doc you better get off of it."
The driver's eyes rolled up in his head, and that head lolled forward, hitting the steering wheel.
* * *
The young man slowly regained an awareness of his surroundings. At one point he moaned, and the babble of conversation around him - unnoticed until then - stopped.
"Are you all right?" asked a male voice.
"Uh, yeah," said the man, opening his eyes to see a concerned face looking down at him. He appeared to be in early middle age, his hair slightly grey but his body still quite fit.
"We looked through your wallet to see if you had some sort of medical alert card," the man said apologetically, as he leaned back a bit and helped the younger fellow sit up. "I'm Dr. Frique. I understand you wanted to see me."
"Yeah. I'm Daryl Potts... though I guess you already know this."
They were inside, in what appeared to be a large drawing room. It appeared quite normal, except that the high ceiling was supported by massive beams and obviously the underside of a sloped roof. Though the original construction was old - likely more than a century, from the pegged beams - the decor was nearly modern; just used enough to have some comfortable wear. Daryl was lying on a plush sofa, his shoes off and feet elevated. There was a pressure cuff around his arm, and other medical gear on the coffee table in front of the sofa.
"Sorry about that," he muttered, swinging his feet carefully to the floor. "I've been under a lot of stress lately, and, well, when I imagined I saw a talking wolf..."
"There you go again," someone muttered in a gravelly voice.
Daryl quickly looked towards the source, then relaxed when he saw a gruff, grey-haired man. One who appeared older than the doctor, and also much more capable of violence. There was something disturbingly... feral about him.
"Yes, well, that's beside the point," said Dr. Frique. "Who recommended you come to me? I'm a medical researcher, not a practicing physician."
"Dr. Arnoldson," said Daryl. "Most doctors wouldn't even see me if I described my problem to them ahead of time, and if I told them during the exam they recommended I see a psychiatrist without even waiting to confirm my story. Only Dr. Arnoldson did me the courtesy of testing my claim. When he saw I was telling the truth he recommend I come see you."
"Henry Arnoldson?" mused Dr. Frique, rubbing his chin. "I'm surprised he's still practicing. We were classmates. He must be - What? - 78 by now."
"Huh?" said Daryl, upon hearing this statement from someone who didn't look a day over 40.
"Just what is your problem?" asked Dr. Frique.
"I'm under a curse," said Daryl, flatly.
"Let me guess; you're a werewolf," sneered the gravelly-voiced man.
"Oliver, why don't you go tell Winnie our guest is all right? I don't think I'll need your help carrying him any more. At least not right away."
Muttering under his breath, the other man stalked out.
"Okay, now, what's this about a curse?"
"What time is it?" Daryl asked.
"You still have your watch on," Dr. Frique replied, pointing.
"No, I mean, how long is it until sundown? Locally? I'm not from here and..."
The doctor frowned, then walked over to a window and peeked out between the expensive curtains.
"Looks like about another half an hour, maybe more."
"Well, I think a demonstration would be better than trying to describe it," sighed the young man. "So if you don't mind I'd rather wait."
"Hmm, you know, curses actually aren't in my line," said Dr. Frique, looking thoughtful. "You really need to speak with my uncle Quatrus. He's the current mystic of the family. Problem is, no-one's actually seen him in several weeks."
"Do you know if he's still alive?" asked Daryl, concerned.
"Well, something is taking in the trays of food we leave for him, and putting them back out in the hall later with the silverware neatly arranged on the plate," said Dr. Frique, with a slight smile. "Come on; we've got time, and I think he'd be interested in this."
"Let's go!" said Daryl, bouncing off the sofa. He wavered a bit and Dr. Frique caught his arm.
"Gently," said the Doctor. "Move slowly until you've recovered some more."
Once satisfied that the young man wasn't going to fall over, he turned and led the way. The walked across the room to a heavy wooden door; beyond which lay darkness. Dr. Frique flipped a switch on the wall, and Daryl winced a bit at the sudden, harsh light which resulted. Now, though, he could see some old but sturdy steps, leading down. The bare bulbs - all of them old-fashioned incandescents - hanging overhead cast stark illumination on the dusty wood, combining with the echoes bouncing back from the close stone walls to give a surreal air to the situation.
At the bottom of the steps Dr. Frique flipped another switch, turning on the overhead lights in a corridor leading left and right. However, these were office fluorescent fixtures. Of course, the construction was still mortared and well-fitted stone.
"An actual dungeon," said Daryl, startled.
"Well, it was designed to look like one," said Dr. Frique, with a fond smile. "My great-grandfather was an eccentric, but a practical one. This is actually a quite functional basement. The furnace and some storerooms are down here, as well as the heavier laboratory equipment. It's all well-drained, and air-conditioned. My uncle is a bit of a claustrophile, which is why his rooms are also down here. He doesn't like airy, open spaces."
As they proceeded left down the corridor Daryl imagined this uncle as resembling another uncle, famous from fiction.
The doors weren't labeled, but his guide knew where they were going. To the end, turn right, a few doors down, and they stopped. Dr. Frique pounded on the door.
"Uncle Quatrus! Open up! I've got a patient for you."
There was a pause, then the sound of muffled footsteps. Those stopped, and were followed by unlocking sounds. The door swung smoothly open, not making the ominous squeak Daryl expected. Instead of Uncle Fester Daryl found himself looking up at a man who might have been a fullback in college and still made a point of keeping in shape. He was very Russian in appearance, even to wearing a full, spade-shaped beard.
"Patient?" the big man rumbled, his beard twitching seemingly independently of his words. Some part of Daryl's brain noted there was no Russian accent.
"This young man says he has a curse. I wanted you to check him out, since that's more your field than mine."
"Hmph," the big man grunted. "Well, bring him in. Maybe this will be interesting."
The room inside was actually quite cozy, more a bachelor's apartment than an ascetic's cell. Despite Daryl's preconceptions it wasn't musty at all, but instead smelled faintly of incense. Tapestries covered the stone walls, some showing mundane scenes and some showing very odd ones, and while the drop ceiling of acoustic tile nearly brushed Uncle Quatrus' bushy hair it also quashed echoes and provided insulation. An indoor-outdoor carpet covered the floor. Besides the door they had entered by, there was another in each of the other three walls of the small but cozy square room.
"So, what's this curse?" Quatrus rumbled.
"Uh, well," said Daryl, glancing at his watch, "It's almost sundown. I think seeing it would be better than me trying to tell you."
"Activates at sundown, eh?" said Quatrus, now seeming mildly interested. "I suppose it reverses at sunup?"
"Yeah," said Daryl, sighing.
"You don't seem too affected by it." said Quatrus, leaning in a bit to examining the younger man. "I mean you are obviously not comfortable with the curse, but neither are you excessively concerned. Is is dangerous to bystanders?"
"No, sir," said Daryl, shaking his head.
Their host turned a chair in front of a small but expensive-looking home entertainment center around and invited the other two to take seats of their own across from his. Daryl wondered why he had multiple, matching chairs if he rarely had guests.
"So, how did you come by this curse?" Quatrus prompted, when Daryl didn't continue on his own.
"Uh, well, an ex-girlfriend put it on me," sighed Daryl, squirming uncomfortably between the arm rests. "Her name is Carol Weiss..."
"Is she a cabalist?" asked Quatrus, suddenly interested.
"A what?"
"What sort of wizard, warlock, witch or whatever was she?"
"I don't really know," said Daryl, shrugging. "She never told me. We'd been dating for a while, and I did something that really honked her off, and she stormed out. I didn't see her for a few days, and then she showed up back at my apartment. She was still angry, but smiling, which I guess should have made me realize something was up.
"Anyway, she told me she was going to teach me a lesson, and threw some powder in my face. While I was choking and coughing she chanted something. I felt this weird flush run through my whole body, and she laughed. Really weird laugh. That's the first time I've actually heard someone cackle outside a movie or TV show. She told me I'd earned this, and would have to live with it for the rest of my life.
"For a while I thought she'd poisoned me. I showered and changed clothes, and felt fine. Figured it was just her trying to put a scare in me. Then, at sundown, I changed for the first time."
"So it's a physical transformation?" said Quatrus.
"Oh, yeah," said Daryl, wincing.
"Hmph. This might just be interesting after all."
Uncle Quatrus questioned the young man for a while, but was mostly frustrated with the answers he got. Daryl refused to go into the actual nature of the curse, and simply didn't know any more about the woman who had placed it. Suddenly, Daryl stiffened.
"Okay, here it comes."
He quickly stood. Then, smoothly, his form changed, shrinking and shifting. In perhaps two seconds, where once had stood a young Caucasian man of average height, now stood a petit young Asian woman. She was quite cute, modestly endowed, with long, straight, black hair and big eyes. The other two also stood, reflexively, demonstrating both surprise and fascination.
"Oh, yes..." said Quatrus, nodding, grinning and eagerly rubbing his hands together. "That's magic, all right. Don't know whether I'd call that a curse - Rowr! - but it's definitely magic."
END Part One
Castle Freak: Part 2 2700 Words
Getting To Know Crew
by
Rodford Edmiston
"Hmmm..." said Uncle Quatrus.
"'Hmmm...'? repeated Daryl, concerned. Perhaps because the large man seemed to be staring at her chest.
"Hmmm..." Quatrus repeated, nodding. He straightened, which let Daryl relax a bit. "Quite interesting. Do you happen to know why she chose this particular form?"
"Well, yeah," said the cute, young woman, adjusting her posture uncomfortably. "I was looking at a magazine add for some of those Asian mail-order brides, and joked that I'd like to have one. She got mad and stormed out. Didn't say a word - didn't hear from her at all - until she showed up again with that powder, over a week later."
"Your jest seems in rather poor taste," said Dr. Frique, sternly, "but hardly sufficient motivation for placing a curse."
"Especially one which took this much work," mused Quatrus. He took a thoughtful stance and stared at Daryl for a long moment. "Your standard curse is a unitary thing. It may only take effect once, usually triggered by something, or it is continuous, triggered or active as soon as it is placed and going on until death or it is broken. Many curses have a condition of satisfaction, which makes them easier to place."
"A which?" asked Daryl
"A situation wherein the curse will be negated," explained Quatrus. He scowled, and rubbed his cheekbones with a finger and thumb in a pinching motion. "Making a permanent, physical change is quite difficult. If you include a loophole for returning to normal, it really isn't permanent, and therefore it takes less effort. This, though, is a repeating change..."
"So maybe I just need to figure out what to do to break the curse!" said Daryl, suddenly hopeful.
"Perhaps," said Quatrus, looking doubtful. "However, yours is something I've never seen before, nor heard nor read about. It is a cyclic, repeating curse, producing a complete physical change each time the triggering condition is met. Then it reverses when the loophole condition is met - that is, the sun rises - without being broken! It resembles the movie version of werewolfism."
"Is it a complete change?" Dr. Frique asked of Daryl as she stepped out of her shoes and picked them up.
"Well, yeah. I guess. I mean, all my parts are female parts."
"Externally, but have you had a gynecological exam?"
"No!" said Daryl, firmly, looking a bit outraged.
"That might be a good idea," said Quatrus. "Find out just how extensive the change really is. I mean, obviously the external shape is very different, but how far does it go? Right down to the genes?"
"Well, I'm not a gynecologist, but I am a licensed physician," said Dr. Frique. He glanced at Daryl. "I also probably know more about the human body - male and female - as a whole than most specialists. If you are willing, I'll do the exam. Two of them, actually; one for each form."
"Uh, I don't know," said Daryl. "How much is all this going to cost? I don't have much money..."
"Money isn't a problem for me," said Quatrus, with dismissive wave of his hand. "Like most family members I receive a generous stipend from a trust fund. Learning from studying you will be my payment."
"I'll do the exams for free," said Dr. Frique. "I must admit to being curious, also."
"Well, okay," said Daryl, doubtfully, "if you think it will help find a cure."
"No guarantees," said Quatrus, firmly. "I'll do the best I can, but a curse like this could be beyond my abilities."
"Okay," Daryl repeated, "I understand that. So far you're the only one who's had any idea of what's going on, so I'll stick with you."
"Do you have any clothing for that form?" asked Dr. Frique, glancing at the shoes in her hands.
"Uh, yeah, but it's pretty casual stuff; panties, shorts and some t-shirts," Daryl replied. "All indoor stuff, too, since I didn't really feel like leaving my apartment looking like this."
"Well, if you will loan me your keys I'll have Fritz - you haven't met him yet, he's our footman - bring your stuff to a room."
"Uh, okay," she said, cautiously digging into the pocket of her sagging pants.
"Good. I'll see to this; Quatrus, how much longer will you be?"
"Oh, I've done about all I can with her for now," he said. "I'll do some research tonight, place a few calls, send a few e-mails, summon a few spirits. Tomorrow I'll be able to really get started."
"Would tomorrow morning, about an hour after breakfast, be all right for the initial exam?" Dr. Frique asked Daryl. "I'll get baseline data on your male state, then after dark repeat the exam, this time including the gynecological work. Is that acceptable?"
"I suppose so," she sighed.
"Fine. If you come with me, then, I'll get you settled in your room," said Dr. Frique. He started to turn away, then turned back as something occurred to him. "Perhaps I should also have Winnie supply you with some appropriate clothes. Oh, and have you had supper?"
"Uh, yeah," she said. "I ate in that restaurant at the crossroads before heading up here."
"Uhm, fine," said Dr. Frique, looking thoughtful and distracted. "We generally live a quiet life around here. I do research or tinker in my labs until supper, perhaps for a while afterwards. My wife and I then read together in the den while listening to music, or occasionally watch a television program. Then bed by ten or eleven, up at seven, breakfast by eight, and repeat. Aside from those you've met and Fritz, there's also a cook and a general manservant. All long-time family retainers. By the way, what do you do for a living?"
"Uh, I'm an auto mechanic," she replied, looking a bit embarrassed. "Or I was, on my last job. I sort-of quit before starting here. Told my boss I didn't know when I'd be back. I've done lots of different jobs, though."
"That's actually quite fortuitous," said Dr. Frique, with a thoughtful nod. "If your stay becomes a long one you can earn your keep working on the estate vehicles and perhaps perform other tasks. We haven't had anyone in that position full-time since the start of World War Two. My cousin, Jimmy, took it over for a while as a hobby, but since he became involved in his own research interests he spends most of his time at Oak Ridge."
"Oak Ridge?" said Daryl, startled. "The atomic bomb place?"
"Well, I believe it does a considerable amount of research into other things besides nuclear weapons."
He chuckled, a something occurred to him.
"What?" said Daryl, warily.
"After your dual examinations tomorrow, perhaps you'll be the one to answer that age-old question," said Dr. Frique.
"Which is?"
"Whether a prostate exam or a pelvic exam is worse."
* * *
Daryl followed along behind her host, attention divided between keeping her oversized clothing under control and gazing at the understated opulence of the castle. So when Dr. Frique stopped suddenly, she walked into him.
"Sorry," she mumbled, embarrassed.
"Ah, Fritz," said Dr. Frique, ignoring her gaffe. "There you are."
Daryl took a step back and looked past Dr. Frique. And looked up. And up. And up. At the biggest man she'd ever seen. He wasn't just tall; he bulked larger than any body builder, and none of it appeared to be fat. She stared speechless as Dr. Frique handed him the keys.
"This is our guest, Mr. Potts. His car is in the garage. Please put his luggage in the guest room across from the second floor lavatory."
"Yes, Mr. Frique," the giant rumbled.
"Now, we must find my wife." Dr. Frique started off in a different direction. After a stunned moment, Daryl hurried after him.
"Winnie!" the doctor called out. "Oh, Winnie!"
"Here I am, dear!" she responded, approaching through an outside door.
They were in the kitchen, a large, Medieval-looking place with a quite modern assortment of food preparation equipment.
"Dear, this is Mr. Potts. As you can see, he does indeed have a curse."
"Oh, my!" said Winnie, peering at Daryl. "Is that really you in there, Mr. Potts?"
"Yeah, I'm afraid so," she sighed.
"Dear, do you think you can find her some clothes?"
"Hmmm, you know, I just might be able to. She's shorter than I used to be, but about the same build." Suddenly smiling, she grabbed Daryl's hand and began towing her away. "Come along, dear. We'll soon have you all fixed up!"
Up the kitchen stairs they went, then down a hall which looked like something straight out of a luxury hotel. They reached a room with the door open, just as Fritz was exiting.
"His luggage has been placed in the room," the big man intoned.
"Oh, thank you, Fritz," gushed Winnie. She watched in silence for a moment as he turned and lumbered off, then grinned impishly at Daryl. "Isn't he marvelous? My husband built him, you know."
"He built..." was all the confused Daryl managed to get out before once more being seized by the hand and dragged off.
Once inside the room Winnie stopped abruptly, spun around, closed the door, spun *back* around and continued. Daryl meanwhile was marveling at the room. It was quite large, and except for being a bit too frilly for peace of mind looked like it would be a very comfortable place to stay for a few days. She put the shoes down next to the closet door.
"Now, do you have anything feminine to wear already?" asked Winnie, staring at the two battered suitcases on the floor in front of the closet.
"Mostly just stuff to sleep in, and some casual things," Daryl sighed.
"Well, you start unpacking and I'll go fetch my measuring tape and some other things," Winnie told her. "Be right back!"
Indeed, Daryl had barely started hanging things in the closet when the door opened with a suddenness which caused her to give a startled jump. In bounced Winnie, sewing basket in one hand, the other arm wrapped around a bundle of female clothing.
"Now, first, we must get your measurements. I hope you're not shy, because you simply must remove those bulky things for this to be accurate."
Actually, Daryl was shy, at least under these circumstances. However, the part-time female proceeded to remove her shirt, pants and socks with as much pretense of casualness as she could manage. The smiling Winnie waited patiently until she was finished, then pounced, in quick succession wrapping the tape around several different portions of Daryl's petit anatomy and making notations on her pad.
"Well, you're certainly better endowed than I was," Winnie tittered, looking at the figures. "However, I think we can manage."
She turned and began digging into her sewing basket. Daryl took advantage of her distraction to discretely doff her jockeys and slip into a pair of panties.
That was just in time. Winnie whirled around with a broad strip of heavy fabric and a handful of safety pins.
"Well, you really don't need a brassier for support, but I think you would prefer something concealing, yes? So here's what we will do, at least for the meantime; if you decide you really want a bra later I can go with you to a store and help you find one the correct size. As well as some shoes, if nothing else."
Daryl opened her mouth to accept, but Winnie lunged in, shoving the band at her chest, then deftly moving behind her to pull it snug.
"Too tight? Well, of course it is!" she loosened the strap a bit. "Better? Good. Now, I'll pin it, then take it off and sew it. Raise your arms, dear, so I can slip it off."
This woman must be part hummingbird, was Daryl's dizzy thought.
"What do you mean, you used to be smaller?" she asked, trying to both make conversation and satisfy her curiosity, as her hostess stitched. "Is Dr. Frique a plastic surgeon?"
"Oh, my, of course not!" Winnie replied, with a giggle. She paused for a moment, suddenly looking thoughtful. "Though I suppose you could say he is in a sense. Well, anyway, he gave me this body for my fiftieth birthday!"
"Gave you..." was all Daryl managed before once more being instructed to raise her arms.
On went the strap. It felt quite strange, but after a few moments felt much more comfortable than standing there with her tits hanging in the breeze. Winnie nodded, then set to work on outerwear. In a matter of minutes Daryl had three blouses and two pair of slacks that fit reasonably well, plus two skirts.
"I don't think I'll be needing those," she said, doubtfully of the latter.
"Oh, but they show off your legs!" said Winnie. "You have such a nice pair, you should flaunt time. You'll have the boys following you in droves!
"Oh, wait," she corrected herself, suddenly remembering. "I'm such a silly. You probably don't want them doing that."
She paused, frowning.
"Or do you?"
"No," said Daryl, firmly. "Definitely not!"
Though there was something in her tone the older woman missed.
"Well, I still think you should try the skirts," said Winnie, firmly. "For reasons of aesthetics, if nothing else. Well! I think that's enough for now. I'll work on getting you some proper clothes tomorrow, including some dresses! Oh, and makeup. Definitely makeup. Not that you need much, but you'd be surprised at the difference just a little of the right shade in the right place will make!"
Off she went, leaving Daryl alone and feeling both confused and overwhelmed.
* * *
Breakfast the next morning was fairly mundane, except for Winnie making a bit of a fuss over Daryl being male again. They were in a sunny little breakfast nook, on one corner of the ground level of the castle, off the kitchen. Quatrus was not present, and none of the servants ate with them, though Daryl did finally get to meet the cook, Babette, as she served them. Afterwards, Winnifred left to get an early start on her gardening, while Daryl and Dr. Frique lingered over coffee.
"This is wonderful," Daryl sighed, as he perused the sports section. "I've been so worried about this curse the past few weeks I haven't been able to relax. I guess I needed some time off."
"That's the first time I've ever heard anyone imply that life here is relaxing," chuckled Dr. Frique.
The outside door opened and Daryl looked up to see Oliver enter.
"Mornin'," he said, nodding to both men.
Without preamble he sat down and started on the leftover bacon.
"Mmmm, just the way I like it; nice and rare."
"Okay, this may sound stupid, but were you really the wolf I heard talking yesterday?" Daryl ventured.
"Yep," Oliver muttered through a full mouth.
"So you're under a curse, too."
"Nope. Runs in the family. Bein' able t'change is considered comin' into the full birthright."
"And you just... change back and forth."
"Yep," grinned the grizzled man. "That's why it's not a curse."
"This is weird," said Daryl, to no-one in particular. "I go my whole life - well, I'm just twenty-three, but still - without seeing anything supernatural. Then, in less than two months I'm cursed, and meet a real, live werewolf."
"There's more of this stuff around than y'think," said Oliver, philosophically. "Folks involved in such matters don't generally advertise it. Course, I gotta admit, this family sees more of the interestin' side of life than most."
"My father used to say that our family came out even," said Dr. Frique. "We were blessed with genius and good fortune, in return for attracting the bizarre."
"Yeah, that sounds like him," chuckled Oliver. He shook his head wryly. "Damn, I miss him. He was like a younger brother to me. Though even I have to admit he had about as much of the social graces as a badger in heat."
"What happened to him?" asked Daryl, no longer distracted by evidence that everyone here was much older than they appeared.
"He got hunted down by an angry mob carrying pitchforks and torches," said Dr. Frique.
"When did that happen?" demanded Daryl, aghast.
"When didn't it happen?" was Oliver's sour comment. "Only this time it took."
"Uh..." said Daryl.
"Well, I think it's time for your male exam," said Dr. Frique. Since he seemed to be deliberately interrupting the conversation Daryl didn't object.
"You do know about my curse, right?" said Daryl, looking back at Oliver as he followed the Doctor.
"You change into an Asian girl," said Oliver, nodding. "Don't worry. I won't eat you by mistake."
Daryl knew he was joking. He had to be joking...
Crew, Lewd and Loud
by
Rodford Edmiston
That evening Daryl and Dr. Frique were back in the dungeon, at the entrance to Quatrus' lair.
The door opened shortly after Dr. Frique knocked. Quatrus seemed eager to see them.
"I have most of the test results," the younger Frique announced, waving a pair of manila folders, as his uncle ushered them in. "The DNA tests aren't ready yet, but I suspect they'll show Daryl's female form to be a normal, human, Asian woman."
"Hmmmm, yes..." muttered Quatrus, flipping quickly through the papers. "Two folders, eh? Makes sense. Except for the memory it seems we're dealing with two entirely different people. That brings up some interesting philosophical points about identity, but discussing those isn't going to help the patient."
He looked up at Daryl, blinked, looked again, and blinked again.
"Ah, excuse me for asking, but why are you wearing a dress?"
"It was Winnie's idea," sighed Daryl, unconsciously tugging at the fabric. "She said the pad would show if I wore slacks."
"You're not..."
"No, I'm not," said Daryl, tightly, glaring at Dr. Frique.
"Look, I already apologized, and that was after warning you I wasn't a practicing gynecologist," he replied, rolling his eyes.
"So, what..." began Quatrus.
"It hadn't occurred to me that she would be a virgin. Worse, she jumped, and caused me to tear her hymen."
"Oh..." said Quatrus, mildly boggled.
"If you don't mind, I'll leave you two to discuss the mystical aspects of this situation. Good night." Dr. Frique nodded, turned and hurried off. He seemed uncomfortable.
"You know what's really weird?" asked Daryl, after the doctor had left. "Winnie was there as chaperone. When Dr. Frique explained what happened, she patted my hand and said 'Oh, you poor dear. Well, at least now you won't have to worry about it on your wedding night.'"
Quatrus burst out laughing.
"That's classic Winnie!"
"What's wrong with her, anyway?" asked Daryl, baffled. "And what's this about Dr. Frique making her body?"
"Well, Winnie used to be rather... flat," said Quatrus, motioning Daryl to a chair in front of the large desk in the center of his main room, a piece of furniture which also seemed to serve as eating table and work bench. He took a seat behind it. Considerately, he had already moved his computer keyboard and screen aside. "She often wished out loud she were more shapely. So, on her fiftieth birthday, Richard announced he had a surprise for her. He'd taken a sample of her DNA and tinkered with it, then force-grown a cloned body with some - ah - enhancements. He offered it to her; she accepted. Dr. Frique decanted the body and transferred her into it with a mind-switching machine he had invented years before."
"So what went wrong?" asked Daryl, mildly surprised that she wasn't very surprised by this extraordinary tale.
"If you mean her being scatterbrained, she's always been like this. She's actually rather intelligent; she just has an excitable personality and doesn't always - well, rarely - think things through."
"Wait a minute!" said Daryl, excitedly. "Could he make a clone of my normal, male self and..."
Quatrus was already shaking his head.
"Curses tend to follow the soul. And you better hope the soul follows the mind, or you're in great trouble."
"Oh..." said Daryl, deflating. "Well, did you learn anything which could help me?"
"Perhaps. I have determined the true nature of the curse, and it is quite astounding."
"Huh?"
"I must say, your situation is unique, and not just in my own experience," the older man continued, leaning back in his chair, expression contemplative. "Nothing like this is mentioned in any of my references, and all those I contacted found it equally mysterious. Apparently, this ex-girlfriend of yours is either a total amateur or one of the master wizards of all time."
"Uh... that doesn't sound like her," said Daryl, confused. "Either one. What..."
"Let me explain how this curse works, and you can decide for yourself," humphed Quatrus. "At sundown, you are recreated into this form you wear now. At sunup you are recreated into the form you wore just before the curse became effective."
Daryl thought about this. She wasn't stupid, and could tell Quatrus considered that information important. Then something dawned.
"You mean... I get changed into the same form each time. Not that I... resume that form, taking it up where I left off."
"That's it," said Quatrus, nodding and beaming. "Which means that tomorrow evening you will again be - by some definitions - a virgin. Have you noticed if any cuts or bruises or any other injuries aren't there when you change back?"
"I can't think of anything in particular," mused Daryl. "I suppose I can wait until tomorrow night and see if I'm still sore inside."
"Please note whether this is the case, and be sure to tell me," said Quatrus, eagerly. "I'm not certain, but I believe you are now effectively immortal."
"Huh?"
"You could be mortally wounded - perhaps even dead for a while - and at sunup or sundown - which ever occurs first - you would change into either a perfectly healthy young man or a perfectly healthy young woman."
"Wow..." Daryl was a bit overwhelmed by this information.
"So you can see, this curse is truly astounding," Quatrus continued, beaming excitedly. "Not only did it require massive power, but mind-boggling complexity. Either your friend is a grand master of sorcery, or a total novice who accidentally stumbled onto something or perhaps read something out of an ancient tome without truly understanding what it did."
"Okay, I'm glad you're happy," said Daryl, cautiously, "but it looks like I'm going to be stuck like this for a while. Which means I'm going to be here for a while. So I'd like some questions answered."
"Such as?"
"Uhm, well..." Daryl waved her hands vaguely. "What is it with this family?"
"My grandfather was a doctor and medical researcher in France. He came to this country during the French Revolution."
"Uh, wait a minute... Wasn't that in the early Eighteenth Century?"
"It started in 1789," Quatrus provided.
"There don't seem to be enough generations in there for the years," Daryl blurted.
"Grandfather Frique was a genius. Besides being a doctor he was an alchemist and a white magician. One of his first inventions was a longevity potion. My father - his son - improved it, and Richard has improved it further."
"Wow!" said Daryl. "You could make a fortune selling that!"
"We have. Several. However, the potion is expensive, difficult to make and occasionally has some strange side effects. Also, many of those who hold power do not wish the masses to have access to such a nostrum. So we tend to keep quiet about our achievements, and reach an understanding with those in power who learn of us. They pay us exorbitant fees for the potion and other medical treatments they can't get elsewhere, and we don't go public."
"Y'know, that explains a few things," mused Daryl. She grimaced. "Like how some politicians seem to go on forever."
"Well, longer than they should," said Quatrus, with a sour expression, "then they tend to die of rare and strange illnesses, because they're too important to follow the regimine.
"Getting back to the family history, Grandfather Frique thought at first that he wouldn't have to leave France, since only the nobility and public officials were being arrested. However, as the Terror became more hysterical all men of learning and/or wealth were targeted. So Grandfather packed his family and belongings, and scuttled off across the Atlantic to America. A few years later he settled here, and built the Old House."
"That's the building on the hill back there, in the woods."
"Yes. We keep it up but it's mostly used for storage these days. His oldest son, Charles - my father and Richard's grandfather - started building the castle. He wanted something which was appropriate for what he perceived the family's status to be, and which would also serve to protect us from events such as those which forced his father to leave France. Later on it also served as a useful place to conceal the works various family members have engaged in.
"There's nothing like being perceived as a harmless eccentric to keep people from noticing something they might think sinister," Quatrus finished, smiling tightly.
"Uh, yeah," said Daryl, feeling quite creeped out. "So, uh, does knowing what my curse is give you any idea how to cure it?"
"Why do you want it cured?" asked Quatrus, surprised. "You won't age, injuries will last only until the sun goes down or comes up..."
"Yeah, but I'm a woman half the time," Daryl protested.
"Half the population is female all the time, and still manages," said Quatrus, shrugging. "If you do stay on here, as you seemed to indicate you plan to, your bi-gendered state is already known and accepted."
"Well, yeah, but..." Daryl sighed, and continued in a small voice. "I'm starting to feel... girly..."
"Ah. I'd wondered about that," said Quatrus, nodding and smiling. "Physically you are a healthy young female, and likely heterosexual or perhaps bisexual. The body guides the mind, after all. Have you found yourself admiring men?"
Daryl bit her lip, and nodded silently.
"What about masturbation?" Quatrus pursued, leaning forward. He may have had more than dispassionate interest. "Do you find yourself fanaticizing about men or women when you masturbate as a woman?"
"Well, at first it was women," said Daryl, in a tiny voice, "but lately..."
"Umph. You should be grateful to your ex-girlfriend that she didn't have a viscous streak. She could have given you the sex drive of a mink." Quatrus chuckled. "I don't recall you saying anything about being compelled to have sex with men, so I'm assuming you have roughly normal desires and will power."
"I guess so," sighed Daryl. "What's really weird is that I get so... so curious. I mean, wouldn't you be?"
"Probably," said Quatrus. He laughed again, and smiled at Daryl. Only it was more of a leer. "Well, if you decide to satisfy that curiosity you shouldn't have a problem. You are both attractive and somewhat exotic."
"Uh, yeah," said Daryl, suddenly very much desiring to be somewhere else. "I realize that."
"I suppose it's too much to ask to keep this particular old lecher in mind as a partner in that particular experiment?"
"No offense, but you're really not my type," squeaked Daryl.
"Humph," said Quatrus, frowning, "and now I've frightened you. I apologize. I assure you, though my libido is strong, I am a gentleman."
"I'm very glad of that," said Daryl.
END Part Three
One Crew Over The Cuckoo's Nest
by
Rodford Edmiston
The small, Asian woman was provocatively dressed, in heels, a slinky, low-cut dress and a modest amount of both jewelry and makeup. She sat at the bar, sipping a Scotch and soda which was mostly Scotch. Waiting.
"Evenin', ma'am," said Oliver, as he walked into the Frique family den.
The werewolf stepped behind the antique oak bar and pulled a bottled beer out of the refrigerator. He turned to the bar and used the opener mounted on one of the supports, below the counter. Which left him almost face-to-face with Daryl.
"Oliver, how long have I been her?" asked Daryl, blurting it out. She giggled, obviously more than a little tipsy. "I mean, 'here'? Talk about your Freudian slips..."
Daryl took an unusually large swallow of her drink.
"A little over three months, ma'am," the werewolf told her, setting his bottle on the bar across from her.
"With the time before I found this place, that makes about four months," said Daryl, nodding, as she took another - less generous -sip. She stared into her drink for a moment. "Each time I take this form, I'm feeling a little more feminine."
"Ah suspect this is leadin' up to somethin'," said Oliver.
"It sure is." Daryl looked him in the eye. "Would have sex with me?"
"Ma'am, yo're drunk," said Oliver, gently.
"No shit!" said Daryl, with a drunken giggle. "You think I could say something like that when I was sober?!"
"Well, come back and ask agin' when you are sober," said Oliver, still gently, but quite firmly. "Ah won't have it said I took advantage of a lady while she was in her cups."
"Hey, I decided this while I was not only sober, but male!" said Daryl, just as firmly. "When I'm a guy you don't do anything for me... well, you scare me sometimes. Uh... Oh, yeah: but when I'm a girl..."
She stopped, foundering. Oliver chuckled.
"Must be that old animal magnetism," he offered.
"No, I'm serious," said Daryl. "That's why I dressed up. The other night I started thinking about you. In... the Biblical sense, if you get what I mean. I realized you turn me on. Uh, the girl me."
"Ah'm flattered," said Oliver, sincerely, "and Ah admit you look particularly attractive tonight. Ah still won't bed a woman who's too drunk to appreciate my skills."
"Ooh, modest, too," said Daryl, grinning.
"If'n you approach me agin, tomorrow night, sober, it's a definite possibility Ah'll accept yore offer," said Oliver. "Afore you do that there's some things you need to know."
"Let me guess: you do it doggy style." Daryl laughed so hard at her own joke she almost fell off the stool.
"Ah can, but that's not mah favorite position," said Oliver, dryly. "Ah prefer to see my partner's face."
"Oh, sorry," said Daryl, shaking her head. "I think I drank a little too much courage."
"Ah've gotten in the habit of usin' the bed just for sleepin'," said Oliver.
"Uh?" said Daryl, who was easily confused due to her pickled thought processes.
"Wolves don't mate where they sleep; that's a human perversion. So if you don't mind the rug in front of the fireplace..." Oliver was gently stroking her forearm with his fingertips, an activity Daryl found strangely distracting.
"Uh, no," she said straightening, and shaking her head again. "That's fine. If you want to do it. On a rug, I mean. Wow."
She laughed. Then looked him in the eye.
"The way you do that, I think you do. And now I really do."
"Ah'll let you know tomorrow evening," said Oliver. He smiled, took a long swig from his bottle, and walked out with it.
* * *
"I think I abused your hospitality, last night," said Daryl, embarrassed. "I started drinking some of your Scotch and had trouble stopping."
"That's not a problem," said Dr. Frique, distractedly waving the matter away as he worked at his lab bench. "We keep the good stuff locked away for special occasions."
"Okay, if that's not the good stuff I need to learn more about Scotch," said Daryl. "Anyway, I finished with the MG. Runs like a fine watch, now. Carburetor just needed some cleaning and lubricating."
"Fine! I'll take it for a test drive this afternoon."
"Anything else you want me to do?" asked Daryl. "That's the last car which needed work, for the time being."
"Uhm, no, I can't think of anything," said Dr. Frique, finally looking up at him. "You might ask Winnie if she knows of anything. Or even Quatrus."
"I'll do that," said Daryl, nodding.
* * *
"Oh, dear, yes," said Winnie. "The lawn tractor hasn't worked in simply ages. We have to hire someone to come in and cut the lawn, and it's so hard to get them back after one or two times."
Daryl could understand why, but refrained from saying so.
"I'll get right on it," he promised.
"Excellent! I just love to ride that little tractor around our lawn. Not only does it let me cut the grass, and have a good look around in comfort, but it's the only driving I get to do since I lost my license."
Daryl thought about asking how she lost her license, but decided that, knowing her, the answer probably involved destruction of considerable amounts of private and public property, aggravated by local prejudice against the Friques. Instead, he nodded, smiled and headed for the garage.
* * *
The combustion occurring in the fireplace added the only noticeable sounds, and those were limited to the gentle ruffling of the flames punctuated by an occasional soft pop.
"I have to admit," sighed Daryl, speaking in almost a whisper, "this is the most romantic lovemaking I've ever experienced."
She looked Oliver in the eye for a moment, then kissed him on the lips. She was thoughtfully silent for a while, gazing into his eyes, before speaking again.
"Aren't you going to ask me how it was?"
"Ah kin tell you enjoyed it," he replied, gravelly voice grating softly. "Even in human form, my senses are keener than a human's. Besides, even a human can tell the diff'rence between a scream of pain and a scream of pleasure."
"Don't tell me I'm a screamer," groaned Daryl.
The big man just chuckled.
"You didn't seem to have any pain, either. From what Ah heard..."
"The followup exam showed that my hymen is pretty dilated, already, so I barely felt anything from that," said Daryl. She gave a tired laugh. "Wow, I've learned to be pretty clinical about some pretty intimate biology since I started living here."
Daryl sighed, and started to unwrap herself from her lover's hairy arms.
"Where y'goin'?"
"Back to my room," said Daryl.
"Y'kin spend the night, if'n ya want," murmured Oliver, his accent thickening as he approached sleep.
"Not unless you want to wake up with a man in your bed in the morning," said Daryl, with a nervous laugh.
"Nothin' wrong with that," Oliver observed, sitting up, a bit more awake now. "Wolves sleep together for companionship and warmth. There were plenty of times when I huddled with other men during the War. Sometimes, it was the only way to survive the night."
"World War Two?" asked Daryl, curious.
"One," said Oliver, with a smug grin. "Oh, don't look so surprised. Shapeshifters tend to live longer than humans. All that changin' and the extra healin' we have, y'know."
"So you haven't been into Dr. Frique's longevity potion."
"Probably wouldn't work on me," said Oliver, giving her a careless shrug.
Daryl sat silently for a moment, then calmly hugged the werewolf and gave him a long, passionate kiss.
"Tonight was wonderful. Thank you. However, I do want to get back to my room. I have a feeling when I wake up male in the morning I'm gonna want to be alone for a while. Then, after that, I'll likely want to do stuff to reassert my masculinity. I can tell you, though, that I would really enjoy doing this again, another time."
"Well, sure," chuckled Oliver, "my pleasure. Literally. Next time, if'n yore feelin' particular adventurous, I'll change some."
"Uh..." said Daryl, finding the offer strangely tempting. "I'll have to think about that."
* * *
"How did it do?" asked Daryl, grinning, as Winnie returned from mowing the large lawn the next afternoon.
"Oh, that was wonderful!" she gushed. "However, now that I've seen some areas for the first time in months I realize that they need work. Could you take the truck into town and get some supplies for me?"
"No problem," said Daryl. "Just give me a list and some money to buy the stuff."
* * *
"'Sure, I'll do it,'" muttered Daryl, as he lugged his fifth bag of grass seed to the Frique's farm truck. "'Just give me a list.' A list two pages long!"
When he'd seen the list, and the wad of money which went with it, he'd been rather startled. Winnie told him she thought that would be enough, and if there was any left over to buy himself a treat. Daryl had been careful to lock most of the cash in the glove box, only pocketing two of the hundreds.
The local co-op had most of what Winnie wanted, and people who helped load what Daryl bought. The particular variety of grass requested, though, was out of stock there. So, after making sure everything already loaded was secured, Daryl drove to a local landscaping store. They had the grass, but nobody to help load.
Finally finished, Daryl leaned against the edge of the truck bed and wiped a dirty, sweaty arm across his equally dirty, sweaty brow. He made a mental note to buy a sweatband with the extra money. And, while he was at it, more jeans and t-shirts. The pair of the former he wore had come through with no major problems, but he'd stained the old undershirt Winnie had given him with something he didn't think would wash out.
"Sorry I couldn't help you," said the young woman who had sold him the bags of seed, speaking quietly. "The boss won't let me lift anything heavy. Last time I did, he threatened to fire me."
She smiled, and took a quick look around.
"I don't think he wants to admit I can lift more than him," she continued, more quietly.
Daryl didn't doubt she could. She was obviously fit; not heavily muscled but enough to show. Daryl felt a bit envious. No matter how hard he exercised, he'd never be better built than he was now. Every morning, he reset to the way he'd been when the curse was placed. He was just glad that - doing the work he did - he'd already been reasonably fit himself.
"That's okay," he told her. "There wasn't that much of it. Say, can I get you something? There's an ice cream shop just over there, and we could both use a break."
"Sure!" she replied, beaming in a way which made Daryl feel very manly, indeed. "I'll just tell my boss. I'm Dorothy, by the way. People call me Dot."
She had a root beer float. He had a vanilla milkshake. They talked, casually. Dot lived in town, and was trying to save enough to buy a car.
"Don't know how I'm gonna get home this afternoon," she sighed. "Walk, I guess. I need a job to get a car, but you can't get a good job without a car to take you to it."
"I still have some shopping to do," Daryl volunteered. "What time do you get off work?"
* * *
Her apartment wasn't all that far from the landscaping store, just a few block. The place was nice, if low-income.
"You can see walking it isn't a big problem," Dot explained, as she opened the door. "Wait here a moment; I've gotta make sure the cat's locked in the bedroom. She doesn't like strangers."
Daryl watched her rear admiringly as she entered, feeling that he just might get lucky this afternoon. Only that reminded him of something else. What time was it, anyway? He didn't have a watch on, and the clock in the truck was broken. Glancing around, he saw red sunset light reflected off a nearby building, and started at the realization that more time had passed than he thought. Too much time. Before he could do more than realize that, there came the slight dizziness and disorientation preceding one of the sundown or sunup changes. Daryl groaned in frustration as breasts and hips pushed out, waist narrowed, hair lengthened, and an overall shrinking took place.
Daryl stared down at her stained undershirt, actually pulling the neck out to stare at her breasts, as if to make sure they were really there. She groaned again, then heard a gasp. She looked up to see Dot standing in the doorway, eyes and mouth making a triangle of circles.
"Ah," said Daryl, desperately, "I suppose you want an explanation. As soon as I think of a good one I'll it tell you."
End Part 4
Crews Ship
by
Rodford Edmiston
"A curse?" said Dot, after Daryl insisted on being private before revealing any secrets.
Dot might have been foolish complying, but curiosity can sometimes override even survival instincts. Besides, Daryl had been a fun and mannerly companion so far. Hopefully, being female wouldn't change that.
"Well, yeah," sighed the uncomfortably female Daryl. "I've been working at the Frique place..."
"Well, that explains things!" humphed Dot.
"Ah, no; I went there to try and get help for the curse," Daryl explained.
"Oh; well, that place always did attract weirdness."
"So... You're from here?"
"Yes. Now, stop trying to change the subject. Explain!"
Daryl did so, then summed up.
"Anyway, I turn into a girl at sundown and back to normal at dawn." Daryl sighed and rose, unconsciously shifting her undershirt to try and produce a less revealing arrangement. "Now I better head back. I don't want to be out at night in this body, dressed like this."
"Welcome to the club," was Dot's sour comment. She suddenly looked thoughtful. "Wait a minute. I'll be right back."
She went into the bedroom. A cat darted out, unnoticed by her, and ran under the couch. Moments later she returned with a work shirt.
"Here; you can use this," Dot announced, holding out the shirt.
"Ah, thanks," said Daryl, taking the shirt and pulling it on. "Don't know when I can get it back to you."
"Well, you know where I work and where I live," said Dot, with a shrug.
"Thanks," Daryl repeated, in a neutral tone.
"I don't believe it," said Dot, staring at Daryl's chest as her guest finished buttoning the shirt. "You fill that out better than I do!"
"Tell me about it," sighed Daryl.
She stood awkwardly for a moment, then started for the door. And tripped over the cat. Which she didn't see because she had her head turned to say goodbye to Dot. Daryl fell awkwardly, barely missing the feline, then cried out in pain and curled up into a ball.
"Ow! Shit! Ow!"
"Oh, God!" Dot exclaimed, kneeling beside Daryl. "Are you all right?"
"Damn, damn, damn," groaned Daryl. "I landed on my left tit. With my right arm under it. Ow! Four months of being a girl half the time and I'm still not used to it. Ow!"
Dot gently helped her to sit up, then began undressing her. Daryl was in such a haze of pain that this process didn't really register at first. However, as the undershirt slid across her abused mammary the new spike of pain made Daryl realize she was sitting on the floor, half naked, while a woman she had just met examined her injury.
"That doesn't look bad at all," muttered Dot, looking irritated. "I doubt you'll even have a bruise."
She eyed Daryl suspiciously.
"You sure you're not faking it?"
"No!" said Daryl emphatically, uneasily covering herself with her hands. "This really hurts."
"Hmph. I'd hate to see how you'd react to a titty twist," smirked Dot.
"Ow!" said Daryl, in sudden empathy, having seen this done a couple of times.
"Here," said Dot, handing over the undershirt.
Feeling strangely shy, Daryl pulled the undershirt on, wincing a bit. Then the work shirt.
"I'm surprised you're not more freaked out by this," she muttered, looking up at Dot.
"Well, you're a nice g... Uh, person. Besides, Sheba likes you.
Daryl looked at the cat, who was sniffing at her cuff.
"More likely she likes something I got on my jeans," said Daryl. "Besides, she just tried to kill me."
"Well, that's one way cats show affection," snickered Dot.
She grabbed the cat and began ruffling her fur. Sheba protested mildly at first, then gave in to the sheer pleasure. Daryl couldn't help but grin.
"I really do need to be going," said Daryl. "Thank you. I'll get the shirt back soon."
"Thank you," said Dot. "I thought this was going to be just another boring day, but you bought me a float... and then changed into a girl!"
"Yeah," sighed Daryl, though she smiled at Dot's grin, "I'm the life of the party."
* * *
"We were beginning to worry about you," said Mrs. Frique, as Daryl finally got back.
"I got delayed doing someone a favor," she explained. "Guess I'll have to unload the truck tomorrow. Don't think I have the upper body strength for that right now."
"That's all right," said Mrs. Frique, beaming. "You go and get cleaned up and changed. Supper will be ready soon."
"'Get changed,'" Daryl muttered under her breath. "Already did that tonight."
In the shower Daryl examined her injury more carefully. Contrary to Dot's prediction, she found the beginnings of a bruise, but it didn't look like it would be too bad. Besides, by morning it would be gone, because the breast would be gone. It was still quite tender, though, and Daryl felt no desire to play with herself, something she normally did in the shower.
Putting a bra on was an interesting experience in torment.
"I thought women were supposed to be better at standing pain than men," Daryl muttered, as she gingerly shifted the undergarment around, trying to find a position which was comfortable.
Walking was also painful, especially if she moved as quickly as was her wont. A sore breast bouncing around inside a bra slightly too large turned out to be quite painful. Daryl made a mental note to get some bras of her own, and stop using those Mrs. Frique had altered for her. The woman had generously taken in the straps, but the cups were still a bit oversized, even for fem-Daryl's ample bosom.
As she started (Carefully!) down the stairs, wearing a simple, flower-print dress and sandals, Daryl remembered something: the leftover money. She stopped in the kitchen to fetch the keys from the hook board, telling Mrs. Frique and Babette what she was doing.
Night was well under way by this time, and the barn where the truck was kept had no lights. Which was not really a problem. Daryl knew the place fairly well by now. Not too far off she heard a wolf howl, and shivered. However, she also smiled, knowing that Oliver was on guard. She remembered his invitation, and wondered what sex would be like, really doing it doggie style.
Smiling, and not a little aroused, Daryl entered the barn and went to the passenger door of the farm truck. It was unlocked, as expected, while the glove box was locked, as expected. Daryl inserted and turned the key, took out the wad of cash, and impishly stuck it down her cleavage. Well, the dress didn't have pockets...
She closed the small door, climbed out, closed the passenger door, and turned to leave the barn. Then stopped, thinking she heard something. No, definitely, there was something moving in the back of the barn.
"Oliver?" she asked, tentatively, backing away.
Something large and vaguely human shaped came surging out of the darkness.
"Oliver!" Daryl screamed, turning to run.
She didn't make it.
* * *
Daryl came slowly and painfully awake. There was light, and movement, and voices, so she suspected she was back in the house. Opening her eyes was a test of will, and required 3 tries. Finally, she could see that she was in Dr. Frique's examining room, lying on her stomach on the table.
"Ow?" she tried.
"Don't move," said Dr. Frique, quickly. "You were pretty badly injured. I stopped the bleeding and gave you a large dose of pain killer, but am leaving my treatment at that, since you will revert at dawn."
"What... was that?" she croaked.
Dr. Frique motioned for Mrs. Frique to do something. Moments later a straw was presented to Daryl's mouth. A few sips were all she could manage, but that helped muchly.
"Exactly what your attacker was is unknown," said Dr. Frique. "Some sort of biological construct. It even gave Oliver trouble. Which is why we took so long getting you back here. He had to rest and heal some, then howl for help. By then we were looking for both of you. The howls told us where to look."
"Will he be all right?"
"Oh, yes," said Dr. Frique, with a slight smile. "Though he'll in a sour mood most of tomorrow, I expect."
"I'll have to thank him," said Daryl, surprising herself as she realized exactly how she planned to do this.
Dr. Frique looked at his watch.
"You were unconscious for several hours," he informed her. "Dawn should be breaking in just a few minutes."
"Hallelujah," groaned Daryl.
As promised, shortly afterwards Daryl felt the familiar sensations of the curse taking effect. Immediately after that, he sat up, feeling quite fine, physically. Mentally was another matter.
"I feel like I've rested but haven't slept," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck and wincing as partly-dried blood came away on his hand. He was in a too-small exam gown, rather than the dress.
"You were unconscious, not asleep," said Dr. Frique, always glad to explain. "Sleep is not unconsciousness, but an altered state of consciousness."
He moved forward and examined Daryl's neck, then had him perform some simple tasks. Daryl was embarrassed when he spotted the wad of bills lying on a nearby table. Naturally, they had found those when changing her into the exam gown. He gathered them and handed them over to Mrs. Frique.
"Amazing," said Dr. Frique, after observing Daryl's ability to perform the tests. "I didn't say anything at the time because I didn't want to alarm you, but your spine was damaged. Without the transformation, you would have been at least partially paralyzed."
"So there are some benefits to this mess." Daryl nodded, then stood, gathering the remains of his dress and bra. "If you don't mind, I'm going to go shower, then have breakfast. You know how I'm always hungry when I first change back."
"Yes," said Dr. Frique, looking thoughtful, "and then I want you to come with me down to the lab."
* * *
"That's what attacked me?!" said Daryl, shying back as Dr. Frique whipped the sheet off the prone form on the lab table.
The thing was quite large, quite furry, and quite dead. Oliver had done a thorough job on killing the thing. Very thorough...
"Looks like it's part bear and part gorilla," said Daryl, edging closer.
"Yes, and part a few other things, too," said Dr. Frique. "For instance, The claws are extensible, like a cat's. However, its skull is larger than that of a bear or gorilla this size. I suspect the brain will be, too."
"You said this thing was a construct," Daryl remembered. "So who made it?"
"Dr. Browning, an old rival of mine, almost certainly," said Dr. Frique. "This has his stylistic signature. He was never what you would call a nice man, and since a botched rejuvenation experiment left him permanently with the body of a 14 year old boy he's been quite mad. In both senses. Here, help me with this. You hold the head, like so..."
"So he sent this thing here to do what?" asked Daryl, feeling squeamish as Dr. Frique brought a powered rotary surgical saw over.
"To spy, attack, sabotage, or some combination," said Dr. Frique, raising his voice to be heard over the whine of the saw.
With a disturbing deftness, Dr. Frique removed the top of the skull, then the brain. The mottled pinkish-grey organ was then festooned with wires and tubes and placed in a tank of clear liquid. Dr. Frique placed a lid on the tank, and turned to what looked like a cross between an organ keyboard and electrician's nightmare.
"That brain, by the way, is completely human," said Dr. Frique, as he manipulated arcane controls.
Sparks jumped and snapped, and the brain writhed strangely as pumps came to life.
"It's too far gone to be viable, but with a little luck I might be able to tap some of the memories."
Daryl watched in numb fascination as Dr. Frique worked, scarcely noticing when Oliver and Quatrus arrived.
"That it?" rumbled the werewolf.
"Yeah. Oh, and thanks for saving me last night."
"My pleasure," said Oliver, grinning savagely.
Daryl remembered how she had planned to reward the werewolf, and shivered. Whether in anxiety or anticipation he couldn't say. Oliver peered at the thing on the table while his boss worked, moving limbs around to study it better, and paying particular attention to the paws.
"Been a while since I had a good fight. Thing wasn't too fast, but it was tough and persistent. Had to get right nasty with it 'fore it admitted it was dead."
"Dr. Frique says the brain is human," Daryl supplied.
"Diabolical," whispered Quatrus, as he watched his nephew.
Daryl wasn't sure whether he meant the brain being human, or what Dr. Frique was doing to it. Probably both, considering.
A speaker burst into life with a crackle of static, making the witnesses jump.
"Beeee *crackle* bdaw meeee tooooo *pop* kizzzzz..."
Dr. Frique muttered under his breath and played with his controls.
"Biddy titty middy kitty," said the speaker, quite distinctly.
"Good," said Dr. Frique. "Some associative pathways and the speech center are still partially functional."
He swung a microphone around to his mouth.
"Who are you?"
"Who are you who are you hoooarrrrryuuuuu...."
"What is your name?"
"My name is Inigooooooo..."
"I think you're in the movie quotes section," said Daryl, trying hard not to laugh. He was afraid if he started he'd have difficulty stopping.
Dr. Frique muttered some more and made additional adjustments.
"Who are you?"
"Toby, Toby, that's my name, Toby."
"Who sent you?"
"Sent, went, bent, lent..."
"Maybe he was Catholic," Oliver guessed.
"Do you know Dr. Browning?" asked Dr. Frique, ignoring the werewolf.
"Dr. Browning, always frowning, going to towning, for his crowning."
"Why did Dr. Browning send you here?"
"Dr. Browning sent meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee..."
Dr. Frique reached out and whapped the side of the container, and the vowel abruptly cut off.
"Why were you sent to Dr. Frique's place?"
"Mayhem, playhem, distraction action."
"Distraction from what?"
"What, bot, bottle. Make me strong, make me mean, I will throttle."
The bizarre conversation continued for over an hour, with little additional result. Finally, Dr. Frique turned off the speaker, though Daryl noted he left the life support equipment on.
"Well, looks like Browning found someone who wanted to be big and mean, and made a deal with him," said Oliver.
"Obviously," sighed Dr. Frique. He shook his head in an angry gesture. "He's always had this obsession with building super soldiers. He tried glandular treatments back in the Twenties, chemical treatments in the Thirties, radiation treatments in the Forties, and surgical transplants repeatedly. Most of his patients died of cancer; the rest of tissue rejection. That is, the ones who survived the initial treatment."
"So why did he send that thing here, now?" Quatrus demanded.
"That, I'm afraid, is something we will find out all too soon."
End Part 5
Crew Cue Clew
by
Rodford Edmiston
"So who you gonna call about this?" Daryl asked, after supper that night. "I mean, I figure this isn't something you can go to the local police with, but what about some of those government connections you have?"
"Believe me, they have been notified," sighed Dr. Frique, as he settled into a recliner with his favorite evening paper. "However, Dr. Browning has his own allies among the rich and powerful. Besides being quite good a subterfuge."
"Which means we're pretty much on our own," said Daryl, doing some sighing of her own.
"Not entirely. As I said, I have notified some people, and they will help. Just how much remains to be seen."
"Meanwhile, we better all stay on our toes," muttered Oliver.
* * *
"Hi, Dot!" Daryl called out a bit tentatively.
The young woman looked up, smiled and waved, which made him feel better. He waited for her to finish with her customer, then went over and showed her a list.
"Mrs. Frique liked your grass seed so much she decided to buy some of the stuff on that flyer you stuck in with the receipt," Daryl explained.
"Well, good," said Dot, grinning.
"Also, I brought your shirt back, and, uhm, I'd like to ask you a favor," said Daryl, quietly and timidly. He glanced around to make sure no-one else was near. "Could you help me buy some clothes? Especially underwear?"
Dot goggled. Then her lips pursed in, as she fought a smirk.
"You mean girl clothes?" she whispered, barely able to keep from laughing.
"Well, yeah," Daryl sighed, blushing. "I've never done it before. Mrs. Frique took my measurements, but I don't even know what to look for. Not just in bras, either; women's sizes are different."
"Okay, I'll help," said Dot, smirking. "If only to watch you trying on female clothes."
"Great. I'm still just entertainment for you."
"Oh, now, don't take it that way," said Dot, gently. "I like you. We may even develop something. For now, though, you're mainly... interesting."
"So, uh, how do we work this?"
Dot thought for a moment, her lips working prettily.
"Do you have any girl clothes at all?"
"Yeah, some slacks and dresses and blouses, and some underwear. The bras don't really fit, though."
"Well, you come to my place after sundown," Dot decided. "Wear something nice but not fancy. We'll eat dinner - your treat - out and then go shopping together. Make it a girl's night out!"
"Thanks, Dot," said Daryl, sincerely. "I'll be there about twenty minutes after sundown."
* * *
Dot opened the door almost immediately after the bell rang.
"You must have been waiting for me," said Daryl, grinning.
"You look nice," said Dot, stepping back a bit and surveying the woman in front of her.
"You like it?" asked Daryl, turning to show off the skirt and blouse. "Mrs. Frique gave me these, and showed me how to wear them."
"You've even got makeup on!"
"A little. Mostly I learned how to use it by looking in women's magazines and practicing."
Dot leaned closer, frowning in concentration.
"Yeah, you probably did the right thing, not using much. Lipstick, eye shadow, a bit of blush?"
"Yeah," said Daryl, blushing naturally a bit at the compliment. "Anyway, the car's over here."
"A Volvo?" said Dot, looking surprised. "Didn't think that was your type of car."
"It's not," said Daryl, defensively. "I don't have a car. Mrs. Frique said I could borrow this one. I think she thinks I'm on a date."
Dot snickered at that.
"So, where are we going?" asked Daryl, as the climbed in.
"Local shopping mall," said Dot. "Should have everything we need, including food."
"Sounds good to me. I'm pretty hungry."
* * *
"You sure you don't need these?" Dot looked puzzled as she waved the box of tampons around.
"Yes, I'm sure," said Daryl, blushing as she spoke in a hushed voice. "I'm at the same point in my cycle every time I turn into a girl, and that's about two weeks before my period, according to Dr. Frique."
"Y'know, you should really be glad your ex-girlfriend wasn't the vindictive sort," said Dot, grinning. "You could'a wound up with a permanent period!"
"Don't I know it," said Daryl, with feeling.
"Do you think you could get pregnant?" Dot asked, leaning in and speaking quietly as this suddenly occurred to her.
"Probably not," said Daryl, trying to sound casual but obviously relieved. "Wrong part of the cycle. Though Dr. Frique says it could happen. Of course, if I did, I'd lose it when I changed back in the morning."
"Maybe that's what you need to do to break the curse," suggested Dot. "Maybe it's set so that if you get pregnant, you stay a girl until you deliver. Then you're a guy for good."
"I hadn't thought of that," said Daryl, frowning. She grimaced. "Even if I knew that would break the curse, I'm not sure I'd go through with it."
"Or maybe you'd be a girl for good," said Dot, straightfaced. "I'm sure you'd make a wonderful mother."
Daryl glared at her, but then they both broke into giggles.
"Well, if you don't need these, I guess we've done about all the damage we can."
"Yeah," sighed Daryl, looking down at the shopping cart. They'd already taken two loads of stuff to the car, from two other stores. If Mrs. Frique hadn't insisted on giving her some money when she explained why she wanted to go into town, Daryl couldn't have afforded half of it. "Are you sure I really need all this? I mean, there's stuff in here I don't even know what it is!"
"You said you were having a thing with that handyman," said Dot. "Don't you want to look nice for him?"
"Yeah," sighed Daryl, uncomfortably. "Though I still get weirded out about that."
"Poor baby," said Dot, sympathetically. "You're having problems with what you feel as a girl, aren't you?"
"Well, wouldn't you?"
"Yeah, I guess so," the full-time woman replied. She leaned in again. "I mean, I experimented a couple of times with other girls, but it was never anything serious. Just... playing around."
"You sure you don't want to..." Daryl made vague waving motions with her hands.
"I'm sure. Like I said, I tried that. It was interesting, maybe even fun, but I've done it. Guys hold a lot more long-time interest for me."
"When I'm a guy it's during the day, when we both work," said Daryl, gloomily.
They started pushing the cart towards the drugstore's checkout.
"Tell you what," said Dot, as they approached. "What time do you have to start work in the morning?"
"The Friques are pretty flexible," said Daryl. "As long as the day's work gets done, they don't really care."
"Well, the sun comes up about seven," said Dot. "I don't have to start at the store until nine. If you promise I'll get to work on time, you can spend the night. Then I'll make you feel like a man in the morning."
"You really would do that?" asked Daryl, with a surge of affection.
"Yep, as long as you promise no funny stuff while you're a girl."
"Like that would work," muttered Daryl. "You're bigger and stronger than me."
* * *
"You sure?" said Daryl, doubtfully. "The couch wouldn't be so bad."
"As long as you keep your promise," said Dot, stifling a yawn. "No funny stuff. We can cuddle and talk girl talk, but no taking advantage. You so much as cop a feel, and you're on the couch, for sure."
"I don't know if my willpower will hold up," sighed Daryl, feeling aroused just thinking about being in bed with Dot. Something occurred to her. "You sure you're not part wolf?"
"You still feel that way about girls when you're a girl," said Dot, thoughtfully, ignoring what she likely thought was an irrelevant question or a joke, "even though you like guys when you're a girl and not when you're a guy."
"Please, I'm confused enough already," pleaded Daryl. "I was a guy full time for twenty-four years, and I've only been a girl part time for a little over 4 months. Maybe it's just because that's what I'm used to."
"Look, I'm gonna get cleaned up and into my pajamas," said Dot, yawning again. "You sleep where you want."
She wandered off to the bathroom, closing the door. Daryl looked at Sheba, who was lying on top of the clothes in one of the shopping bags she'd brought in from the car for the night.
"Well, cat, she insists," said Daryl, with a tired grin.
After shopping, the two women had gone back to Dot's apartment, where the full-time female had fun giving Daryl a crash course in wearing women's clothes and applying more than just basic makeup. The whole thing - especially all the fiddling with underwear - had left Daryl quite aroused. The effects of this on her new panties had amused Dot no end, and she had gone into a long spiel on the benefits of panty shields, as Daryl blushed furiously.
Finally, Dot had relented, and told Daryl to go get cleaned up. Then as the part-time female started on her way, she had been reminded, very casually, about the brand-new vibrator which needed breaking in. Blushing even more, Daryl picked up the bundle containing what she'd decided to wear that night, remembering that Dot had slipped the vibrator into the pile earlier, after doing a very lewd impromptu comedy routine with it.
Daryl now felt very much relieved, and also embarrassed. She sighed as she looked at her reflection in the dresser mirror. A pretty, young, Asian woman in flannel pajamas too large for her. Daryl was tired, and sleepy. The day had been interesting and exciting, and the hour was late. Which is why she didn't realize, at first, what the mechanical buzzing coming from the bathroom was. When she did, she had to clamp both hands over her mouth, to keep from laughing out loud.
Daryl climbed into bed, as other, more biological sounds came from the bathroom. Minutes later, the door opened and Dot emerged, dressed much as Daryl was. She turned out the light and climbed into bed.
"G'night," she murmured sleepily, giving Daryl a very sisterly kiss on the cheek.
"Good night," Daryl whispered, snuggling close to her friend.
Her last thought before sleep was feeling surprised that she had only the vaguest sexual feelings just then.
* * *
The alarm sounded well before sunrise, and Daryl woke still in full girl mode. After relieving herself and brushing her teeth, she started to change into fresh female underwear. In fact, she was trying to hook one of her new bras when Dot pointedly cleared her throat.
"Oh. Right," muttered Daryl. She gave a wry laugh. "I'm normally a morning person, but after last night..."
She skipped the bra and changed her panties for briefs. Then on went a slightly oversized sweatsuit.
"Better?" she asked.
"It will be when you fill it out," giggled Dot.
She seemed to be looking forward to Daryl being male again, but, oddly, Daryl wasn't. She didn't at the moment see Dot as a sex object, and didn't really want to. They had shared something the night before, and Daryl was worried about losing it.
"Ready for breakfast?" Dot asked.
"No, it would just be wasted if I ate right before I changed," said Daryl. "Anything inside my body when I change back just disappears."
"Ouch! Does your handyman lover know about this?"
Daryl stuck her tongue out at Dot.
"That reminds me, though. How does it feel? I mean, the difference between sex as a man and as a woman."
"Uhm, that's difficult to describe," said Daryl, obviously uncomfortable. "I'm not usually concentrating on what I'm feeling, I'm just feeling it. Of course, one is external and pushing in, while the other is internal, and taking in. They're both very pleasurable, about the same amount, but they're focused differently."
"So far, no surprises," said Dot. "Anything else?"
Daryl spoke with her for a few minutes, becoming aroused as she went into the details of how men and women were different in their sexual experiences. She could tell Dot was, as well. Then she stopped, as the familiar sensations of impending change began.
"Here it comes!"
"Quick take your clothes off!" Dot exclaimed.
"Huh?" said Daryl.
"At least your top. I want to see."
Daryl tried to comply, but the change was swift, and by the time the flannel top was removed Daryl's chest was completely male.
"Sorry," he said, with an apologetic grin.
"Well, there's always next time," said Dot. She smirked. "Maybe I'll rent a camcorder."
"Hey!"
She laughed, and came to him, hugging and kissing him.
"That's better," she sighed.
Their sex was quite passionate. Daryl knew he was desperately reasserting his masculinity - this was his first time with a woman in months - but wondered about Dot's reason. She seemed to be working off a lot of pent-up arousal. Maybe her protestations of heterosexuality were a matter of self deception. Or maybe she just hadn't gotten laid recently. Whatever the cause of her ardor, they were both exhausted by 7:30.
"Breakfast?" asked Daryl, who, as always when first becoming male, was hungry.
"Breakfast," sighed Dot.
* * *
The Volvo stopped in the landscaping store's parking lot, and Dot started to open her door. Daryl, reached out, gently catching her arm.
"I'd... like to do this again. I could pick you after work, sometime, and..."
"Oh, definitely," said Dot.
She leaned over and kissed him full on the mouth, even giving him a bit of tongue.
"If we make a habit of this, you'll have to take me to your place sometime, though," she said, as she climbed out. "I'm pretty curious to see the infamous Frique castle."
"We'll do that," Daryl promised, smiling.
She waved and hurried inside, just barely on time. Daryl smiled after her for a moment, then reversed out of the space and headed home.
End Part 6
Just one more to go.
Crew Grue
by
Rodford Edmiston
"This is not a bra," said Darryl, disgustedly glaring at the filmy green thing. "It's wrapping tissue with ambitions."
"It's rayon," said Dot, her tone chiding. "It'll hold."
"I'm not worried about it holding. I'm worried about showing through it."
"The only way anyone would be able to see through this," said Dot, playfully holding the bra against Darryl's perky breasts, "is if you take your blouse off. Since you're wearing it to entice your man..."
"Okay, okay," muttered Darryl, flushing with embarrassment. She quickly shoved it in the shopping cart.
"You need to treat your delicates with more care," Dot scolded, wagging a finger.
Darryl rolled her eyes.
"I think the only reason you go shopping with me is so you can embarrass me."
"That, and the free meals," Dot cheerfully acknowledged, grinning. She leaned in close. "Also, the make-up sex in the morning."
"Well, we need to finish up soon," sighed Darryl, heading the cart towards checkout. "Dr. Frique wants me back this evening for some project he's working on."
"What's he doing now?" asked Dot, only half joking. "Cloning one of each of your bodies for stand-ins?"
"Not exactly. Something involving security."
Darryl hadn't told her about the monster, and didn't plan to tell her. For one thing, it was Frique business. For another, she didn't want to worry Dot.
* * *
Darryl was a bit late getting to the lab. By the time she arrived Dr. Frique and Oliver were already busy. Oliver was just rolling his sleeve down, Dr. Frique moving to empty the contents of a syringe into one of his smaller machines. Oliver looked distinctly uncomfortable.
"This isn't meant to replace you. You of all people should understand the value of teamwork."
"Yeah," sighed Oliver. "Guess I just don't want to admit there's somethin' out there I can't whup."
"One-on-one you can beat these things," said Dr. Frique. "You proved that. However, what if Dr. Browning sends a pack of them? You'd want a pack on your side, too."
Oliver nodded, though reluctantly.
"What will these things look like, anyway?" Darryl asked, reluctantly pushing up her own sleeve as Dr. Frique approached with a rubber tube, alcohol swab and syringe.
He might not be a practicing physician, but he was definitely skilled with a needle. Darryl barely felt it go in and the process was over very quickly. The strap coming off hurt more.
"There's a computer simulation on that monitor," said Dr. Frique, absently gesturing with the full syringe.
Darryl and Oliver both stepped over to the display and peered at it.
"They look like sabertooth Dobermans," said Darryl, after a moment.
"'Dirk tooth' is the proper term," Dr. Frique supplied, most of his attention on his work. "I wanted something agile, intelligent and loyal."
"You're sure they'll obey us," said Darryl, cautiously. "I mean, I can understand them obeying Oliver, but..."
"The DNA of all household members and regular visitors has been programmed into their obedience centers," said Dr. Frique, patiently. "Oliver will be pack leader, but they will respect all of us."
"So they only eat strangers," snickered Darryl. "Well, I don't think that's a problem with some visitors we could get, but what about Girl Scouts selling cookies?"
"They are wary but non-aggressive unless they or a pack member or a household member are attacked," said Dr. Frique, pride seeping into his voice. "For all other situations they will simply patrol their assigned areas and physically block strangers from entering. Believe me, I don't want them to cause trouble any more than you do."
"What about gettin' help?" Oliver asked. "You said they'd be smart enough to send for help if'n it was needed."
"Oh, definitely," said Frique. "Of course, they're only a bit smarter than a naturally very intelligent dog, so their judgement won't be perfect, but in general if one or more or them or one or more of us is in trouble one of the animals will run for help."
"Just as long as they don't all run for help," muttered Darryl.
"No, no, that won't happen," said Dr. Frique, in a reassuring tone. "There. That's everyone's DNA, including both sets of yours, Darryl. I'm ready to begin the actual synthesis of their DNA. Once that's done I encapsulate that in artificial nuclei which in turn go into host cells, and we can begin culturing."
"'We?'" said Oliver, dryly.
Amber fluid from the smaller machine flowed through a sterile tube into a larger one, which was already humming. As the fluid entered it new noises began. The device panted and throbbed almost organically. After several minutes those sounds suddenly stopped, and a pump came on.
"Excellent," said Dr. Frique, monitoring the display on the device. "Synthesis completed exactly on schedule."
A ruby fluid came out the machine and flowed down a tube, which split into an even dozen tubes, arranged so each one filled simultaneously. Each of those tubes led to a sealed glass tank the size of a footlocker, all of them filled with a thin, clear gelatin.
"How long until they're, uh, born?" asked Darryl.
"They'll be fully developed in twenty-seven hours," said Dr. Frique, looking as happy as Darryl could remember seeing him. "I am able to take a different route of development from that used by nature. I start with several billion protocells - analogous to stem cells - which are pumped into the nutrient vats. There they reproduce for a set number of generations, until there's enough mass for the animal. Then each cell differentiates - according to its position in the mass - into a specialized cell. Bone, marrow, muscle, whatever. Much more efficient and timely than nature's way."
"If you say so," said Darryl, benumbed.
"Thet's how he made Fritz," Oliver provided.
"Well, he took a much larger vat," Dr. Frique elaborated. "Eventually I have to attach an artificial placenta, but for now we can let them simmer."
* * *
Darryl was busy installing new security lights the next morning when a large and very expensive SUV pulled up the long drive. Mrs. Frique was working in one of the flower beds which bordered the drive, and waved as the driver tooted a greeting, so Darryl figured the occupant was known and welcome. The vehicle stopped and the driver hopped out.
"Good morning," said Darryl, rising from his work.
"Good morning." The man tossed his keys to Darryl with scarcely a glance in his direction. "Please see that my luggage is taken to my room and my equipment cases to my lab."
He turned and walked away, leaving a bewildered Darryl staring after him. However, before Darryl could recover and ask questions, Oliver arrived, coming out the front door.
"Why, hello, Danny!" said the werewolf, smiling in a not-quite-friendly manner. "You should have told us you were coming."
"I told Mother. Didn't she tell you?"
"Well, you know your mother," Oliver chuckled.
The man's already cool manner chilled a bit more.
"Where is my father? I have some matters of importance to discuss with him."
"In his main lab," said Oliver, jerking his thumb casually towards the house.
The man walked huffily away, as Oliver shook his head, looking bemused.
"He told me to take care of his luggage," said Darryl. "I don't even know where his room or his lab are. Or who he is. He didn't tell me and didn't give me a chance to ask."
"Yep, that's Danny," sighed Oliver. "Always been so full'a himself he don't take much notice of anyone else. Thinks they should already know what they need to about him, 'cause he's important."
The werewolf grinned at Darryl.
"Ain't'cha' gonna take those in?"
Darryl stared at the mass of luggage jammed into the back of the SUV.
"I think I'll get Fritz to help me," he decided.
"Heh. Don't blame you. Guy tends to pack things like lead-lined canisters of plutonium."
Darryl sincerely hoped Oliver was joking. Or at least exaggerating...
End Part 7
Sorry this is so short, but that's the way it originally ended. While I re-wrote these a bit to post here there were no extensive changes. I suspect this originally stopped so abruptly because I was already working on another project. Keep in mind this tale ended a couple of years before I started Masks.
I'm currently at over 31,700 words on the next Masks story, and it's going faster now that I finally gave up and went to the doctor for the respiratory infection I've been fighting the past month. (I at first thought it was just a nasty cold.) It's somewhere between halfway and a third finished. I have the plot and a solid, detailed outline; I just need to fill in the gaps.