a passenger riding a vehicle. I recognized what was happening, but I could not stop it. Nor was I alone. I could sense that everyone on the estate was under its influence. Once we had gathered in this place, we were encased in bark, as you see.}
But why?
{I can feel this spell, whatever its origin, changing my flesh, my organs, the very bones of my body, to wood, as my feet become roots and my fingers branches.}
You're turning into a tree?!
{So it would seem.}
Why wasn't I affected?
{I do not know. I have no knowledge of this magic. You felt nothing?}
Something woke me up, but after that, no.
{When was this?}
I'm not sure; maybe thirty minutes ago.
{That was about when I came under its influence.}
Do you know who or what is behind it?
{I...yes. The Spirit of the Oaks.}
I beg your pardon?
{An ancient--Master! Beware, you are in danger!}
She caught movement out of the corner of her right eye. Turning, she pulled the Beretta out of her jacket pocket, thumbed off the safety, and set it to semi-automatic as she scanned the area with the torch. She caught a glimpse of something slipping out of the cone of light. She sprinted towards it and pointed the torch into its path.
It was just another of the trunks. Disappointed and puzzled, she stopped and started to swing the light away, when she spotted its leafy crown.
No, it was a willow, like those on the shore of the lake. But how did it get there--
It turned and "faced" her.
From "A Deliberation of Morality"
A pop startled her, and when she opened her eyes and slipped her glasses back on she saw a small column of fire and smoke standing in the middle of the report she had been writing, accompanied by a deep, resonant bass organ chord. Alarmed, she half rose out of her chair when it disappeared. In its place stood a feminine anthropomorphic figure inside a ring of char. It was no more than six inches high, dressed in an erotic bodice with a cross in the cleavage lacings, a pair of belted panties, fishnet stockings, and stiletto-heeled shoes, with a garter on her left thigh, two more on her upper arms, and a spiked collar around her neck. The clothes were fiery red while the collar, belt, garters, and shoes were night-black, and the spikes, buckles, and cross coin-silver. It took her a moment to realize the tiny woman looked exactly like her, even down to the glasses, except for the two red horns sprouting from either side of her head, and the long, sinuous barbed tail that emerged from her backside.
She looked up at Differel with a sly, devilish expression as the aristocrat stood up, but as soon as she saw who it was, she jumped, a shocked look on her face.
"Good God!" Despite her size, her voice sounded normal, and identical to her own. "Whatever I did, it couldn't have been bad enough to deserve this!"
"Who, or what, the bloody hell are you!?" Differel leaned over the desk, her hands braced against the top.
Recovering quickly, the diminutive Differel gave her a look admonishing her not to be daft. "That should be obvious. I'm your shoulder devil."
"My...what?!"
The devil-doll sighed in frustration and shook her head. "Do you have a hearing problem? Shoul--der--de--vil!"
"And just what is that supposed to be, exactly?"
She threw up her hands and looked towards the ceiling. "Oh for the love of Evil! How dense can you possibly be? I'm one of the two personifications that sit on your shoulders and offer advice on moral dilemmas. In my case, I personify temptation, and appeal to your selfish motivations."
Differel felt faint for a moment and resumed sitting. "I must be dreaming," she half-whispered, leaning forward. She held her head in her hands with her elbows resting on the desktop. "Yes, of course, I've fallen asleep over my work and I'm having a guilt-ridden nightmare."
"I wish!" The devilish-Differel sounded peeved as she placed her hands on her hips and turned away. "Being assigned to you is hardly what you would call a plum assignment. In fact, it's usually reserved either as a way to haze rookie tempters, or as a form of punishment."
Differel looked up and crossed her arms over the desk. "I beg your pardon?"
She spared her an exasperated glance over her shoulder. "Being a shoulder devil is an occupation, not a vocation. It's usually a devil's first job after graduating from the tempters training academy. However, it can be assigned to retirees who wish to keep their hands in the business, or to incompetents or malcontents as a way to teach them humility and the error of their ways. Haven't you ever read C. S. Lewis? The Screwtape Letters?"
That did seem rather familiar. "Alright, I see what you're getting at."
The devil-doll nodded her head and turned to face her again. "Finally! Now we can get down to business. Oh, by the way, the name's Differel Diabolique, but you can call me DeeDee. I prefer informality among friends."
Differel frowned. Her attitude was getting on her nerves. "Just a moment. If what you say is true, then there should be a 'shoulder angel', correct?"
"Exactly. She personifies your conscience and appeals to your altruistic motivations."
"Shouldn't she be here as well?"
Her face split into silly grin. "Are you kidding? You don't need her, you're a bigger stiff than she is."
Differel felt her anger flare as she sat upright. "Now just a bloody minute--!"
DeeDee's own face turned fiery red as she became upset. "I meant it as a compliment! Jesus, but you have a temper. I told you, being assigned to you is considered onerous duty. Why do you suppose that is, huh? It's because you're such a straight-arrow no tempter has a chance of getting you to commit any kind of sin, no matter how insignificant. So why would you need a shoulder angel? You do her job better than she would. In fact, I hear being assigned to you is considered a rather cushy posting Upstairs. She's probably off somewhere working on her tan, the stuck-up little bitch! Me, I'll probably spend my time doing my nails. Big whoop."
Differel forced herself to relax. If she was having a dream, she should be able to control it, but she would have to be calm, and if she wasn't, getting mad still wouldn't help her situation.
"Hey." DeeDee broke into her thoughts. "Do you mind if I change into something more comfortable?"
Before Differel had a chance to respond, the devil-doll disappeared in a flash of fire and a puff a smoke. A larger column of smoke and flame sprang up in front of the desk, startling her, accompanied again by the organ note, now loud enough to shake the desk. DeeDee reappeared, full-sized, but otherwise no different. She stretched in a languid, almost provocative, manner, as if working the kinks out of the compacted muscles.
"Man, does that feel good! Being shoulder-size gets to be pretty confining after awhile."
Somehow, Differel found her larger size more disturbing, in more ways than one. "Are you sure this isn't a dream?"
DeeDee walked around the desk to her side. Differel reached under the top to grip her pistol, but didn't pull it when she leaned backwards against the edge. "If you don't believe me, call someone. If this is a dream, they'll see me, otherwise they won't."
She raised an eyebrow as she removed her hand. "I can call anyone?"
"Anybody you like."
She smirked. "Hmph. As you wish." And she sent out a familiar mental summons.
Vlad Drakulya emerged from the corner closest to the door. "You rang, My Master?" he said in his deep bass voice.
From "Disposable Commodities"
He laughed again and shook his head as he crossed the room to his desk. He dropped the messages on the blotter and took a moment to push down the upper panel of his window to get some fresh air, glancing down at the street twenty stories below. He then turned and opened the desk file drawer. Inside was a bottle of whiskey, half full, a thick-walled pewter bowl a foot across, and a crude ceramic jar stopped with a lead plug. He took out all three and set them on the desk. Pulling loose the plug, he poured a handful of grayish-green powdery salt into a
glass from the wet bar and measured out a gram onto a slip of rice paper using a pharmacist's balance. He poured the unused dust back into the jar and replaced the plug before dumping the gram into the bowl. He walked into the middle of the room carrying the bowl and the whiskey bottle, set the bowl on the floor, and poured in a libation of the liquor. He sprinted back three feet as the contents began to fizz.
Within seconds, a column of fine mist rose into the air. It billowed and swirled, and took on a female form. As he watched, it coalesced into a solid object, then faded away, to reveal a nude, voluptuous woman with an hourglass figure and skin the color of bread crust. She stood as still as a statue for a few moments, her eyes closed, then she inhaled sharply and started to breath. She tilted her head back, raised her arms, and stretched her entire body, as if trying to reach the ceiling. She lowered her arms in a languid manner, bending her elbows, and ran her fingers through her billowing mane of fiery crimson hair. Still lowering her arms, she caressed the sides of her face and neck, her shoulders, and her voluminous breasts. It wasn't until she rested her palms on her hips that she relaxed and opened her eyes.
She stepped out of the bowl. "How long has it been this time?" Her voice was a low contralto, with a sultry burr that sounded like a purr.
"Three months, Lily my dear." He raised the whiskey bottle to his mouth.
She frowned and