munchausen
TMF Expert
- Joined
- Jul 5, 2001
- Messages
- 453
- Points
- 16
Here's the next part of The Voyage Out series. It's been awhile since the last one--I'll post links to the other stories, as well. This one is kind of a transitional chapter, setting up some bigger things to come. There's still a fair amount of tickling in it, though. Hope you enjoy it--feedback appreciated.
THE VOYAGE OUT 8: Arrival in Khalhasa. New Friends. A Pursuer.
Khalkasa was quite a contrast with the small town of Delryn—in fact, it seemed much more futuristically urban than the strangely eclectic, mystically tinged village. To Leah, it looked like a cartoon vision of the city of the future—cars hovered in the air, people zipped around on little hover-platforms, and buildings, though shaped like those of a typical modern earth-city, all seemed vaguely iridescent. As the group left the train station, they noticed flashing billboards announcing, “soft rain planned for 93:50 to 95:48 for the blocks noted,” and a map beneath that showed the projected area. The people, though varied in race, age and ethnicity, were all appealing—some attractive and sexy, many others just thoroughly pleasant-looking—the kinds of reassuring faces people liked to see in commercials. Older people looked wise and friendly, along the lines of a Wilford Brimley, Angela Lansbury, or Della Reese, as if the city had been populated by central casting. Most seemed in comparatively good humor, as well—they got a number of smiles and nods as they emerged from the station onto the street.
“Oh my god, this is awesome!” Courtney announced, as she looked around at the upscale shopping district that stretched out as far as they could see. Smart looking, chic women moved from store to store, all carrying tiny bags into which dresses and shoes disappeared effortlessly. Although the technology was advanced, styles—automotive, fashion, and otherwise—were quite similar to cutting-edge earth designs. A lot of this was due to the bit of piracy on the part of the Kandaele corporation, as they stole, restaged, and remarketed earth tv for this world—but our heroines were not yet aware of that fact.
Akhana smiled. “It is a remarkable place. And we will return to explore soon enough. For now, though, we should find Ellefson’s family.”
Francesca nodded. “I have the address here. Apparently, we should be able to get public transit straight to their block.”
The stalwart companions noticed a “Travel Helpcenter” directly across from the station, and went inside. It was a pleasant office, large, with lots of windows; posters for tropical getaways, some of which were animated, showing crashing waves and cavorting beachgoers, adorned the walls between them. The receptionist, a brown-skinned girl in her early twenties with a longish blonde bob and unusually large breasts for her small, slim frame, popped her gum and smiled at them, displaying dazzlingly white, even teeth. “Hi! I’m Heidi, how can I help you guys?”
Leah took the lead. “Well, we’re, uh, really new here. We could use any, um, informational materials you might have, and um, any, well, information about how to get around town. To be honest, we’re not really sure what to ask for.”
Heidi looked her over, still smiling, but with a touch of understanding pity. “Oooh, are you guys, like, from the north?”
Akhana spoke up. “Yes, from the north. So, you understand that we’re at a bit of a loss.”
“Sure, sure, no worries, no worries. I’ll tell you what—y’all should prob’ly talk to Sandy. She’s kind of in charge, and she’ll be able to give you everything you need.”
Sandy, a trim woman in her middle forties with a prim but friendly face, ivory complexion, and very straight, waist-length, shiny black hair up in a tight bun and elegant, arched eyebrows, proved eminently capable and understanding. Within minutes, the ladies were outfitted with travel guides, maps, and “universal transcards,” which would enable them to use any public transportation for a month. Sandy was also able to point them toward the address they were looking for, and nodded approvingly at the neighborhood. Akhana paid her, they all thanked her profusely, and they went on their way.
The group found the hover-trolley, which looked like a San Francisco streetcar except not moored to anything, showed their universal transcards to the smiling old man who drove it, and rode out to the suburbs in a matter of minutes. The suburbs were as manicured and beautiful as they expected them to be—all the lawns magnificently kept, and bright green, houses of various delightful and creative designs, some with great wooded lots, others with well-kept lawn-squares. The trolley stopped at the corner of Maypole and Mulberry, and the women disembarked into a delightful little neighborhood. Little girls were jumping rope in a driveway; a father and son threw a baseball a couple of houses down; a couple snuggled in a porch swing across the street.
“We’re in “Leave it to Beaver”-town,” Courtney said, but not without pleasure.
“It certainly is idyllic,” Francesca said, glancing at the addresses on the nearby mailboxes. “The house we want should be about six down on the left. How do we want to do this?”
None of them had a ready answer. “Well…What exactly did Ellefson tell you, Francesca?”
“He just told me to find Luther, his brother, who would help. He told me a bit about his brother—apparently he’s some kind of mystical engineer, about 40, married, with a daughter. He has no connection to Ellefson’s military experience, but does know something of it. They aren’t close, but Ellefson seemed confident he would help.”
“Well, then, I guess we have no options but to throw ourselves on his mercy,” Leah said. “Shall we?”
The house was a big, sprawling, suburban mansion, with an elegantly manicured lawn, a sparkling pool fed by a waterfall, and a big guesthouse in back. The ladies walked hesitantly to the door, milled nervously for a second, then Francesca stepped up and rang the bell. A warm, resonant chime sounded within.
In a few moments, a tall, attractive, smiling woman answered the door. She had a healthy tan, prominent cheekbones, and a wide mouth adorned with little smile lines at the corners; her eyes and nicely coiffed, shoulder-length hair were both a deep, dark and shiny brown. She wore a smart white blouse and black thigh-length skirt, and was barefoot; a silver bracelet gleamed on her tanned left ankle. Her finger-and toenail polish and lipstick were a deep, brown-toned red. “Hello,” she said warmly, though her face was a little puzzled. “Is there something I can do for you?”
As best she could, standing nervously on the woman’s porch, Francesca explained that they needed help, and that Ellefson had given them this address. The woman sighed, and mumbled, “Ellefson” almost inaudibly. Then, she smiled more brilliantly than before. “I’m sorry. It’s just that Ellefson tends to get into trouble from time to time, and my husband is always a little too eager to get involved. Still, if you’re friends of his, you’re more than welcome here. Come in, please—my name is Marion Dearborn. My husband Luther is Ellefson’s half-brother.”
She ushered the women in, and in minutes had somehow produced a spread that would be the envy of a four-star hotel. They sat on the plush furniture, ate, drank white wine, and wondered how much of their situation they should divulge, and how quickly, to Marion Dearborn.
Marion, at last deciding that she had done all in her power to make her guests comfortable, sat back in an armchair and propped her bare feet, crossed at the ankles, on an ottoman. “Now then,” she said, “I assume you all are from…out of town? Way out of town?”
Leah started, catching Akhana’s guarded glance from across the room. Courtney choked on her wine, and Francesca had to slap her on the back.
“I’m sorry to startle you,” Marion said solicitously. “I just know a little about the kinds of things Ellefson is involved in, and there are little clues that you’re from the other side.”
“Clues?” Akhana asked.
“Yes. Just little things. Your watches, for example—we don’t use the same system to tell time. And the jewelry—gold is very common here, and women as otherwise smartly dressed as you don’t normally wear it as jewelry. I don’t really know much about the other side—except that Ellefson says a lot of our television is lifted from there—but I did get a sense of difference from you.” She had a faint hint of an aristocratic Southern accent.
Francesca decided she had no choice but to trust this woman. “Yes. We’re from the other side—transported here by some powerful magic. We’re looking for a way back, and, in the meantime, for a safe place to stay. We don’t want to endanger you or your family—the sorceress whose magic brought us here may or may not be looking for us.”
Marion waved her concerns away, and took a sip of wine. “Nonsense. You were sent by family, and you’ll be treated like family. We’re not in the habit of being afraid of witches.” She winked at Courtney, then became serious.
“Our problem is that my husband, who knows enough about the kind of theoretical physics and magicks to potentially affect your return, is away until the end of this month—another three weeks. We’re happy for you to stay, and we have plenty of room, but I’m afraid you’ll be more or less stuck here until he comes back. I can’t even reach him readily—he’s on an artifact dig in the wild northlands.”
“Oh, we can’t impose on you for that long—we’ll get a hotel room,” Leah interjected.
“Say no more, dear. We have more rooms in this house than we can use, and I’ll be glad for the company. Also, though I hate to be an alarmist, you’d be much easier to find in a hotel.”
Akhana spoke. “We are in your debt. If there is anything we can do while we are here to ease the burden on you, please let us know.”
“Oh, I will, don’t you worry about that,” Marion said, and they all laughed.
Marion was circulating another bottle of very nice Chardonnay when the front door opened and a female voice called, “Mama, I’m home.” There was a snapping of flip-flops in the high-ceilinged, tiled entrance corridor, then a younger version of Marion Dearborn appeared in the entrance to the living room. She had the same cheekbones, mouth, and eyes, though a little less touched by the character-lines of age, and her hair, though sun-lightened, longer, and streaked with blonde highlights, had the same deep brown base color. She wore a midriff-baring top and a short denim skirt with thick-soled white flip-flops, which she stepped out of at the doorway. “Hi,” she said, her face mimicking the welcoming bemusement her mother had shown at their arrival.
“Ashley, this is Leah, Francesca, Ak—Akhana,” she looked to Akhana for confirmation, and got a smile and nod, “and Courtney. They’re friends of Ellefson’s, and our guests for awhile. Ladies, this is my pride and joy, my lovely daughter Ashley.” As Marion had consumed more wine, her southern accent had become more pronounced.
“Oh, Lord,” said Ashley, her own voice liberally decorated with an accelerated derivative of a southern drawl. “Oh, not y’all—it’s just that Ellefson tends to get into all kinds of strange things. I’m pleased to meet all of you.”
Ashley went into the kitchen to get a wine glass. “Ashley is just finishing up her first year at the University,” Marion explained. “She’s probably about your age, Courtney. Maybe she can introduce you to some of her friends.”
“Oh, totally,” Ashley said, returning from the kitchen. “You so have to meet the girls in my sorority. We’re getting together over here tonight, and we have a charity event tomorrow—want to come?” As she spoke, she filled her wine glass and sat on the ottoman in front of her mother, lifting Marion’s crossed feet and plopping them into her lap.
Courtney, a little overwhelmed by the suddenness of the invitation and by Ashley’s fast-talking manner, which actually rivaled her own, found herself smiling broadly. “I’d love to. Do you think they’d mind?”
“Not at all—they’re a pretty laid back bunch. It’ll be fun—as long as you don’t mind doing a little community service with us.”
“Sounds cool to me,” Courtney said.
“Oh, lord, is it that time again?” Marion asked. “That should be a lot of fun.” She prodded her daughter with her toes, smiling sarcastically.
Ashley jumped a little, then smirked back at Marion. “You know, you could always come, mom. We’d win for sure.” She locked Marion’s ankles under her arm—Marion started to sit up, her eyes widening, saying “No no no no…”—and began scribbling her fingertips over the richly wrinkled soles of Marion’s bare feet. Marion heaved once, with a shriek, then fell back down into the chair, shaking with convulsive giggles as she curled her toes tight and pulled feebly against her daughter’s grip. Her laughter was almost silent, mostly expressed as physical shaking, an enormous, tight-eyed grin, and occasional squeaks and chirps, until Ashley dug in hard into the center of her arch, and she shrieked with chandelier-rattling volume. As Ashley scratched at her bare heels and arches, she swatted at her feebly with one hand while futilely trying not to spill the wine in the other.
After about twenty seconds, Ashley decided that her mother had had enough, and quit, giving her feet a little hug. Marion, red-faced, sighed loudly and dabbed at her eyes. “What kind of child have ah raised,” she mumbled, rubbing the bottoms of her ill-treated feet on the ottoman next to Ashley.
“Oh, yeah, cause you’d never do such a wicked thing to your daughter,” Ashley said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
“Y’all must think we’re crazy. Anyway, let me show you to your rooms, and let you get settled in and relaxed…” The ladies, after about six glasses of wine apiece, were already feeling pretty relaxed, but saw no reason to gainsay her, “And then, if you’d like, you can come back down and visit awhile longer. We still have quite a well-stocked wine cellar.”
“Ooh! We could make margaritas!” Ashley shouted, grabbing Leah’s and Courtney’s hands and dragging them toward the stairs. “Come check out the guest rooms, settle in, then come down. We’ll get a good buzz on before we go meet the other Thetas tonight, Courtney.”
The ladies, overwhelmed, followed. Leah, like the rest, was delighted with their hosts and accommodations—still, she couldn’t escape the apprehension that underlay it all. Three weeks? In another world? And what about Yelena Kant?
Then another voice, encouraged by the wine and companionship, spoke up inside her. “Come on,” it said. “Why would a sorceress really want to waste her time tracking us down?”
Back in downtown Khalkasa, things were winding down at the Central Travel Helpcenter. Heidi had locked the door and was clunking back and forth on platform sandals, doing the last bits of filing, while Sandy, her boss, had let her long, silky black hair down and slipped her feet out of her pumps as she checked her e-mail one last time. She had taken off her panty hose a little after lunch—her proper, professional persona had its limits—and as she skimmed through messages, she rubbed lotion into her slim, long-toed bare feet. She put the bottle away, stretched, and started to shut down the computer.
At that moment, she heard the front door open—odd, as she had heard Heidi lock it, but had not heard it unlock. She heard Heidi’s perky voice in the front area—“Omigosh, I’m sorry, but we’re closed right now.”
“I’m afraid I’ll need to see your superior,” a smooth, husky female voice said.
Heidi started to protest, then made a little squeak. Sandy hurriedly put her shoes back on, ran out of the rear office, and gasped.
The woman was over six feet tall, with coffee-colored skin and brilliant green eyes. Her hair, a metallic gold color, was pulled back tight in twin pony tails that angled straight up from her head. She wore a brown leather catsuit with high-heeled boots, and a silver cloak. As imposing as she was, Heidi was perhaps more remarkable—swathed from her elbows to the cuffs of her Capri pants in shiny black strands, she hung helplessly from the ceiling, clunky-sandaled feet dangling about four feet above the floor. She whimpered.
“What is this about?” Sandy demanded, trying to stay cool and collected in the face of what, she determined, must be sorcery, and in any event well outside the purview of her travel agent training.
“Let’s talk under more amenable circumstances, shall we?” The tall sorceress said, and instantly, Sandy found herself hanging next to Heidi, wrapped in the same strong black strands.
“Now,” the woman said, pulling Heidi’s rolling chair over in front of the two and sitting so that their ankles were at her eye level. She leaned back and looked into their frightened eyes.
“I need some information about a group of four women who may have been in here earlier today. They would have been from far away, between 19 and 36 or so, one tall black woman, one little blonde, one very strong and athletic, with black hair, and one slim, medium height, tan. I just want to know where they were going.”
Through her fear, Sandy felt a defiant impulse welling up within her. She had always been a strong, confident businesswoman: she prided herself on her adherence to the codes that governed her profession, and she would be damned if she would let this witch push her around.
“This is a government agency. Section 17 of the Civil Service Code prohibits me from divulging information about our clients and their destinations. And even if it didn’t,” she said, a little bite creeping into her voice, “I wouldn’t tell someone like you.”
Heidi squeaked a little next to her. “Oh, god, oh god,” she repeated quietly.
The sorceress smiled at Sandy. “Now, now. I see no reason for this to become nasty. I have no intention of hurting either of you lovely ladies.” She reached into her bag and produced a softball-sized crystal sphere, which she placed on the desk with a clunk. “This is a travel center, is it not? Well, you are simply going to help me to gather the power I need to continue on my journey in the manner in which I customarily travel. How much you help with the energy is entirely dependent upon how forthcoming you are with the information I require.”
Sandy scowled. “Let Heidi go. She doesn’t know anything—she can’t help you.”
The sorceress smiled in mock sympathy. “Oh, I know, but she’s here now, and she might bring someone back if I let her go. And, for a duty-minded woman like yourself, guilt can be such a powerful motivator.”
She slid her chair over to where the blonde-bobbed beach bunny hung quivering. “Heidi, Heidi,” she crooned. She smiled sweetly into Heidi’s frightened eyes, then softly ran a fingernail along the outside edge of her tanned, sandaled foot. Heidi whimpered—her silver-tipped toes squirmed. “Now, Heidi, tell me,” she said, slipping the chunky black sandals from Heidi’s tiny, brown and pink bare feet. Her toes, several of which bore silver rings, clenched into fists. “Are you very ticklish on the bottoms of your feet?”
“N-no,” Heidi peeped. Then her cute, pert-nosed face broke into a tortured grimace as the witch drew one fingernail, extremely slowly, whisper-light, down the sole of her left foot.
“What?” the sorceress asked.
“Y-yesss…” Heidi managed to whisper, shoulders shaking, voice breaking at the pressure of the single nail-tip.
“How lovely! This will be easy!” the witch said. Two strands broke off from the bottom of the barefoot blonde’s bonds to wrap around her big toes, drawing them back and lashing them together.
“Come on, this is barbaric,” Sandy said sharply. “There are much more efficient ways of gathering energy now. This is merely sadism.”
“Ah, but this way is so much more persuasive,” the witch said, and promptly attacked the soles of Heidi’s cringing bare feet with a ten-fingered tickling assault. The dangling Heidi jolted as if her puppeteer were having a coronary and screamed in laughter.
“Waaaahahahahahaha!!!! Wooohoooo! I can’t sta-ha-ha-hand it!! Eeeheheheheheheheheheee!”
Her non-bound toes wiggled and clenched as best they could, reaching around the bound great toes like frustrated pincers as the witch’s fingernails whispered over her flexing soles with brutal efficacy. Heidi was a wild and energetic victim, yanking ineffectively against the bonds, whipping her head back and forth so that her longish bob fell around her face in disarray, and managing, in the midst of her hilarity, to mix in rather eloquent pleas—“Come on come on come onWAHAHAHAHAHAHAAA…You..have to stahahahahahahahap…I’l gihihihihive you moneeeeeeeHEHEHEHEHEEEEEE!!!!”
The witch found that the only way she could steal her victim’s power of speech was to zero in on the delicate webs of skin between the spread and flexing toes, or on the very tops of the heels—there, Heidi merely bucked and shrieked like some tormented, inhuman beast.
Sandy watched in horror, shouting now and then at the witch to stop her torture, but usually drowned out by Heidi’s cries. The orb on the table had begun to glow faintly, now, but with ever-increasing intensity.
When Heidi had been reduced to shuddering, silent whimpers, her silvery eyeshadow running down her tan (but reddened) cheeks, borne by her tortured tears, the witch stopped, leaving her twitching bare feet alone. Slowly, inevitably, she wheeled her chair over to where Sandy hung, her defiance swiftly giving way to terror.
As the witch slipped off Sandy’s pumps, the collected businesswoman let out a whimper just as small and frightened as Heidi’s had been. “Doesn’t it feel good to get out of those tight shoes and have some barefoot time?” the witch asked mockingly.
“I won’t…can’t tell you anything,” Sandy managed.
“We’ll see,” the witch said.
Then her nails met the bottoms of Sandy’s long, elegant bare feet, and Sandy’s world exploded in helpless hilarity….
THE VOYAGE OUT 8: Arrival in Khalhasa. New Friends. A Pursuer.
Khalkasa was quite a contrast with the small town of Delryn—in fact, it seemed much more futuristically urban than the strangely eclectic, mystically tinged village. To Leah, it looked like a cartoon vision of the city of the future—cars hovered in the air, people zipped around on little hover-platforms, and buildings, though shaped like those of a typical modern earth-city, all seemed vaguely iridescent. As the group left the train station, they noticed flashing billboards announcing, “soft rain planned for 93:50 to 95:48 for the blocks noted,” and a map beneath that showed the projected area. The people, though varied in race, age and ethnicity, were all appealing—some attractive and sexy, many others just thoroughly pleasant-looking—the kinds of reassuring faces people liked to see in commercials. Older people looked wise and friendly, along the lines of a Wilford Brimley, Angela Lansbury, or Della Reese, as if the city had been populated by central casting. Most seemed in comparatively good humor, as well—they got a number of smiles and nods as they emerged from the station onto the street.
“Oh my god, this is awesome!” Courtney announced, as she looked around at the upscale shopping district that stretched out as far as they could see. Smart looking, chic women moved from store to store, all carrying tiny bags into which dresses and shoes disappeared effortlessly. Although the technology was advanced, styles—automotive, fashion, and otherwise—were quite similar to cutting-edge earth designs. A lot of this was due to the bit of piracy on the part of the Kandaele corporation, as they stole, restaged, and remarketed earth tv for this world—but our heroines were not yet aware of that fact.
Akhana smiled. “It is a remarkable place. And we will return to explore soon enough. For now, though, we should find Ellefson’s family.”
Francesca nodded. “I have the address here. Apparently, we should be able to get public transit straight to their block.”
The stalwart companions noticed a “Travel Helpcenter” directly across from the station, and went inside. It was a pleasant office, large, with lots of windows; posters for tropical getaways, some of which were animated, showing crashing waves and cavorting beachgoers, adorned the walls between them. The receptionist, a brown-skinned girl in her early twenties with a longish blonde bob and unusually large breasts for her small, slim frame, popped her gum and smiled at them, displaying dazzlingly white, even teeth. “Hi! I’m Heidi, how can I help you guys?”
Leah took the lead. “Well, we’re, uh, really new here. We could use any, um, informational materials you might have, and um, any, well, information about how to get around town. To be honest, we’re not really sure what to ask for.”
Heidi looked her over, still smiling, but with a touch of understanding pity. “Oooh, are you guys, like, from the north?”
Akhana spoke up. “Yes, from the north. So, you understand that we’re at a bit of a loss.”
“Sure, sure, no worries, no worries. I’ll tell you what—y’all should prob’ly talk to Sandy. She’s kind of in charge, and she’ll be able to give you everything you need.”
Sandy, a trim woman in her middle forties with a prim but friendly face, ivory complexion, and very straight, waist-length, shiny black hair up in a tight bun and elegant, arched eyebrows, proved eminently capable and understanding. Within minutes, the ladies were outfitted with travel guides, maps, and “universal transcards,” which would enable them to use any public transportation for a month. Sandy was also able to point them toward the address they were looking for, and nodded approvingly at the neighborhood. Akhana paid her, they all thanked her profusely, and they went on their way.
The group found the hover-trolley, which looked like a San Francisco streetcar except not moored to anything, showed their universal transcards to the smiling old man who drove it, and rode out to the suburbs in a matter of minutes. The suburbs were as manicured and beautiful as they expected them to be—all the lawns magnificently kept, and bright green, houses of various delightful and creative designs, some with great wooded lots, others with well-kept lawn-squares. The trolley stopped at the corner of Maypole and Mulberry, and the women disembarked into a delightful little neighborhood. Little girls were jumping rope in a driveway; a father and son threw a baseball a couple of houses down; a couple snuggled in a porch swing across the street.
“We’re in “Leave it to Beaver”-town,” Courtney said, but not without pleasure.
“It certainly is idyllic,” Francesca said, glancing at the addresses on the nearby mailboxes. “The house we want should be about six down on the left. How do we want to do this?”
None of them had a ready answer. “Well…What exactly did Ellefson tell you, Francesca?”
“He just told me to find Luther, his brother, who would help. He told me a bit about his brother—apparently he’s some kind of mystical engineer, about 40, married, with a daughter. He has no connection to Ellefson’s military experience, but does know something of it. They aren’t close, but Ellefson seemed confident he would help.”
“Well, then, I guess we have no options but to throw ourselves on his mercy,” Leah said. “Shall we?”
The house was a big, sprawling, suburban mansion, with an elegantly manicured lawn, a sparkling pool fed by a waterfall, and a big guesthouse in back. The ladies walked hesitantly to the door, milled nervously for a second, then Francesca stepped up and rang the bell. A warm, resonant chime sounded within.
In a few moments, a tall, attractive, smiling woman answered the door. She had a healthy tan, prominent cheekbones, and a wide mouth adorned with little smile lines at the corners; her eyes and nicely coiffed, shoulder-length hair were both a deep, dark and shiny brown. She wore a smart white blouse and black thigh-length skirt, and was barefoot; a silver bracelet gleamed on her tanned left ankle. Her finger-and toenail polish and lipstick were a deep, brown-toned red. “Hello,” she said warmly, though her face was a little puzzled. “Is there something I can do for you?”
As best she could, standing nervously on the woman’s porch, Francesca explained that they needed help, and that Ellefson had given them this address. The woman sighed, and mumbled, “Ellefson” almost inaudibly. Then, she smiled more brilliantly than before. “I’m sorry. It’s just that Ellefson tends to get into trouble from time to time, and my husband is always a little too eager to get involved. Still, if you’re friends of his, you’re more than welcome here. Come in, please—my name is Marion Dearborn. My husband Luther is Ellefson’s half-brother.”
She ushered the women in, and in minutes had somehow produced a spread that would be the envy of a four-star hotel. They sat on the plush furniture, ate, drank white wine, and wondered how much of their situation they should divulge, and how quickly, to Marion Dearborn.
Marion, at last deciding that she had done all in her power to make her guests comfortable, sat back in an armchair and propped her bare feet, crossed at the ankles, on an ottoman. “Now then,” she said, “I assume you all are from…out of town? Way out of town?”
Leah started, catching Akhana’s guarded glance from across the room. Courtney choked on her wine, and Francesca had to slap her on the back.
“I’m sorry to startle you,” Marion said solicitously. “I just know a little about the kinds of things Ellefson is involved in, and there are little clues that you’re from the other side.”
“Clues?” Akhana asked.
“Yes. Just little things. Your watches, for example—we don’t use the same system to tell time. And the jewelry—gold is very common here, and women as otherwise smartly dressed as you don’t normally wear it as jewelry. I don’t really know much about the other side—except that Ellefson says a lot of our television is lifted from there—but I did get a sense of difference from you.” She had a faint hint of an aristocratic Southern accent.
Francesca decided she had no choice but to trust this woman. “Yes. We’re from the other side—transported here by some powerful magic. We’re looking for a way back, and, in the meantime, for a safe place to stay. We don’t want to endanger you or your family—the sorceress whose magic brought us here may or may not be looking for us.”
Marion waved her concerns away, and took a sip of wine. “Nonsense. You were sent by family, and you’ll be treated like family. We’re not in the habit of being afraid of witches.” She winked at Courtney, then became serious.
“Our problem is that my husband, who knows enough about the kind of theoretical physics and magicks to potentially affect your return, is away until the end of this month—another three weeks. We’re happy for you to stay, and we have plenty of room, but I’m afraid you’ll be more or less stuck here until he comes back. I can’t even reach him readily—he’s on an artifact dig in the wild northlands.”
“Oh, we can’t impose on you for that long—we’ll get a hotel room,” Leah interjected.
“Say no more, dear. We have more rooms in this house than we can use, and I’ll be glad for the company. Also, though I hate to be an alarmist, you’d be much easier to find in a hotel.”
Akhana spoke. “We are in your debt. If there is anything we can do while we are here to ease the burden on you, please let us know.”
“Oh, I will, don’t you worry about that,” Marion said, and they all laughed.
Marion was circulating another bottle of very nice Chardonnay when the front door opened and a female voice called, “Mama, I’m home.” There was a snapping of flip-flops in the high-ceilinged, tiled entrance corridor, then a younger version of Marion Dearborn appeared in the entrance to the living room. She had the same cheekbones, mouth, and eyes, though a little less touched by the character-lines of age, and her hair, though sun-lightened, longer, and streaked with blonde highlights, had the same deep brown base color. She wore a midriff-baring top and a short denim skirt with thick-soled white flip-flops, which she stepped out of at the doorway. “Hi,” she said, her face mimicking the welcoming bemusement her mother had shown at their arrival.
“Ashley, this is Leah, Francesca, Ak—Akhana,” she looked to Akhana for confirmation, and got a smile and nod, “and Courtney. They’re friends of Ellefson’s, and our guests for awhile. Ladies, this is my pride and joy, my lovely daughter Ashley.” As Marion had consumed more wine, her southern accent had become more pronounced.
“Oh, Lord,” said Ashley, her own voice liberally decorated with an accelerated derivative of a southern drawl. “Oh, not y’all—it’s just that Ellefson tends to get into all kinds of strange things. I’m pleased to meet all of you.”
Ashley went into the kitchen to get a wine glass. “Ashley is just finishing up her first year at the University,” Marion explained. “She’s probably about your age, Courtney. Maybe she can introduce you to some of her friends.”
“Oh, totally,” Ashley said, returning from the kitchen. “You so have to meet the girls in my sorority. We’re getting together over here tonight, and we have a charity event tomorrow—want to come?” As she spoke, she filled her wine glass and sat on the ottoman in front of her mother, lifting Marion’s crossed feet and plopping them into her lap.
Courtney, a little overwhelmed by the suddenness of the invitation and by Ashley’s fast-talking manner, which actually rivaled her own, found herself smiling broadly. “I’d love to. Do you think they’d mind?”
“Not at all—they’re a pretty laid back bunch. It’ll be fun—as long as you don’t mind doing a little community service with us.”
“Sounds cool to me,” Courtney said.
“Oh, lord, is it that time again?” Marion asked. “That should be a lot of fun.” She prodded her daughter with her toes, smiling sarcastically.
Ashley jumped a little, then smirked back at Marion. “You know, you could always come, mom. We’d win for sure.” She locked Marion’s ankles under her arm—Marion started to sit up, her eyes widening, saying “No no no no…”—and began scribbling her fingertips over the richly wrinkled soles of Marion’s bare feet. Marion heaved once, with a shriek, then fell back down into the chair, shaking with convulsive giggles as she curled her toes tight and pulled feebly against her daughter’s grip. Her laughter was almost silent, mostly expressed as physical shaking, an enormous, tight-eyed grin, and occasional squeaks and chirps, until Ashley dug in hard into the center of her arch, and she shrieked with chandelier-rattling volume. As Ashley scratched at her bare heels and arches, she swatted at her feebly with one hand while futilely trying not to spill the wine in the other.
After about twenty seconds, Ashley decided that her mother had had enough, and quit, giving her feet a little hug. Marion, red-faced, sighed loudly and dabbed at her eyes. “What kind of child have ah raised,” she mumbled, rubbing the bottoms of her ill-treated feet on the ottoman next to Ashley.
“Oh, yeah, cause you’d never do such a wicked thing to your daughter,” Ashley said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
“Y’all must think we’re crazy. Anyway, let me show you to your rooms, and let you get settled in and relaxed…” The ladies, after about six glasses of wine apiece, were already feeling pretty relaxed, but saw no reason to gainsay her, “And then, if you’d like, you can come back down and visit awhile longer. We still have quite a well-stocked wine cellar.”
“Ooh! We could make margaritas!” Ashley shouted, grabbing Leah’s and Courtney’s hands and dragging them toward the stairs. “Come check out the guest rooms, settle in, then come down. We’ll get a good buzz on before we go meet the other Thetas tonight, Courtney.”
The ladies, overwhelmed, followed. Leah, like the rest, was delighted with their hosts and accommodations—still, she couldn’t escape the apprehension that underlay it all. Three weeks? In another world? And what about Yelena Kant?
Then another voice, encouraged by the wine and companionship, spoke up inside her. “Come on,” it said. “Why would a sorceress really want to waste her time tracking us down?”
Back in downtown Khalkasa, things were winding down at the Central Travel Helpcenter. Heidi had locked the door and was clunking back and forth on platform sandals, doing the last bits of filing, while Sandy, her boss, had let her long, silky black hair down and slipped her feet out of her pumps as she checked her e-mail one last time. She had taken off her panty hose a little after lunch—her proper, professional persona had its limits—and as she skimmed through messages, she rubbed lotion into her slim, long-toed bare feet. She put the bottle away, stretched, and started to shut down the computer.
At that moment, she heard the front door open—odd, as she had heard Heidi lock it, but had not heard it unlock. She heard Heidi’s perky voice in the front area—“Omigosh, I’m sorry, but we’re closed right now.”
“I’m afraid I’ll need to see your superior,” a smooth, husky female voice said.
Heidi started to protest, then made a little squeak. Sandy hurriedly put her shoes back on, ran out of the rear office, and gasped.
The woman was over six feet tall, with coffee-colored skin and brilliant green eyes. Her hair, a metallic gold color, was pulled back tight in twin pony tails that angled straight up from her head. She wore a brown leather catsuit with high-heeled boots, and a silver cloak. As imposing as she was, Heidi was perhaps more remarkable—swathed from her elbows to the cuffs of her Capri pants in shiny black strands, she hung helplessly from the ceiling, clunky-sandaled feet dangling about four feet above the floor. She whimpered.
“What is this about?” Sandy demanded, trying to stay cool and collected in the face of what, she determined, must be sorcery, and in any event well outside the purview of her travel agent training.
“Let’s talk under more amenable circumstances, shall we?” The tall sorceress said, and instantly, Sandy found herself hanging next to Heidi, wrapped in the same strong black strands.
“Now,” the woman said, pulling Heidi’s rolling chair over in front of the two and sitting so that their ankles were at her eye level. She leaned back and looked into their frightened eyes.
“I need some information about a group of four women who may have been in here earlier today. They would have been from far away, between 19 and 36 or so, one tall black woman, one little blonde, one very strong and athletic, with black hair, and one slim, medium height, tan. I just want to know where they were going.”
Through her fear, Sandy felt a defiant impulse welling up within her. She had always been a strong, confident businesswoman: she prided herself on her adherence to the codes that governed her profession, and she would be damned if she would let this witch push her around.
“This is a government agency. Section 17 of the Civil Service Code prohibits me from divulging information about our clients and their destinations. And even if it didn’t,” she said, a little bite creeping into her voice, “I wouldn’t tell someone like you.”
Heidi squeaked a little next to her. “Oh, god, oh god,” she repeated quietly.
The sorceress smiled at Sandy. “Now, now. I see no reason for this to become nasty. I have no intention of hurting either of you lovely ladies.” She reached into her bag and produced a softball-sized crystal sphere, which she placed on the desk with a clunk. “This is a travel center, is it not? Well, you are simply going to help me to gather the power I need to continue on my journey in the manner in which I customarily travel. How much you help with the energy is entirely dependent upon how forthcoming you are with the information I require.”
Sandy scowled. “Let Heidi go. She doesn’t know anything—she can’t help you.”
The sorceress smiled in mock sympathy. “Oh, I know, but she’s here now, and she might bring someone back if I let her go. And, for a duty-minded woman like yourself, guilt can be such a powerful motivator.”
She slid her chair over to where the blonde-bobbed beach bunny hung quivering. “Heidi, Heidi,” she crooned. She smiled sweetly into Heidi’s frightened eyes, then softly ran a fingernail along the outside edge of her tanned, sandaled foot. Heidi whimpered—her silver-tipped toes squirmed. “Now, Heidi, tell me,” she said, slipping the chunky black sandals from Heidi’s tiny, brown and pink bare feet. Her toes, several of which bore silver rings, clenched into fists. “Are you very ticklish on the bottoms of your feet?”
“N-no,” Heidi peeped. Then her cute, pert-nosed face broke into a tortured grimace as the witch drew one fingernail, extremely slowly, whisper-light, down the sole of her left foot.
“What?” the sorceress asked.
“Y-yesss…” Heidi managed to whisper, shoulders shaking, voice breaking at the pressure of the single nail-tip.
“How lovely! This will be easy!” the witch said. Two strands broke off from the bottom of the barefoot blonde’s bonds to wrap around her big toes, drawing them back and lashing them together.
“Come on, this is barbaric,” Sandy said sharply. “There are much more efficient ways of gathering energy now. This is merely sadism.”
“Ah, but this way is so much more persuasive,” the witch said, and promptly attacked the soles of Heidi’s cringing bare feet with a ten-fingered tickling assault. The dangling Heidi jolted as if her puppeteer were having a coronary and screamed in laughter.
“Waaaahahahahahaha!!!! Wooohoooo! I can’t sta-ha-ha-hand it!! Eeeheheheheheheheheheee!”
Her non-bound toes wiggled and clenched as best they could, reaching around the bound great toes like frustrated pincers as the witch’s fingernails whispered over her flexing soles with brutal efficacy. Heidi was a wild and energetic victim, yanking ineffectively against the bonds, whipping her head back and forth so that her longish bob fell around her face in disarray, and managing, in the midst of her hilarity, to mix in rather eloquent pleas—“Come on come on come onWAHAHAHAHAHAHAAA…You..have to stahahahahahahahap…I’l gihihihihive you moneeeeeeeHEHEHEHEHEEEEEE!!!!”
The witch found that the only way she could steal her victim’s power of speech was to zero in on the delicate webs of skin between the spread and flexing toes, or on the very tops of the heels—there, Heidi merely bucked and shrieked like some tormented, inhuman beast.
Sandy watched in horror, shouting now and then at the witch to stop her torture, but usually drowned out by Heidi’s cries. The orb on the table had begun to glow faintly, now, but with ever-increasing intensity.
When Heidi had been reduced to shuddering, silent whimpers, her silvery eyeshadow running down her tan (but reddened) cheeks, borne by her tortured tears, the witch stopped, leaving her twitching bare feet alone. Slowly, inevitably, she wheeled her chair over to where Sandy hung, her defiance swiftly giving way to terror.
As the witch slipped off Sandy’s pumps, the collected businesswoman let out a whimper just as small and frightened as Heidi’s had been. “Doesn’t it feel good to get out of those tight shoes and have some barefoot time?” the witch asked mockingly.
“I won’t…can’t tell you anything,” Sandy managed.
“We’ll see,” the witch said.
Then her nails met the bottoms of Sandy’s long, elegant bare feet, and Sandy’s world exploded in helpless hilarity….
