Horrors of the Dancing Gods

BE MINE ON YUGGOTH

LARAE WAS SORE BUT OTHERWISE IN FAIRLY GOOD SPIRITS the next morning. "Go on down," she urged them. "I'll be all right here, and if I feel up to it, I'll try and dress and join you. Please. I'm not very well going to allow you to help me in here, anyway."

Irving shrugged. "All right, if that's what you really want" He looked over at the absolutely comatose Marge, who seemed to be sleeping the sleep of the dead. "She's not going to wake up for a hurricane, you know."

"That's all right. I didn't expect her to. You would be surprised at how self-sufficient I have had to learn to be. Go on, get your business started."

Leaving the girl, he joined Poquah, who had switched his usual gray robes for a mottled green and brown tunic and pants and strong boots. They went down to breakfast

"Is this your normal Imir garb back in your own homeland?" Irving asked him, curious.

"One of them. The style's rather stock, I'm afraid — the Rules, you know — but the coloration and cut are often quite distinctive. Um, I assume you noted how completely unconscious the Kauri was?"

"Uh, yeah, but she's always out of it in bright daylight"

"Not that out of it. She's functional in daylight; she just could feel the same as you or I would if we hadn't been to sleep for, say, twenty-four hours. Groggy but workable. If she slept that hard normally, she'd be totally vulnerable during the day, when virtually all of her defenses are from the conscious will rather than being automatic. No, I fear we will have to keep a careful eye on her because she will be the last to notice."

"Notice what?"

"She feeds on other people's misdeeds, regrets, whatever. There's not a lot of conscience in these people, so the kind of psychic energy she's designed to digest must be dug for more deeply and at its root, which is not in the sense of wrongness but rather in the nature of the deed itself and its stain upon the soul. It is quite easy for her, I think, to mistake the stain for what is her natural food."

"I don't follow you at all," the boy admitted, shaking his head.

Poquah sighed and chose his words patiently. "She thinks she is doing the normal, instinctual, and natural thing by cleansing the soul, but instead she is consuming a part of it."

"Huh? What?"

"She is eating part of their evil-stained souls, which, to someone of a faerie nature, is tantamount to cannibalism. You remember the old saying that you are what you eat?"

"Yeah, but…"

"If she is not careful, she will turn from being a Kauri to becoming a Succubus, a predator. In a sense, it would be like a mortal becoming a vampire. It would not matter if she liked the state or not; she would not be able to help herself. She would become a killer to live, but under a whole different part of the Rules. That is the danger I feared most from the start and the one which Master Ruddygore was also most concerned about. I still hope that her own ruler, who keeps some connection with all those of the tribe, has a way to control this or she wouldn't have allowed Marge to come, but it is by no means sure. In the end we must drive home to her the need to stop before she turns completely. It is more a matter of will than of compulsion, but one must recognize the problem to deal with it."

"Sounds like drugs and booze," Irving commented.

The dining area was nicely laid out, although by that hour of the morning it had been well picked over. Still, there was much to choose from: the pastries reminiscent of the finest of central Europe, along with juices, countless kinds of tea, and several varieties of coffee.

Joel Thebes was there, idly sipping some coffee and looking more deathly and white in the light of day than he had at night. There was a question as to whether he ever changed the white suit or if it was a part of him. It didn't seem dirty, anyway, which implied that he mostly had a lot of identical ill-fitting, rumpled outfits.

After the two Husaquahrians had gotten their own breakfasts and brought them over to the table, Thebes got down to business.

'The black bird has an incredible history both on Earth and here," he noted, sounding enthusiastic to tell it.

Neither of his listeners was like-minded enough to want to hear most of it. "Forget the legends. How'd it get here?" Irving asked him.

Thebes looked disappointed but sighed and said, "The Knights of Malta made dozens of exact replicas to fool everyone but decided that it was far too dangerous to leave in anyone's hands on Earth. Thus, in the year 1476 the head of the order took the original and wished it and himself to go to the place whence its original wood had been carved, and that, although he was not aware of it, was in this universe and on Yuggoth, in a small valley to the east of Mount Doom. It is of the stock of the original trees of Eden, you see, which is why it is indestructible and how it gains much of its power. Well, of course, it didn't take very long for the Archbishop to realize where he was and sense all the snakes and such about, but he knew what to do. Using the bird, he created for it a haven there in which none but mortals consecrated of Earth and baptized in his faith would be able to approach and touch, move, or otherwise command the power of the bird. He made a place for it in the valley, and then he walked out of there and faced down the demon hordes attracted to his very presence. It is quite likely he went to his God shortly thereafter."

"So even Hell can't touch it?" Poquah said more than asked. "Interesting. And not just a mortal but an Earth mortal anointed by the rituals of his particular church is the only one who can touch or use it? Fascinating."

"Baptism," Irving told him. "A priest puts water on your head and blesses you. Some of 'em put your whole body under. This Archbishop dude — he was Roman Catholic, I bet. Almost everybody was back then in Europe.

"Yes, certainly, as was I once," Thebes admitted. "It was Dracul who saved Romania and Wallachia from the Ottoman Turks, after all, until he went too insane and decided everybody was a Turk. That saved the region for the Catholic Church, and so it remains to this day, as far as I know. Unfortunately, nobody knew of this step back on Earth, and so countless people spent centuries and fortunes and lives chasing the replicas all over the world, only to always be thwarted. Of course, not even Hell is absolutely certain that this story, too, is genuine and that the one they cannot touch is not a fake as well. I do not believe it is, though. I have now accounted for most of the fakes through history, and how was such a medieval man as the Archbishop able to get here and enforce these restrictions if it were not? The only question is whether he brought one or two fakes here with him as well. Still, I am convinced it is there."

Poquah considered the legend. "Then this is why Hell needs the likes of us. They can't enter or even see the blasted thing! Not even any of the sorcerers here could, since they were all Husaquahrian-born or are of this world and so lack the requisite baptism. So the question comes, Who is the one who can truly use this treasure if we can reach it?"

"Marge was raised Catholic. I know because she told me," Irving noted. "And so was my dad, after all."

Thebes looked at him with those bulletlike black eyes and frowned slightly. "But I do not think your Marge can be considered mortal at this point, nor, as I understand it, your father, either. And you were a mere small child."

Irving smiled. "But I was old enough, and I was baptized even if we weren't real good churchgoers. Mom was a Baptist, but I know I had a Catholic baptism. That used to be the joke. At one point she dated this minister who was M.E., and he had me baptized there, and at another point I got nearly drowned by the Baptist relatives. They always said if anybody went to Heaven in the family it'd be me, since I got baptized Catholic, A.M.E., and Baptist. Guess all I missed was her takin' up with a Muslim."

"That's it, then," Thebes commented. "You alone on this entire world can retrieve it, or so it would seem. Your father and your winged companion are outside chances but unlikely to qualify. It seems that all our efforts must be to get you to the bird."

"What about you?" Irving asked him. "I mean, you said you qualified, I think."

Thebes sighed. "Alas, I do not. You see, I had to sell my soul to get over here. It wasn't worth much, but it was all I had, and it broke any link to God I might have had, however slender. I am not truly mortal anymore myself, either. No, you are certainly it. And that means that you will be a very tempting target to those who would not want you to get anywhere near the thing."

Irving felt suddenly very uncomfortable. "Thanks a lot." He wondered how much truth was in Thebes' story. Certainly the little man was dependent on them to get there, which indicated he couldn't make it on his own, and some of it hung together, but was it all the story? What would happen once he or somebody else who could see and remove it took it out of that valley or shrine? Anybody's game again? That was the way a lot of those kinds of wishes worked.

This was going to be pretty damned hairy. If he didn't get it, the bad guys won, and he was going to be targeted by the invaders to stop him. Okay. That much he could take. But if he had the thing in his hands, he'd better wish himself out of there and safe — real, real quick — or everybody in creation was gonna be pouncing all over him.

"I am not certain that Joe or Marge couldn't do it under those restrictions," Poquah noted. "If they are absolute and as you stated them, then what is the point of Joe's earlier odyssey with his strange companion? She surely is born of Husaquahr and a proper halfling, so what made her stepfather believe that she could see and use the McGuffin? A fascinating puzzle, one of many in this affair without an answer. But tell me, since you seem to know everything else around here, have you heard of the nymph and the halfling? Do you know if they still live?"

Thebes looked around cautiously and then lowered his voice. "They got here, yes. The word is that they remained on their ship and got off at Innsmouth instead. Not a wonderful place to do it, but it is a very small fishing town surrounded by a fair amount of old-growth forest. Lots of fogs and mists, too. You don't want to meet the folks who live in the town, and certainly you won't stay for long around them, but if they made it the much shorter distance from the dock to the forest, well, a wood nymph would have some power there. There's some pretty mean fairies in these forests, but a nymph would be in her element. Word is that they made it at least that far and vanished into the interior. They were sighted here and there for a thousand kilometers, but there have been no sightings in the entire Mount Doom region and none anywhere else for quite a while. Odds are something's got 'em. Dead? Alive? Impossible to say."

"That is the first confirmation that they actually made it ashore whole," Poquah told him. "I am grateful just for that. However, I feel it is best if we depart as quickly as possible for the capital. I am anxious to get this over with, and with every delay and particularly every time we are stuck in one predictable spot, we are vulnerable. When can we leave?"

"In two days, certainly," Thebes assured them. 'There is a large party going our way leaving at midday two days from now, and we can certainly join it. It will be the easiest on paperwork and the most comfortable. By river sail, canal, and omnibus we might well be able to reach at least there in no more than two or three weeks."

Poquah nodded. "Get it rolling, then."

Irving frowned. He knew better than to tell the likes of Thebes that they had a map that could bypass all that and take them directly there. "Um, excuse me, but why do we still have to go see this king dude, anyway? From the way you talked, I figure you got to know where we have to go, so why waste time?"

"But I don't know, not exactly," the little man responded. "I can see how it might seem confusing, but that valley is not easily approached, and where inside it the bird might lie is even more of a puzzle. His Majesty knows. It is one of those things passed down from monarch to monarch. Without it we could tromp around in there for weeks and be vulnerable to attack. Besides, with his command, the second half of the journey will be easier. Even the invader can be influenced by him to a degree. No, it is unthinkable that we try this without him."

Irving shrugged. "Okay, okay, you're the boss for now. I take your word for it. Killin' two days in this creepy town won't be fun, though."

"Oh, it is not so terrible in the daytime," Thebes assured him. "You just have to watch your step, as in any big city. There is quite a lot to see, actually. Basilisk Park, the Miskatonic University branch library, the Carnival of Souls, the Illuminati Museum, the Phantom of the Opry, lots of things."

Literally lots of things, Irving thought. "No, I think I'll stick close to the hotel. It seems pretty safe. It might be good, though, to visit some shops and pick up a few spare things for the trip. We packed awfully light."

"Two blocks over to the right as you exit," Thebes told "Quite a lot of shops and specialty stores."

"I can exchange an ingot for some local currency," Poquah told him. "Perhaps, later, if she is up to it, you might wish to take your young lady with you. I do not think that the several white cotton dresses and those sandals will be sufficient."

Things were agreed on, then, and with handshakes all around — Joel Thebes had a shake like a limp, dead fish — they agreed to consult and meet regularly for dinner at the hotel and to prepare to go inland with the expedition in two days' time.

As Poquah and Irving walked up to the desk, the boy whispered, "You got ingots?"

"Yes, of course. You never know when they are useful. I carry them in a sorcerer's pouch. Do not worry. We will not lack for resources."

That was certainly clear when, at the cashier, Poquah produced a heretofore invisible leather purse of not very impressive size and reached into it. Although it wasn't much larger than his hand to the wrist, he pulled out a complete bar of unmistakable processed gold and put it on the counter, then made the purse vanish. Good trick, Irving thought approvingly.

The money for it was considerable, and Poquah peeled off several large bills and handed them to Irving. "Do not lose them or have them stolen from you," the Imir warned. "I am not going to budget for incompetence."

"I'll be careful," Irving assured him. He looked at the notes, which were all sorts of oddball denominations. Each one had a demon on its face and a scene from one of the circles of Hell on the back. "So what does the big prince get?" he asked Poquah. "A thousand?"

"Of course not. He's on one of the most common bills here — the three."

Irving fished one out and looked at it. "Looks like pictures of the angels in churches, only bigger and better," he remarked.

"Well, that's how he started out, anyway, and how he probably still sees himself. You never know. He may not be a god, but with that kind of power and those legions, he's about the closest thing you'll ever see to one."

Larae had not joined them for breakfast but was up and changed, sort of, when they got back. She was wearing a shorter dress, which hung on the hips and went to just be low the knees, but nothing else. She had a very nice figure, Irving noted, just as he had known she would.

"Does this bother you?" she asked them. "I couldn't manage the full dress, and this is quite traditional and casual in my homeland, although I know that not all cultures are comfortable with it. When this sort of temperature is normal all year, we feel there is no reason to hide ourselves in false modesty."

"N — no, it's fine with me," Irving responded. "After all, I just got this loincloth and stuff on. By all means be comfortable. I–I think they are shutting down the breakfast by now, but we might be able to get something if you want it."

"That is all right. I can wait. I have not had much of an appetite of late."

"I thought I'd go shopping, since we'll need to pick up some things, and if you want to come along, it's fine with me."

She smiled. "I'd like that a lot, so long as it remains daylight and we stay out of that dreadful dockside district." Irving buckled on his short sword and belt. "Well, I'll take along something for the unexpected, but I think this area right around here should be fine."

And indeed it was — for Yuggoth, anyway.

It was something of a shock to be hit with that blanket of heat and humidity as they exited the hotel. While it had been humid all along, the hotel's ventilation system had kept the temperature pretty comfortable. Now, out in the beating tropical sun shining down from a cloudless sky, the full impact hit them.

"Feels very much like my home," she told him. "Very different land, but that sun and temperature are familiar. Do not be surprised if around midday there is a sudden gathering of clouds and a torrent of rain for at least a brief period. It is common in my land."

He felt far less comfortable than she, but, worse, he was soon sweating like a stuck pig and she seemed dry and hardly affected. It was embarrassing.

The row of shops and stores was also easy to spot, and as they walked along, they saw that in the midst of the expected there was always the Yuggoth touch, with potion stores and shops with all sorts of voodoolike paraphernalia intermixed with clothing and shoe and food and sundry shops, some of which seemed downright conventional but all of which had at least one item that was questionable, from the type of skin on a leather handbag to the small shrunken-head necklaces.

Overall, though, it was kind of a fun day. He really liked being with Larae, and he'd never quite felt this way or this comfortable with any girl before. He was feeling things in his head and in other parts of his anatomy that the spell had long blocked and that were totally new to him for that reason. Clearly, though, the warning about his spells had been right, and the farther he was from their source and the closer to the spirits of Yuggoth and its atmosphere, the less effect the spell would have, possibly even dissolving.

There were some skimpy leather bands that passed for an outfit he wouldn't have minded seeing her in, but she seemed partial to slit skirts, although now of darker and more complex colors and patterns. She bought only a couple of tops, mostly matching the more numerous skirts, for formal occasions, dinner, and perhaps the potentially cool evening they hadn't yet experienced.

For Irving it was easier. He needed some support for and protection of his genitals, of course, but beyond that he felt most comfortable outdoors in heat like this when wearing the least. He did, however, invest in a pair of solid low-top boots. Walking on the hot stone pavement was frying his feet something awful, and it was either that or admit to Larae that he couldn't take it. She liked sandals and also found a comfortable pair of boots for when they would be necessary, but for now she preferred being barefoot and seemed almost oblivious to the fact that the same surface that she was walking on would, Irving was absolutely certain, fry bacon and eggs without any added help.

The most unusual thing overall about the city, though, was that it wasn't all that unusual. This was a city not all that different from the ones on the great northern continent, nor did the people or the dangers seem to be nearly as horrible as their billing. Okay, there was that strip of nasty joints, but you could find neighborhoods perhaps only slightly milder in the City-States, ignoring, of course, the self-cleaning sidewalks. And the back-alley dangers and random violence didn't seem all that different from the cities of Husaquahr or, in fact, from those of Irving's native land, either. What was bent here was not much more bent than the "good" places, even if it was more consistently bent in the same direction.

In the main, people went to work here, did their jobs, went home, raised their kids, and tried to mind their own business.

It was not, of course, a democracy, but neither was any place in Husaquahr he could think of.

Yuggoth was positively routine so far, and in a sense that disturbed him. Did it mean that it wasn't so evil, after all, or that evil places weren't really all that different from home, whether home was the lands around Terindell or the more distant land of Philadelphia?

Joel Thebes certainly thought there were more woes here. "Forms, forms, and more forms," he wailed. "All this just to go anywhere at all here, as if anyone out there really cared."

"You mean they won't collect these papers?" Marge asked him.

"Oh, these forms will be examined over and over again, and if there is one teensy little error, the inspectors will reject them. It is just that everything in them is totally meaningless. The only reason we must have them is that we must have them. This is not an efficiency system; it is a full-employment system!"

"That is usually the case with bureaucracies," Poquah sympathized. "The direct approach is always more efficient."

Irving was puzzled. "Is there a real problem here? I thought everybody here was being nice to us because they wanted us to get in there."

"Oh, it is not a particular problem for you," Thebes assured them. "It is including the girl, you see. And I get the idea that some various powers that be are none too happy she has hooked up with you."

"Well, it is not as if we planned this," Poquah noted, giving a menacing side glance to Irving and Marge. "However, we can hardly abandon her now. She has become part of the Company. The Rules would not allow such a thing."

"I know, I know," Thebes wailed. "But that is why they make so much trouble. Here in the real world they cannot get around the Rules very much, either. Still, I would be very careful with her. You know that things can happen to people in a Company. Bad things."

"The question is, Will we make our transportation arrangements or won't we?" Marge asked him.

"Oh, yes, yes. I think so. They will cause all sorts of horrible things to happen, but in the end it is as the boy said: you are here because they want you here. In the end they will have to let us all go. You should be ready by nine tomorrow morning if you wish breakfast. We will have a short way to travel, and then we will join and board the river launch."

Marge yawned. "Then I'm going to bed. The rest of you will have to do whatever needs to be done."

Larae didn't want to go out, at least not right then. It was almost as if she were afraid that something would happen at the last minute that would separate her from her only companions in the world. Poquah decided to go along with Thebes and hope to help things along and possibly even contact Ruddygore. That left Irving suddenly all alone with no place to go.

He decided to go out, anyway.

The shop was called, quite simply, Spirits, Potions, and Spells, betraying both a simplicity of mind and something of a lack of real imagination. Nonetheless, it looked interesting as a cross between a magic antiques store and an old-fashioned apothecary shop.

The proprietor was a strange little man with big sharp teeth, a round face, and pointed ears, and he was having a bad hair day. He flashed Irving back many years.

He looks like the Count on Sesame Street, he thought, wondering where the image had come from. He hadn't thought of any of that in a very long time.

The little man came straight up to him and held out a small jar filled with some kind of black powder. "This is it," he said quite casually. "This one is, of course, temporary. The permanent one costs considerably more than you have on you."

"Huh? I beg your pardon. You must have mistaken me for somebody else, 'cause I just walked in."

"Yes, you were wondering about love potions, and this ground powder, which dissolves with virtually no telltale taste or odor, is the finest temporary one I know."

"I–I was just idly thinking. You don't read minds or something, do you?"

"Not unless I use various spells, I don't, no. Would you like that?"

"Um, no. I just was trying to figure out how you knew what I was thinking about."

"Oh, that is simple. A very minor spell on the whole establishment. It tells me as you come in why you were interested enough to enter. What kind of a sorcery supply store would I be if it were otherwise?"

Irving was impressed and fascinated. "What about removing any last vestiges of a spell put on yourself?" he asked the little man. "I can't touch it, and it might well interfere."

The proprietor examined him carefully. "You have both a spell and a curse. The curse, in fact, might well make this powder irrelevant if the spell was totally removed, you know."

"A curse? Who would do that to me?'

"I have no idea, but it is a strange one to be placed involuntarily on another. Hmmm… Let me see. Yes, there, and there, and over here, and urn, uh huh. All right."

"Well, what does it curse me with?'

"Oh, that part's easy. It states that you will exert an enormous attractive influence over women."

"Oh, that. I've known about that since I discovered girls. Sometimes it's more of a pain than anything else, and it hasn't done me any good at all, even if I knew how to use it."

"Interesting. Well, the spell was obviously overlaid to neutralize the curse. Remove the spell and you will, I believe, discover a number of ways to use it. Interesting. Suppose you could turn it off or on at will. Would that be of interest to you? Assuming we remove the rather weak and simple restraining spell."

"Huh? Um, you can do that?"

"Removing the spell is simple enough. I'm surprised you haven't had a go at it with someone else before this. Almost anyone could handle it."

"I have pretty straight guardians."

"Um, yes, I see. Well, as I say, ridding you of it is no problem. Do you still have this guardian problem?"

He thought of Poquah. "Yeah, I'm with somebody who can read these like a book — and fix them."

The little man sighed. "All right, then, what about this? I'll remove the effect of the spell while leaving it on. Like wearing a light jacket or wrap; it will still be there, but it will have no effect on you."

"Yeah, that sounds great. But how much?"

"Oh, I wouldn't think of charging for something so simple. But the other one—that is a different story. Making that one voluntary will require work and a higher power than myself. There are, of course, some interesting additional powers implied by that as well. I know what you have on you. It will take all of it, but I can handle it."

Irving was startled. "What? Now?"

"Unless you wish a more convenient time."

Irving thought about it. There was no other convenient time, of course. They were leaving tomorrow. All the remaining cash on him, though, was a fair amount even after his purchases. Explaining what had happened to it to Poquah wouldn't be easy, but it might well be handled. But the idea of lifting the curse to find out what these odd feelings were like unimpeded and to be able to act on them like any other normal young man his age—that was tempting. As for the curse — which he did know how he'd gotten, fooling around with sorcerous attempts of his own to break the first one a couple of years ago — that wasn't so pressing, but it did seem like a great idea. To be able to turn it on or off…

He thought of Larae, who, unless she had tremendous self-control, was somehow not affected by it. "You guarantee that all women would be affected by it?"

"Absolutely. Would you like to do it now?"

Oh, hell! "Yeah, I think so."

"You understand that a curse requires a demon to modify it. Come on back and I'll treat the spell, and then we'll summon someone appropriate. Um, leave your shoes and cloth outside. Nothing but you inside, please; we wouldn't want anything to contaminate the work."

The proprietor took him in the back, where there was a small, dark room lit with candles and with a small altar in the center. "No pentagram?" Irving asked him.

"In Yuggoth? Whatever for? I mean, demons can just as easily walk in off the street and do. It's only when you're dealing with the really powerful ones, the ones of a kind even their fellow demons can't control, that you need any sort of protection along those lines, and usually in that case a mere pentagram is inadequate." He fumbled under the small altar, and then there was a hissing sound under it. The little man struck something, and a fire caught under the bowl sitting atop the altar, which he adjusted with some sort of curved rod control. It seemed for all the world that he had a gas flame there, and maybe he did.

The proprietor handed Irving a small ceremonial awl.

"I'll need at least two drops of blood," he said, as if that were totally routine.

"I'm not sure I like giving anything of myself to one like you." the boy responded. "No offense, but there's a lot of control in this."

"Oh, relax! I'm bonded! Besides, it will all be consumed. And anyway, the authorities have everybody's hair and nails and skin and whatever. It's routine for coming here."

Irving didn't like that idea one bit. Still, he said, "Okay, okay. Let me jab…" He made a small puncture, and the man grabbed his finger and shook it over the bowl. A drop or two splashed down and sizzled. He then added a few small potion-type ingredients and stirred with a whisk, as if he were making an omelet. Soon there was a very small burned ball there, round and surprisingly shiny, which the proprietor picked up with tongs.

"Looks like it's good," the magician told him. "You are welcome to take this with water or wine if you like. I have some over here of either."

Irving looked at it. "You mean swallow it like a pill?"

"Exactly so. It will decouple the spell. It is quite cool now, but I would prefer if only you touched it. I want no contamination."

Irving took it, examined it, shook his head, then took the offered water and swallowed it as best he could. It was a little tough getting it down, but with enough water he made it.

He handed the cup back to the proprietor and waited. "I don't feel any different," he said.

"Of course not. And you won't, not right away. It will dissolve and circulate through your body. You'll start feeling it soon enough. In fact, if you've never had these feelings unrestricted before, I would take it easy tonight. Now, for the other. Stand over on that symbol on the floor and relax."

Irving looked down and saw an area where some kind of hex symbol had been drawn on the floor, looking like a stylized bird's head of the sort you'd see in Egyptian hieroglyphics or something. He went over and stood on it and almost jumped off. The spot was uncannily cold on his feet.

"That's natural," the dealer told him. "Now, just stand there and do not move. I will have to go out before this can happen. It's just between the two of you, but he'll know exactly what the problem is and how to fix it."

"He?"

"Mysteroth, a demon of the tribe of Prince Leviathan. I told you not to worry. This is a demon who could just as easily do whatever he willed to you if he met you on a sunny street. This is strictly business. He couldn't care less about you or what you want this for; he's simply doing me a service and will take it out in trade."

Before Irving could say another word, the little man departed, leaving him alone to wonder if he was indeed doing the right thing or something incredibly stupid.

He was just about to call it off — after all, he already had cold feet — when he felt the whole atmosphere of the room change. He knew that feeling; he'd felt it in Ruddygore's study in Terindell. No matter what, he couldn't walk out now. The demon was there.

Mysteroth did not, however, believe in dramatic entrances. Instead, the curtain over the door was pushed back and he walked in rather casually, kind of like a dentist walking into a room to examine your teeth.

He was about six feet tall, thin, and very birdlike, just as his symbol suggested. In fact, he had bird's eyes and a short but curved ibislike bill. His skin, however, showing through his dark robes, was a mottled purple and green and somewhat reptilian.

"Hmmm," the demon said thoughtfully, examining him. "Been kind of limp up to now, eh? You'll enjoy this. Kind of an impressive little curse you had stuck on you, too, but rather juvenile. You're old enough now to really appreciate the power. Okay, I'm going to put you into a kind of stasis. Don't panic; it's no big deal. It'll feel a little weird, maybe tickle. As with all curses, it will hurt for a short bit when I pull it away, but it shouldn't be unbearable and won't be for very long — sort of like pulling a sticky bandage off body hair. Then I'm going to rewire it and put it back. Ready?"

Irving wasn't at all sure about this now, but he could only nod.

Suddenly he felt himself drop away from the floor, and he felt as if he were flying in some dense, liquid atmosphere. He could breathe and he was aware, but he couldn't move, couldn't talk, and was entirely helpless, suspended there in, well, whatever.

It didn't tickle. It itched. Itched like all get-out, and he couldn't scratch it. He knew better than to trust a demon. But if it itched like hell, then what would the curse removal feel like, really? The anticipation was almost worse than the real thing, which was a very short but severe stabbing pain. Still, it hurt enough that he would have cried out if he could have done so, and he felt tears come to his eyes as the aftereffects of the pain washed over him.

There was sound now, the crackle of strong electricity, and the vision of swirling multicolored bubbles all around, then joining, congealing in the crackling liquidity, then spiraling, creating threads that began to wrap themselves around him. At least it didn't hurt or itch; in fact, this tickled.

Suddenly it was over. He was out of it, and aside from a little dizziness and an aftermemory of the sensations his body had undergone, he felt okay, even normal.

The demon was still there.

"Now, let me tell you," Mysteroth said, "to anyone but an expert looking at and for some changes, this looks to be the same curse. Nobody will know what you had done here today. The effects are simple, and I know a lot of men who would sell their souls for this — and you didn't have to do that. The default now is off, not on. You must consciously turn it on. It will take a little practice, and you should concentrate if you have specific women in mind, but it will work. In fact, if you concentrate it all on one individual, you may find that she loses any will of her own and will do whatever you command. It will work on any female designed to have sex with a human male, so that means many faerie as well."

"You mean somebody could be like a slave?"

"Absolutely. No limits. They would be love slaves, absolutely doing what you commanded even if it meant their own destruction or the destruction of others. You could even do it, then command as your last command that they not remember it at all. Perfectly safe to you and useful for fending off jealous husbands and those who can't keep secrets. It should be a fun toy."

"And the downside?"

"For you? Only if they catch you at it! That is not my problem. Very well, that is all. Put on your clothing when you leave and pay at the front door."

And with that the demon turned and walked out.

Irving felt too excited at the possibilities here to worry much about it. He still would look the same to Poquah, and now he had some control over that nonsense. He wasn't sure if he'd like turning people into love slaves, but then again, who knew?

He wasn't so naive about sorcery, though, that he didn't realize that the curse, no matter how it looked, hadn't merely been modified but removed and that another far stronger and darker one that looked pretty much like it had been left in its place. No matter what the monetary cost here, there was always some other cost, too, when you got that kind of power from a demon. As Mysteroth had said, some men had probably sold their souls for this kind of power.

He looked around for the demon or at least a sign of where the creature had gone but saw none. The little man was waiting for him near the front of the store, though, and examined him carefully.

"Very good," he said approvingly. "I believe this is going to be the sort of transaction which all merchants hope and dream they will do, where everyone profits and everyone is satisfied. That begins with my own charges. Would you like a receipt?"

"Urn, no, I don't think so," he told the sorcery salesman. "That's all I need — for Poquah to find that." He thanked the little man and walked out into the sunlight once more.

The proprietor watched him stand there and then walk up the street, and he smiled. Yes, go ahead. Use the power. It will become almost a drug the more you do. And every time you do, you will become more and more a part of our side.

If the Kauri and the boy could be so easily converted, the Imir would pose no problem, not outnumbered like that.

At least the demon Mysteroth, in his disguise as the proprietor of the shop, felt certain of it.

He chuckled in fact at what was awaiting the poor kid, who would find that the thing worked exactly as promised and that the only one it wouldn't work on was the only one the kid really wanted. It was really one of those perfectly delicious little spells, at that.

Walking up the street, Irving spotted a woman coming the other way. She was fairly ordinary-looking and he normally would never have given her a second glance, but now he decided to test out his high-priced power.

He stared at her and willed that she feel the attraction.

It was as if a thunderbolt had struck her. From virtually not noticing him at all except as an obstacle to avoid while walking, she suddenly gasped, smiled the dreamiest of smiles, and could not take her eyes off him.

He felt the power and the control, and it was really strange — he felt it there. He felt it in his loins, which were giving off strange sensations and also undergoing involuntary stiffening as he watched.

He was suddenly a little scared and said to her, "Forget it. You did not see me at any time, nor will you ever think of or remember me," and sent that with an additional bolt of mental force.

She seemed to almost shrivel, shook her head in sudden puzzlement, and started to walk on some more, a very concerned, confused look on her face.

His own new sensations weren't so easily controlled, and it worried him. Not that he wanted to do anything with that strange woman, but it also struck him with sudden force that he really didn't know how to do it, at least not all the rules and procedures and things a woman would expect. He wanted to be able to do it right, to do it perfectly, if he could.

He needed a teacher.