I Need a Volunteer, Part 1: Prelude

A ‘real magic’ story featuring QuinnTheAssistant, written for Quinn’s I Need a Volunteer from the Audience contest.

Content warning: this story is based on the fantasy that stage magicians with real powers are - without most of the audience realising - actually sawing and slicing their assistants and volunteers into pieces for real, but with the aid of magic that prevents them suffering any lasting harm and which transforms their experience into one they can even enjoy. And of course they’re all restored at the end (eventually, anyway!). Oh, and there’s  some crude language and sex references too (yay!)



CLICK!

My eyes snapped open. What...? Where was I?

Oh yes, in the storeroom of my local theatre, which was currently being used to store Mistress Finella’s wide range of magical props in between shows.

And no, I wasn’t meant to be there.

Various cabinets and boxes loomed as vague shapes in the dim light that filtered through the single high window from the streetlights outside. I looked down at the one in front of me, the one I’d snuck in here to see close up.

Or at least I tried to look down.

That’s when I realised my body was frozen and that my eyes were the only thing I could actually move. I also had the strangest feeling of missing time, but as I was unable to move I couldn’t check my watch.

Shit! Did I trip some sort of magical burglar alarm? I kicked myself, mentally, for not having considered that before deciding to creep in here while Mistress Finella and all her crew were at the post-show party. Ah, the perils of being a stage magic show groupie. And a frustrated one at that. Yet again, I’d not been chosen to go up on stage during this evening’s show. Being the last night of a two-week run, it had been my last chance too, and the disappointment was what had driven me to hide in the loos until everyone was gone then sneak into the prop store. If I couldn’t get up close to the magic on stage, at least I could in here. I could even touch it.

And touching it I was. My right hand was frozen in the very act of stroking the divider blade slot on the same transparent sawing cabinet I’d seen Quinn cut in two inside only a few hours ago. Then, it had been a petite blonde who’d rammed the gleaming blade home. How I’d ached for it to be me instead getting my chance to slice my idol in two. Or, even better, for it to be me inside the cabinet.

Well at least I’d gotten to examine the apparatus properly up close before, well... whatever it was that had happened.

But how long would I be stuck like this?

Another click. This time I recognised it as the snap of fingers. My facial and neck muscles suddenly unfroze and I let out a sigh of relief. The rest of me, though, was still immobilised, frozen standing upright like a living waxwork.

Slowly, I turned my head. A finger snap implied fingers, and fingers implied a person. A person who had discovered me. A person who must be standing behind me.

Oh bugger.

The room lights snapped on. With a click of booted heels on hard floor Mistress Finella stepped into my field of view. She was still dressed in her stage costume of white corset and black leather trousers with matching leather jacket, though she’d ditched the mask and top hat. She looked kinda pissed off, but also rather amused.

“Well, well, well,” she said, looking me up and down. “So this is our little intruder. What do you have to say for yourself, Intruder?”

I swallowed. “Er... sorry.”

Finella raised an eyebrow. “Sorry won’t cut it, Little Intruder. You’ve had goodness knows how long to examine my props unsupervised. You might have sabotaged them, or photographed the mechanisms to sell my secrets to a rival.”

I rushed to reassure her. “No, no! I’d not do anything like that. I just wanted to...” I blushed. How could I explain my obsession?

Finella stepped closer and laid her hand on the side of my head. She closed her eyes and concentrated.

“Ah, a groupie,” she said after a moment.

OK, that was me, Catriona Evans, summed up and written off in one pithy phrase.

Finella stepped back. “Still, I have to assume you’ve seen too much. I can’t take the risk that you’ll blab. So I’m going to have to wipe your memory.”

She raised her hand towards my head again.

“No!” I cried out. I’d not seen much, despite what she thought, but no way was I letting her take even that tiny bit away from me. “I’ll do anything,” I added, “so long as you let me remember.”

“Anything?”

This new voice was lower and came from my other side. I snapped my head round.

There stood Quinn, my very favourite magician’s assistant (as I think I’ve already said), arms crossed over her chest and looking resplendant in a long, loose black sleeveless dress.

I nodded, not trusting myself not to stammer in the presence of my idol. Yes, I’d certainly do anything – anything at all – if Quinn was involved.

Luckily for me, she seemed to be on my side. She turned to Finella. “She could be useful,” Quinn suggested.

Finella narrowed her eyes. “Yes,” she said, considering. “She’s about the right height and build. Then she looked me in the eye. “Standard 24-hour temporary assistant contract?” she asked. I didn’t have a clue what the standard contract actually was, but I nodded eagerly. Anything to get me closer to the magic. Oh, and to avoid having my memory wiped.

Apparently, that was an acceptable response. Finella placed her hand on the side of my head, fingers splayed. “Contract signed,” she said.

I felt a warmth spread through me. Somehow, I just knew what to do. I repeated her words back to her and immediately the warmth pulsed, solidifying into a nugget of magic deep in my gut. I was committed now. I didn’t know what the consequences of breaking the magical contract would be, but I was sure they’d be dire.

Finella patted me on the cheek then clicked her fingers, evaporating the magic that held me frozen.

My shoulders sagged with relief. I smiled in thanks. I was desperate to stretch and dispel the aches from what I guessed was a good two hours of immobility, but instead I played the good assistant and just stood there, waiting for my cue.

Finella turned to Quinn. “Shall we try our Little Intruder in the transparent sawing cabinet, do you think? The lid seemed to be sticking a bit tonight, and I’d like to get that ironed out. She’s already standing beside it too, so I’m thinking it fascinates her.”

Quinn shook her head. “Nah. The hinges just need a bit of oil. How about using her to try out the new trick, instead. You know, The Chair?”

It should have bothered me that they were talking about me like I was just another piece of apparatus rather than a human being, but actually I found the objectification to be perversely exciting. I wanted to be treated like a thing – a prop to be handled and used, a bit of eye candy to be put on display, even raw meat to be severed or impaled for an audience’s entertainment. I wasn’t so distracted by my fantasy that I missed the nuances of the conversation between Finella and Quinn, though. Quinn’s words were blasé but her body language screamed excitement at the prospect of wheeling out this new trick, this Chair. Sexually excited, I reckoned. Finella seemed amused by her assistant’s state, but willing to go along with it.

“Oh?” Finella asked. “You reckon she’s the one to try this out with, then? Together, up close and personal?”

Together? Up close and personal? It sounded like this trick was quite a risqué one and that I’d be getting closer to my idol than I’d ever imagined possible.

Quinn just nodded, shooting me a frankly lascivious look.

“OK,” Finella said. “The chair it is. Her strapped in as the ‘volunteer’ and you climbing on top?”

This was sounding better and better. I liked the idea of being strapped down. When Quinn agreed, I was hard pressed not to fist-pump the air with satisfaction. Instead I just kept my cool and just stood there silently.

My fate now sealed, Finella turned to me. “What’s your name?” she asked me. “After all, I can hardly call you Little Intruder all night, can I?”

“Catriona,” I replied. “My name’s Catriona.”

“Ah, so our Little Intruder is a Little Cat too?. You go stand over there with your back to the zig-zag cabinet, Catriona, and pretend you’re in the audience.”

As soon as I was in position, Finella and Quinn’s demeanours changed. The physical presence of both women somehow expanded as they slipped into their respective roles.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Finella announced, “tonight we have a treat for you. A never-before-seen illusion which must be witnessed to be believed. But to do this...”

She paused, then uttered the words I’d been aching to hear.

“I need a volunteer from the audience.”


Continued in I Need a Volunteer, Part 2: Quinn and Cat Impaled...