A month after Tara sent a letter to Ursula’s owner, a reply arrived.  It was short and to the point, saying that if she wanted to learn more about Ursula to show up at a particular restaurant the following Saturday at seven.  The parchment it was written on was heavy and silky to the touch, and the envelope had an actual wax seal on it.  Tara was suitably impressed by that, then realized the restaurant was one she’d only heard rumours of.  It was well out of her price range, so she hoped that “Mr. H” was buying.

When Sasha heard of the invitation she insisted on being Tara’s dress for the evening.  “I’m never ever going to see that place otherwise.  Please?”

“I suppose it wouldn’t be inappropriate, given we’ll be discussing people that have become objects.  Did you want to come along too, Rachel?”

Rachel shook her head.  “Too fancy for my tastes.  Give me a beer and a burger instead of enormous plates with teensy little swatches of food.”

Tara laughed.  “Might join you for that afterward, we’ll see how it goes.”

When the day of the invitation arrived, Tara felt more than a little nervous.  She fidgeted while Sasha worked on her makeup, to the point that Sasha threatened to turn her into another mannequin so she could do her work in peace.  Once Sasha pronounced her beautiful, Tara relaxed a little bit.  Turning Sasha into a lovely and uncharacteristically demure dress soothed her even more.

She arrived at the restaurant, and had to figure out how to deal with the valet parking.  The person who took her keys smiled at her kindly.  She could tell he knew she was way over her head, but he didn’t say anything, just gestured toward the entrance.

The Maitre ‘d recognized her as she arrived, and guided her to a private booth toward the back of the restaurant.  An older man was seated at the booth.  He stood until she’d been seated, then sat back down.  Tara thought he looked passingly familiar, but couldn’t place his face or name.  Possibly some article about the rich and infamous...  He had dark hair peppered with a little grey here and there, though it seemed artful enough that she wondered if it was deliberate.  Slight wrinkles showed around his eyes when he smiled at her, making her think he was perhaps the same age as her father.

“Miss Stark.  You have been asking interesting questions, and making even more interesting claims.”

“Claims?” asked Tara.

“That you can judge the mental state of an object.”

Tara nodded.  “Yeah.  I only wanted to see Ursula briefly, just...  She was a friend, a co-worker.  I don’t suppose she’ll be missed much by this world, but  I’d be happier if I knew she wasn’t suffering, at least.  I found one person who was being traumatized by their shape, and occasionally I get the...”  She looked around.  “There are at least two near us.”

“Ah.  That does seem possible, yes.  But I need to know more than just ‘possible’.”

Tara raised an eyebrow.  “You want to test me.”

He nodded.  “After dinner.  I wouldn’t want to spoil the experience.”

“So I’ve already passed some kind of test, or I’d already be out on my ass?”

That got a chuckle.  “A few, yes.  You are an interesting person, and unafraid of me.  I find that refreshing.”

“Should I be?”

He shrugged, and gestured to the tuxedo-clad waiter who was standing far enough from them not to overhear their conversation.  He said a few things Tara only somewhat caught, then the waiter strode off once more.  Moments later, a bottle of wine was brought to the table, and poured into their glasses.

Tara contemplated being annoyed by the way he’d apparently ordered for both of them.  It didn’t seem worth the bother, as he undoubtedly had a much better idea of what the restaurant was good at.  Though from the low key but refined looks of the place, she doubted they ever served anything less than the best.

So she did her best to be a charming guest as course after course of food arrived.  Small portions, as Rachel had suggested, but gorgeously presented and incredibly tasty.  She asked a few questions about the food and wines as they ate, and answered more than a few questions about herself and her history.  From the way he would frown when she tried to shade the truth to put herself in a better light, she figured he already knew most of the answers.

Any attempt to question him about his own history was met with an artful deflection.  She admired the verbal skill, and figured she was getting a lovely meal out of it.  He obviously had substantial wealth and likely commensurate influence.  There was little point in trying to pry, it seemed likely there was public information to be found if she cared to dig later.

Tara counted the courses, amused to find that when the sorbet arrived at the end it was the seventh course.  She preferred the way her lovers had arranged it, but this was nice too.  “You live well.”

He nodded.  “Indeed.  There are some worldly compensations for the work.  Speaking of which...”  He opened a case that had been sitting beside his chair, and pulled out five small wooden boxes, all apparently identical.

Tara studied them as he set them out.  The boxes had simple hinged lids, and fine brass latches to hold them closed.  As the last one was set down she felt a little jolt from it.  Her eyes widened.  “There are...  Ah.  A guessing game?”

“Inside each box is an object.  They are all identical save for a dot of polish that was applied by my secretary.  I do not know which one is which.  To confound matters further, the boxes are truly identical.  I do not even know which coloured dot is in which box.  What can you tell me about them?”

“May I open the boxes?  I’m getting at best a murky impression from them.”

He clucked his tongue, then shook his head.  “Let us first see what you can discern without touching the boxes.”  He slid a pad of sticky notes to her, then pulled a pen out of his breast pocket and handed it to her.

Tara marvelled at the pen for a few moments.  It felt heavy enough to be actual gold, rather than gold plate.  She shook her head at the extravagance.  “May I at least reach toward them?”

“Without touching, yes.”

Tara extended her right hand out to each box in turn.  It helped to untangle the combined impressions.  Inside the first box she got the impression of boredom.  The second was anticipating... something, with an eagerness dulled by the wait.  The third she got no impression from at all.  She frowned, focussed on it with both hands for a time, then shook her head and wrote down her observation.  The fourth was distinctly horny, perhaps the strongest impression so far.

The last box, however, felt much clearer than the others.  As Tara puzzled at it, waving her hand from side to side, her eyes widened.  “Oh, you sneak.”

He chuckled.  “Just write.”

Tara noted that the last box was not inert, it was a person with a wide mischievous streak, second only to Sasha’s.

She put her notes by each box, and then set the pen down neatly in front of the collection.  “Well?”

“I have no idea.  But you spotted the ringer.  Ah, and the null.  So obviously something is going on.”

He scanned the notes briefly with his phone, then opened each box in turn to note the colour and pair them with the notes.  A moment later his phone buzzed softly with a reply, and he nodded.  “Good so far.  Shall we mix it up and try again, or go for something a little more revealing?”

“Less boring is good,” replied Tara with an impish grin.  She felt a spark of interest from the box.  “What do you have for me?”

“As you surmised, two of the boxes are not... occupied.”  He opened both, and a simple clear rubber ball rolled out of each one.  One had a black dot, one had a blue one.   Otherwise they appeared identical.

“They are not quite identical, I have been informed.  What can you discern?”

“May I touch them?”

He nodded, so Tara picked up each ball in turn.  She turned them in her hands, weighed them with one in her left, the other in her right, then traded sides.  “They feel different.  Not a person, but...”  She held up the one with the blue dot.  “This one feels like magic, the other does not.”

He tapped a brief message, and grinned at the answer.  “My secretary believes you.  I still have my doubts.  But as your reward for passing this far...”  He opened another box.  The ball that rolled out almost glowed to Tara’s focussed sense.  It was the horny one, and it was very eager to be used.  She picked it up and gave it a brief squeeze, grinning at the pulse of happiness from within.  “Ursula, I take it?  Thank you.  She seems to be enjoying herself, even as a ball.  This isn’t her usual shape, given how her thoughts are running.”

“It is not.  I have loaned my son a device that transforms the target into all manner of sex toys.  It has been locked so that it cannot make them human.”

Tara raised an eyebrow.  “That’s awfully specific.  You want him to play with her, but not see her as a person.  Let me guess, he wants to marry Ursula, and she’s too low class for...”  She stopped at his frown.  “Ah.  Not so gauche as classism.  That’s something, at least.  So why?”

“There is an arrangement in place.  One with significant upsides for all involved, but my son does not see it that way.”

Tara’s gaze snapped to the box holding the bored ball.  There’d been a bright flicker of recognition at the name.  “You used your son as part of this experiment?”

“Marie suggested the idea, and persuaded her mother and brother to join in.”

Tara mulled that revelation.  She pointed to the anticipatory box.  “Wife... so the box is your daughter, full of mischief and fun ideas.”

“Indeed.  But for all that, rather less trouble than her brother.”

“Bored and intransigent.  I can imagine he’s a handful.  You’re using what leverage you have, and it’s not enough.  He still talks to her.”

Mr. H’s brow furrowed in consternation.  “How...  You’re better than you claimed.”

“Good guess, confirmed by both his reaction and yours.  Your toy probably has an option that makes for a very realistic doll.  Realistic enough that with a little help, it can talk.”

“It had not occurred to me that such a thing would be possible.  He’s creative, if only he could see the upside...”

Tara raised an eyebrow.  “I don’t think he knows there is one.”

“Because he won’t listen!” fumed Mr. H.  He swiftly controlled his expression.  “This is hardly the place for that discussion.  If you are interested in the discussion...”

Tara nodded eagerly.

“Very well.  Tomorrow night.  I’ll send a limo to pick you up.”

“What should I wear?” asked Tara.

Mr. H. glanced at her dress.  “Sasha is fine.”

“That doesn’t narrow it down,” noted Tara with a wry smile.  “She’d be happy as anything from an ornate ballgown to a swimsuit.”

“It won’t be a formal dinner, just family and you.  Good evening.”

Tara understood the dismissal, and stood from her chair.  “Thank you for a lovely dinner.”

That got an ever so slightly impish smile from Mr. H, but Tara knew better than to ask for any sort of explanation.

When she returned home, Tara took Sasha off immediately, and changed her back to human.  Rachel looked the two of them over.  “Good dinner?”

“Amazing.  Small portions, but seven courses worth so I’m feeling well fed.  Do you remember who Ursula was dating before she disappeared?”

Rachel shook her head.  “I wasn’t working at the gym then, remember?  I took her spot.”

“Oh, right.  He was some kind of rich preppy kid.  I bet the boss knows.  I’ll ask tomorrow.”

“What did you think of him, Sasha?”

Sasha shrugged.  “He’s smart, and expects to get his way.  As long as you don’t thwart him, you’ll be fine.  So what kind of dress am I going to be tomorrow?”

“Something casual, maybe a little flirty.  I want to make a good impression.”

“On him?” asked Rachel.

“No, on Marie, his daughter.  She sounds like fun.”

“Looking for more members of your shifty harem, is it?” asked Rachel with a grin.  “The three of us aren’t enough?”

Tara chuckled warmly, and went to where Dawn was hanging on her display.  She slipped the kimono on, and time slithered away from her a moment later as she melted into ... she wasn’t quite sure, but it was a lot of fun.