Putting on a smile, Jules burst out the door and into the cold, dark alley to be greeted by cheers and flashes. He was a rising star, and while the ticket sales proved it, it was moments like these, when a dozen or so people gathered after the show just to talk to him, be close to him, and get his autograph that he really felt it.
“How do you do it?”
“A magician never reveals…”
“Are you married?”
“Ha ha! Not yet!”
“Where do you…?”
Suddenly the world was spinning. Something flat and heavy had hit the side of his head, and he stumbled a few steps before finding some support in the form of a woman who was almost as surprised as he was.
“SINNER!” came a screeching, scratchy voice. A second thump hit his side, making him wheeze. “TEMPTER TO SIN! DARK PROPHET!”
“STOP!” someone else yelled. “GET OFF OF HIM!”
Jules stammered something to the woman he’d grabbed he hoped would come across as an apology as he recovered his feet. He raised his arm to fend off any further incoming attacks, just in time to catch a gold-trimmed white Bible with his forearm.
“STOP TURNING GIRLS INTO WHORES!” howled the short, elderly woman behind it. For being so small, she was pretty good at swinging such a heavy book.
As she lifted it back for another swing, Jules’s hand followed, and she was only able to swing a few inches before uselessly hitting his palm.
“DON’T TOUCH ME!” she took a few steps back, pushing past the crowd. She seemed intent on using the distance to get another swing in, but the crowd, already trying to separate them, closed in. “DON’T DEFEND HIM! YOU’RE DEFENDING SIN!”
“CUT IT OUT, YOU LUNATIC!” another woman tried to yell over her. “IT’S JUST A SHOW, IT’S NOT REAL!”
Jules took the opportunity to duck back through the door.
When the door shut behind him, he leaned on it, though it was little relief as he had to be careful not to lean on the bar that’d have it pop back open.
Shouting continued. At least one voice wanted him to come back out. Someone threatened to call the police. The Bible thumper welcomed it, calling them “good, Christian boys”.
He stepped away from the door with a sigh. As great as it felt that his life was going somewhere, it seemed inescapable that that “somewhere” was a brick wall. This had to stop.
He knew what he had to do, but even as he walked to the dressing room, he started fighting with himself over it. He’d never have his name in lights. He’d never have his face on international TV. He might not even be able to perform again. How could he back out now, or at all, if it meant giving up the stage? If it meant giving up…
He stopped right before the door. Jaz.
He knew she was in there. The light was on. There were others who might have visited him there, but it was Jaz. He could almost believe he could smell her. Maybe he just wanted to that badly.
“Come in!” she intoned. Her light laugh tugged at his heart. “We’ve been way past shyness for months.”
With nothing else for it, he stepped in, closing the door behind him.
Jaz lounged in the chair in front of the vanity, legs crossed in a way that showed off the black fire tattoos running all the way up her leg, stopping just short of the bikini bottom that wrapped around it to frame, it, as if thigh, tattoo, and bikini had been designed together. More black tongues of flame wrapped around her sides, all the way up to the underboob-bearing crop top. She had numerous piercings, especially on her face, and her bright red hair was shaved along one side. She practically oozed punk and sex.
Though she wasn’t at all Jules’s type, somehow, he couldn’t imagine how someone could look more perfect.
Her smirk at once mocked him and invited him in, but the worst was always her eyes. Their blue did a good job of almost being white. They gripped him.
“If you wanted to keep me away,” she teased, “you didn’t have to bruise a cross into your face.”
His cheek was indeed feeling swollen and sore, but he hadn’t thought a cross would show. He stepped up, but turned away from her, trying to focus on the hat on the vanity’s desk. He needed the hat, right now, but it helped that he also didn’t want her to see.
He caught a look at himself in the mirror. There was a bruise, yes, but it wasn’t half as bad as he’d been afraid of, and the cross certainly didn’t show.
A hand caressed his arm, and his heart fluttered. “What’s bothering you?” Jaz purred.
Jules fiddled with his hat, turning it to look inside while conjuring up something he’d prepared: A magic dagger. Its crossguard and grip were styled as a halfway-unzipped zipper. He didn’t know if he could bring himself to use it. He deeply hoped that he’d judged himself properly when he was thinking more clearly. He hoped being unable to control himself would be enough.
He also hoped he’d never have to. Maybe there was still a way? To stop the magic, but not lose Jaz? “I-I…” He didn’t know what he was trying to say. He fell into what was easiest. “This has to stop.”
Jaz’s smirk only deepened, and darkened. “What? You can’t tell me you don’t want this.” She took his hand, pressing it into her cleavage.
The feeling in his hand and all the way up his arm was almost electric. He didn’t want to pull away. “No! I want it. Of course I do, but… I want out. Out of the contract.”
Her chuckle was deep and sinister. “Stop now? You’re already a famous magician. You got what you signed up for. You know there’s only one way out, now, Jules.”
The way she said his name sent shivers up his spine. It was true. She’d fulfilled her side of the contract. At the very least, he couldn’t see a way to argue she hadn’t fulfilled the letter of it.
He’d puzzled it out weeks ago: The only reason for her to keep him around, barring that she actually liked him, was to use him to get to others. The longer he played along, the more souls she’d ensnare. This, more than anything else, was why it had to stop.
“I won’t be your pawn, Jazelle,” he forced out. Inside the hat, he gripped the dagger so hard it made his knuckles ache. “If you want more souls, you’ll have to get them without me.”
“A shame,” Jaz said simply. She rose to her feet, forcing him to take a step back. As she did, her skin turned grey, horns grew out of her temples, and wings stretched from her back, to either side. Her clothes tore, and fell to the floor, exposing her breast which seemed perfectly framed and presented by the tattoos the shirt had hidden. He couldn’t see her tail.
Worst of all were her eyes. Now glowing their true, fiery red, he was never able to take his eyes off of them.
As she stepped up, wrapping her arms around him, he knew he couldn’t pull away. Looking into her eyes, he never desired anything more.
“Goodbye, Jules.”
She kissed him. All strength drained from him. The icy grip of death began to take hold.
He didn’t dare break the kiss. Though it meant his death, with his soul belonging to her and thus condemned to Hell, the kiss meant more. Shakily, his arms raised to embrace her in return.
He wanted her.
He needed her.
His only regret, with darkness closing in, was that it meant not having her forever.
He wanted her, to keep her, forever.
The dagger was still in his hand.
He touched it to the back of her neck, eliciting a cooing “mmm” in return. She knew he couldn’t kill her, even if he had the will.
She didn’t know what the dagger did.
He slid it straight down, using her spine as a guide, and her head, regrettably, crumpled away like an empty bag.
In confusion, or perhaps curiosity, her hand probed the space where her head had been. She patted where it lay, between her shoulders. With an arm still around him, body pressed to his, she didn’t seem to know what to make of it.
Unable to risk losing her, Jules slid the dagger the rest of the way down to her tail.
Suddenly deflated, she fell limply over his still-embracing arm.
He wanted her. He needed her.
He dropped the dagger. He didn’t need it, anymore.
Tired, cold, weak, trembling, he turned Jazelle around. Her back presented a long, open hole, showing more grey skin, and curiously, even the tattoos, inside.
He didn’t even try to process what the presence of the black markings could mean. All he wanted now was to get inside her.
Jules tried to raise a foot, but nearly fell.
He took a seat, then lifted it again, slipping it into the too-thin grey stocking that was Jaz’s leg. The way it stretched around his shoe and leg nearly turned his stomach. He assured himself he wasn’t ruining her. When his toe met hers, it rolled back into shape, allowing his ankle to meet hers, then his shin. All the way on up to his knee, he was rapidly reshaped. His foot suddenly felt free, naked. He flexed it, and watched the lovely, petite, feminine toes point up.
In his excitement, he could almost feel his heart beating. It was working. He could have Jaz.
As he slipped his other foot into Jaz’s other leg, he noticed the crotch of his pants had been soaked all the way through. His heart twisted with painful regret. Sex with Jaz had been the best times of his life, before now. Still, to have her forever was worth any price.
He pulled her up, watching her legs return to how they should be. Shorter, slimmer, perfectly sculpted. They were also oh, so very warm, almost as if they could burn his cold, dried-out body.
They were strong, too. When he rose back to his feet, his still mostly male body seemed light as a feather on them.
Though regret at the loss of his manhood tried to fight back, the desire, zealously assured that he was getting what he wanted, kept him going. He pulled Jaz’s waist up over his. The resistance, the wetness, and much of the stimulation vanished. His head began to clear, at least relatively.
Still, it held him, though. The return of thought only reassured him that he was doing the right thing. Even if he had no dick to put in her, he needed Jaz.
Staring into the hole in her back, and deeper into the holes of her arms and neck, he took hold of her shoulders from the inside. He bowed his head, and ducked it inside. Then, he let her arms and head slide around him, like sleeves and a hood.
Everything snapped into place. A sharp, scratching feeling shot up his spine. All sense of weight he’d been feeling lifted. Involuntarily, he threw his head back, back arched, then stumbled to recover his balance. He breathed a deep, easy breath.
His heart pounded. He felt hot, light, energized! In sharp contrast to a second before, but more so than ever before, Jules felt alive!
He looked down at himself, immediately met by the sight of those abundant, grey breasts. Victory, relief, and tantalization all rolled in to one. His excitement electrified his body in new, alien ways. He grabbed his breast possessively, and his heart beat faster. His crotch felt like it could ignite paper, and in a second, as his other hand found its way to it, like it could put it out again.
Quickly, he turned to the mirror. His heart skipped a beat. The blazing, red eyes that met him were wide, wild, mad. Inhuman. Was that how he looked?
It didn’t matter.
He collapsed to his knees, then fell to his back, hands exploring his new form and being rewarded at each inch as his fingers found only perfection.
He didn’t know why, but he laughed. He laughed a high, cackling laugh which grew louder and louder. It felt exciting. It felt terrifying. It felt free.
He couldn’t live without Jaz.
And now, he had her.
Forever.