Sharla Winslowe

by Christy Lake and Misty Dawn

 

Chapter 4 People and books

Part 14 Spring Break

Part 15 Magic Books

 

Part 14 Spring Break

"Bleh!" Spring break had officially started. Jenny’s Aunt had picked her up from her last class and whisked her to Vermont for the two weeks. Naomi was in her dorm packing for a two-week stay with her family. Sharla was "like totally" at odds with herself.

The pretty coed could go home, but that would mean sleeping on a cot in her sister’s room. She had used that cot over Christmas, but was not eager to do so again.

Two long weeks, not even any study projects for diversion, and her best friends out of town. Kevin’s dad had asked him to check the books on an out of town project. Sharla had not realized this separation from her high school classmates would bring about such a total aloneness when she blithely signed up and qualified to take a double major. So far she had a 3.97 average, but other than Jenny and Naomi, there were no friends, just class acquaintances. Sharla did not have time for anything but work and study. It was a good thing that Kevin’s work schedule for his dad pretty much matched hers.

If business was not too slow at Turnbulls tonight, she might ask for extra shifts. Sharla was pretty certain two of the weekday regulars were going to be out of town. If they were that would keep her busy in the evenings at least. Sleeping late and walking the paths and malls should give her mind a chance to unwind. As one of her classmates had put it, "Let the CPU run at idle for a while so it could cool down and then do a complete stop and reboot." He had been talking about his relaxation every night, but it seemed to her to be very apt.

Turnbulls had just got their Beer and Wine License so things were really hopping all evening. Sharla was overjoyed when the owner stopped her and asked her to work the last 12 hours, everyday for the entire spring break.

He explained that there were two family conventions, one each week, coming to town. He had not planned on getting the booze license for another month, but, now he had it and he needed more ladies on the floor. She seemed to almost hear his thoughts as he spoke, and knew he wanted her to work, that he felt she was one of his best servers. She blushed deeply, but readily accepted.

Sharla was floating, and if tonight were any indication, she would not have to worry about spending money for the rest of the school year. One of the girls was serving a pretty good-sized birthday party. She was trying to get her lighter working to light the candles. Feeling mischievous, Sharla summoned a tiny bit of the green energy and sent it to each of the candlewicks. With one poof, all the candles lit at once. The guests thought it was a great stunt. The waitress turned pale and scurried away to the toilet.

Sharla went through all the closing procedures with the owner. After finishing, just too frazzled to bother with changing, so she just stuffed her sweats and street shoes in a bag, grabbed her purse, and slipped out the self-locking employees’ street entrance.

Following the after-hour harsh florescent lighting used during cleanup of the club, the soft street lighting was welcome. It dimly illuminated a late model dark van parked about twenty feet towards the center of the block. Sharla figured that the van owner had better get back soon or he would be one very pissed off individual. This street was classed as a no parking, tow away zone from 02:30 until 10:30, seven days a week. Sharla took a deep breath, enjoying the cool fresh air. On a whimsy, she linked to the green crystal and added some reinforcement to her purse. It was now a Strong Bag, and would protect the over three hundred dollars in tips it contained. While quickly heading for the corner, soft auburn hair shimmering in cascading waves to her shoulders, her spike heels echoed eerily in the quiet street.

Suddenly a big arm reached around her left side from behind and a huge, hard hand was brutally clapped across her mouth. As she was jerked backward, she dropped her purse and bag. "Come on, Bitch! I like pretty girls and pretty under things and since you’re a real pretty girl, I just bet you’ve got some real pretty under things on!"

Her head was suddenly flooded with images of herself being gagged with duct tape, ruthlessly stripped nude, then having her hands and feet secured to fixtures inside the van, and filling her loathing and disgust, with lurid images of the guy putting on her underwear, then donning a dress, before raping her.

Struggling against his raw animal strength proved ineffectual and Sharla felt herself being dragged ruthlessly backward. Thrown off-balance, she took a big step backward to try and gain her equilibrium. She felt her heel touch something and the instant she felt the touch knew what to do and put all her force into her right leg. Her heel squished through something. Sharla was thrown forward, landing on her hands and knees. Surging to her feet the fear-filled, enraged coed looked behind and down at her attacker.

The goon who had grabbed her was on his side, sprawled on the sidewalk. He was writhing in obvious agony, gripping his right foot with both hands. "You God Damn Dirty Bitch! I’m gonna cut you to shreds! I’m gonna bust every bone in your legs and arms!"

A mirthless laugh burst from Sharla as she looked for something to knock the thug out with. Nothing, the street was clean. With sudden inspiration, she snatched up her purse by the shoulder strap. A full swing slammed the purse into the back of the assailant’s skull and he was suddenly very quiet.

A quick examination proved that the sharp spike heel of the previously detestable work shoe had gone cleanly through the arch of his foot. There was only a little bit of blood; his thick socks absorbed it. He had a regular pulse and was breathing easily. Glancing about, she saw the side door of the nearby van was open. A ruthless, purely evil little plan began to form in the redhead’s mind.

Opening her purse, she used her penlight to check the interior of the van. It had the tie downs she had seen. Touching the floor of the van lightly, experimentally, she felt the resonance of pain, of fear, and of degradation. Garnered from the various echoes, she realized that at least three women had been raped in this van and probably more. "What am I going to do about you," she fumed.

Before that moment, she had been frightened and angry. Now, as the adrenalin rush faded, as she felt the shame and horror of those previous victims, she became just plain angry. Using the green energy from the crystals, she stripped off the brute’s shoes and socks. It was but the matter of a moment to close the puncture wound. Satisfied he was repaired, she slid his bulk into the van, made sure he was still out cold, and drove the van to the parking lot across from her dorm.

Once she was safely in her room, she realized she was still boiling with anger. "Pretties, huh, he likes pretties. Maybe he should have a need to wear some pretties."

Quickly, Sharla kicked off her tall, spike-heeled work shoes, stripped off the tight shorts, snug t-shirt, the spider-silk enhancement bra, and centered herself on the bed in a lotus position. Since the day Jenny had shown her how to meditate in the very relaxing lotus position, she had used it often. It seemed to help her to concentrate lots better.

Ever Since Christmas, Sharla had been fascinated with her potential ability to aid medical treatments and had experimented as much as possible. Naomi’s need to be rid of the baby fat, and her own desire for bigger breasts, had driven Sharla to practice with the translocation of body fat. Experimenting on herself, she had been fairly successful in relocating body fat to her breasts and had perfected the technique. The big problem with Naomi was that her excess fat was evenly spread across the plane of her tummy, waist, and lower torso: Sharla didn't have any excess fat. The goon downstairs had a nice fat Volkswagon sized spare tire of fat around his middle. With yet another flash of inspiration, the teen witch realized Jenny still had that rather plain, full-coverage firm support bra that she hated. She had once commented to Sharla that if anything got lost in the wash, she hoped it was that torture device. Almost without thought, Sharla located the bra and soon had it in place on the hoodlum in the van. Before she had finished and taken her next breath, she had two translocation operations going, moving the fatty tissue from his waist to be integrated into complete breast tissue.

Now Sharla knew exactly what she was going to do. After giving him breasts, she would dress him in a slip, panties, tailor his shirt to show off his new profile, and convert his baggy jeans into a floor-length, straight denim skirt with a back slit reaching a point just below the backs of the knees. But before dressing him, she called her Hair Zappers and told them to clean this guy up from toes to nose. She traced an imaginary line across the bridge of his nose, down under his ear lobes, and then around the back of his head. "Anything between that line and the bottom of the feet is free fun for all of you zappers! Now, go to it!" She paused to practice her breathing and relaxing techniques.

She sensed something, and projected her awareness back into the van. The translocation operation had completely filled both bra cups, but there was a lot of fat left to move. Suddenly picturing Jenny’s ample buns and thighs, she projected the image to the translocation operations to use as templates. He amply filled the bra, and from what she could see, the zappers had stripped him bare below the nose.

"Note to self" she thought. "It’s time I got to get the zappers to do me again." Then searching around, she found a couple yards of the left over Sweetheart Ball silk. Almost as quick as thought, she had the material under the thug and was fashioning a full calf-length slip that closely fitted his new shape. She took his denim plaid shirt and ably tailored it to very closely fit his upper body. The zappers were gone and the translocation operation had completely moved all the fat off his middle. With expertise learned from making her Valentine’s Day formal, she tailored his oversize blue jeans into a darling form-fitting, floor-length denim straight skirt. Just as envisioned, she put in a back slit to just below the backs of his knees. She fitted it snuggly to his now increased behind and added a wide, strong spider-silk reinforced waistband that fitted snugly to closely hold, and display, his now greatly reduced waist. Last, but not the least of her actions, the teen decided to give him one of the pinky rings she knew was contained within her jewelry chest. She did not slip this special ring onto his finger, but left it in plain sight where it would be impossible to ignore. Though it resembled a woman’s wedding band, the ring was a band of a design a man might wear. He was a rapist who collected trophies. He would find the ring and assume it belonged to one of his victims. He would surely want to wear the ring as a reminder. Sharla knew it was right, but did not know why.

A quick search of the van from the safety of her room revealed that the goon was William Ross. The address on the student ID was 1287 Palm Court Parkway, Apartment 326. That was clear across town in a high rent area. She checked it out and found a picture of the goon in a football uniform. A quick check showed that he lived in this scrumptious two-bedroom apartment alone. In a locked closet of the rather plain second bedroom she found a pair of knee length, spike heeled boots. She translocated them to his feet and closed the zippers. In that tight skirt, he would not be able to get the boots off without help.

Back at the van, she separated his apartment key from the ring and took forty dollars out of the wallet. She tucked the key inside his right bra cup and twenty dollars, folded up, in his left bra cup. She left the other twenty on the floor, under the ring.

Satisfied with her production, she transported his other keys and wallet into a nightstand she found next to his bed in his apartment. Since he was resting easily and it was almost sunrise, she blocked the van’s sliding door open, and returned to herself, stripped off her panty, and showered before crawling naked into her bed to sleep.

The next morning, Sharla looked out and checked the parking lot. The van was still there but the side door was shut. With a simple shrug, she ignored the curiosity filling her and forced herself to continue across the campus to the cafeteria and breakfast. The man, the van, the incident was soon out of mind as she considered her performance of the night before.

She had used The Force. Somehow learning to control its awesome energies, to manipulate objects and actually had The Force do her bidding! "Ghads! I need to learn more." Following her breakfast, she nearly ran to the library. And every free minute she had for the balance of Spring Break, she was in the library researching magic. By the start of school, she was frustrated. Nothing she was doing was described in any of the research that had been done on the subject of magic.

Sunday morning was jogging time. The library was closed so she started on her regular path. A city projects swimming pool that had been closed was open. She stopped and chatted a bit. The pool had been opened and was funded for use by women, mothers, and girls who were in need of or receiving some sort of social assistance. A number of businesses had pitched in, cleaned the pool area, and furnished it with tables, umbrellas, and chairs. The idea was to have a place for the women only to use. This pool was on several bus lines so it was convenient.

Before resuming her jog, Sharla had a brainstorm. "Zappers." She mentally called. "I’ve found a home for you! And you can have fun. The only restrictions are you are to stay below the nose like you did with the goon yesterday – yes you did good – and leave the pubic patch alone." She pictured the results of a bikini wax job. She felt a wash of satisfaction and eagerness. "Everybody in this pool is going to benefit from your care, so have fun." She was not really certain how, but she knew the Hair Zappers were in the pool.

Monday night, while serving tables, she overheard part of a conversation between two hunks she recognized and juniors on the football team. "Don’t know what happened to Billy Ross," one was saying. "Whatever it was, I’m damn glad. That jerk, I swear, has been behind at least five attacks on waitresses this year. He is smart enough and momma has enough money, that he has never been nailed."

"What happened?" Another voice asked.

"Not sure," replied the first voice. "Someone said they saw him at a bus stop wearing a dress. He did not show for the special drills Sunday or today either."

Just a week later, Sharla was serving a group of women she recognized as being from the Chamber of Commerce. The overheard conversation had her chuckling all week. "You remember how much cooperation we got from the macho assholes on the committee? Well, I found out why they supported us on fixing up the pool for the women. Saturday they called a special committee meeting, without notifying any of the women. At that meeting, they passed a resolution declaring that on Sunday afternoons the pool would be for the use of men from the City payroll and Chamber members. Yesterday, they kicked the women and kids out and staged a big barbeque and beer bust for all their hairy ape friends."

"I don’t know what or how it happened," the woman continued after taking a sip. "But if my husband is any indication, they lost their beards and all their body hair!"

When she finally managed to contact Naomi on Saturday, who was by then getting ready to return to school, the sensuous Indian beauty repeated the advice she had received from her uncle. "Don’t worry about studying; just keep doing, and when the time is right, you will learn more. Do not push, do not hurt, opportunity will happen."

*****************

The day before final exams, across town, Sylvia Mac Farland, infatuated with Andrew Winslowe, and more than a bit fascinated by the sizable bulge he sported in the front of his snug electric blue swimsuit on occasion, asked, "Daddy, is the front office still going to need that second gofer for the summer?"

Daryl "The Scotsman" Mac Farland replied, "Well, I am planning on your being there in the office this summer."

"But Daddy, you said they’d need a couple of gofers for the summer!"

"I dunna know there’s all that much need for two! You’er a big enough lass to handle it yerself this year, PRINCESS? There willny be enough work for two…That’s a very big expense having two ye brats underfoot, ye know…"

"Scotty!" Gasped his wife in mock indignation. "Quit playing the penny-pinching Scot! If you think I am gonna let you work our daughters fingers to the bone all by herself when you were gonna have two gofers, then you've another think coming and better make up your bed on the sofa tonight"

"Why’re ye asking, gel?" The man asked deliberately using the broadest brogue he was capable of. "Have ye somebody in mind, gel?"

Sylvia began blushing furiously now, but now that she had started, she was not about to back off. "Well, in our Swim Team practice class, there’s this boy and …"

The Scotsman glanced across the dinner table at his wife Hypatia, who was suddenly grinning from ear to ear and winked. "And …"

"Well, he’s a really nice guy and …" she then related what she knew of Andy, as she called him, though she knew he preferred Andrew. She wound up telling them, "…he’s kinda cute, too, in a way."

It was obvious to the two adults their daughter was infatuated. They exchanged a wink and Daryl chuckled. "Alright, alright!" He raised his hands in mock surrender. "I give up! Bring you boyfriend in and introduce him. I’ll tell Mary to put you both to work the Monday following schools out, okay?"

The girl flew around the table, hugged her father, and kissed him on the forehead. "Thanks, Daddy! I owe you one!"

 

 

Part 15 Magic Books

Terrance was very happy. Hopefully, today he would get rid of the last of the junk from Granddad’s house. The slim, effeminized, mild-mannered youth hefted the ornately hand-carved wooden trunk or "La Caisse," as Gramps had called it, onto a table and opened the lid to display the fifteen leather-bound volumes inside. Two were blue color and the other thirteen were green. The row of green books had a diagonal blood-red line across the spines. If they were in a specific order, the line was complete. He felt his big eyes begin burning with tears caused by his hating of them.

Hating them because he now tied the box of blank books to the two major changes in his life, Terrance vowed he would get rid of it today at any price. Pausing a moment, his mind wandered backwards in time.

It had been six years ago that Terrance had discovered the box of books while playing in Granddad’s attic. Gramps had avowed the box and its contents had been very special to his mother's, Great-grandma Misty. Then Grandpa had sworn "La Caisse" was destined "to be delivered unto someone very special, a woman of great powers" or some such garbage! Angered by the manner in which Gramps handled, almost revered, a bunch of stupid old books with blank pages, he had slammed the book back in the old box with all his ten-year-old strength.

That’s when the damned thing had shocked him the first time. He now tied that shock to the first big change in his life. The next day the city-owned swimming pool had opened for the new season. Terrance had left shortly after arriving, in tears, because the other kids had teased him about his pretty legs. Over time the teasing and taunts had gotten worse. Almost overnight, he had developed prettier legs and a more girlish figure than most of the girls in his class. It had seemed even some of the teachers were envious. He now had a very girlish shape nearly impossible to hide.

The second big change had been just shortly after Grandma’s death. He had been cleaning the attic so some of her stuff could be stored. He had used one of the green books to support the short leg of a chair he'd used to reach some of the top shelves. When he'd put the book back in the box, it had shocked him a second time, just as the other book had that first time years before. He remembered the incident and associated it with the books; because that was the day he discovered his love of lingerie.

After putting the wobbly chair back in the corner, he'd discovered a box very similar to those the school got copier paper in. He had been curiously compelled to squat down and cut the tape. The lid had literally popped off, surprising him. He'd lost his balance and landed on his too-girlish rear, spilling the box between his too-shapely legs in the process. Girlish eyes, crowned with thin and perfectly shaped brows had widened too-feminine delight!

The box had been stuffed with fine, exquisite, and some of it sexy, lingerie. Silky slips, half-slips, camisoles, Satin, rayon, and fine cotton panties, bras, girdles, frills-and-lace garter belts, and seamed nylon stockings. There, right in front of his slim-fingered hand, lay was a beautiful light metallic-blue, matching bra and panty set. The delicate white lace trim was just too divine. Another incredibly powerful, impossible-to-ignore compulsion had urged him into an impossibly female action.

It had taken only a few seconds for him to strip to his birthday suit. He had then almost frantically pulled the white lace trimmed blue bikini panty into place; carefully he tucked his little man back. For the first time in five years he had been glad his testicles had retracted five years ago. The panties felt delightfully female. He had picked up the matching bra, slender fingers quivering with an amazingly girlish anticipation; the tag said Princess 32 A. It had fit perfectly; it was only then that he had realized the flabby pectorals he ha so long denied were really breasts.

He had then picked up the frilly garter belt he had dropped to put on the bra. Disbelievingly, he had opened it and checked the tag. Princess 26. It had fit perfectly, but high on his waist. He had had to adjust the catches to their full extension to get them past the leg openings of his panties, sliding them under the filmy material as though she had been doing so all his life. Without the slightest hesitation, he had reached into the box and found a package of sheer, suntan sandal foot nylons.

Almost frantic, he had then ripped the package and literally savored the silken sensations as he slipped them up shapely legs to the tops of his firm female thighs. With no problem, it taking but a moment, he had then fastened the webbed tops to the garter tabs. Shivering deliciously, he had then walked around on the piece of linoleum on the attic floor a couple of times, softly caressing the panties and bra. They felt so perfect, and the snug embrace of the nylons, being tugged by every step was delicious.

But something was wrong; something was missing. There was one more piece of shiny light blue material. With uncontrollable haste, he had snatched it up. It looked like a miniature tank top except for the lace across the front and up the shoulder straps. He looked at the tag; it said Princess 34, nylon/lycra. Tiny quivers had raced up and down his spine after he had slipped it over his head and pulled it into place. Then everything felt perfect. He'd put on his jeans and soft sweatshirt and tried to lace the sneakers down, but could not get them tight enough. He'd had to put his tube socks back on, but over his nylons.

Grandpa had been boxing and stacking stuff in the garage for Good Will to pick up during the week. He had called out to Terry, said he had a couple of small boxes for him to take up to the attic. Grandpa had not commented about his wearing pretty lingerie. Terrance had then retrieved a roll of gray duct tape from downstairs, and taken it up to the attic with him. After placing the boxes of Grandma’s cookbooks on the floor, to be taken out later, he'd started repacking the lingerie with a possessive attitude and loving care. Yet, no matter how carefully he folded and smoothed each delicate item, he could not get everything back into the box.

Finally, breathing heavily with almost feminine frustration, he had to stack items some four inches above the box. Moving with grave caution, he had then very carefully placed the cover and had then sat his saucy, girlish butt atop it and applied liberal quantities of tape. The first time he stood up, the tape tore loose, so he had had to sit back down on the box and put a lot more tape on to hold the lid shut. When he'd been satisfied it would hold, he'd carried the box down and secured it to the luggage rack on his bike.

While down there, he'd filched a couple of plastic grocery bags, the sort with the handles, from the kitchen and went back to the attic. With very careful packing he was able to get six matching sets of slip, half-slip, camisole, garter belt, bra, and panties into each bag. Then with a softly too-feminine sigh of satisfaction, "A job well done," he'd thought, and certain he had every thing he could glean from the attic, he'd hurried down to his bike. Always all-too-aware of his girl-on-a-bike image, and now even more so, because wearing his new bra caused just-recognized-breasts to bob and sway enticingly, while pedaling down the street, he was constantly worried that one of the bags might break or the box come open, spreading his pretty new underwear for anyone to see, Terrance had raced for his home.

He'd coasted to a stop at his driveway, allowing his dad pull into the street ahead of him. Terrance waved, in a decidedly female manner, and wished his dad well in the big bowling tournament. "Good luck, Daddy!" It no longer even concerned him that he now almost always used the feminine term when addressing his parents. Nor was he any longer upset when momma and daddy called him Terry, though some spark of male pride still preferred his friends call him Terrance.

After moving his precious cargo to the kitchen, Terry had had to explain to his mom what had happened. Finally he'd stripped off his outer clothing and showed her what felt so good. She hadn’t seemed at all fazed by her son's wearing girl’s underwear. What bothered her was "Where did he get all these pretties." She was very nearly devastated thinking that he might have stolen them from somewhere.

She knew, from Mrs. P., that the Princess line of "Young Women’s Lingerie" would not be available for sale for another two weeks. Yet, here was her pretty son not only wearing costly, unavailable, Princess Lingerie, but claiming it as his own!

Using a pair of scissors, she had cut the knot off one of the plastic bags and started unpacking it. She carefully arranged each of the ten sets on the kitchen table. Each matching set had a slip, half-slip, tap pants, camisole, bra, three pair of panties, and three pairs of new nylon stockings. After carefully checking each piece and finding no store tags, she'd calmed down and told him to take his pretties to his room and that if he was going to wear such expensive underwear; he had to take care of it.

During the year, Terrance had constantly worn his always new and much more comfortable underwear except on gym days and the visits to the Doctor. Wearing nylon stockings and a garter belt had made it necessary to become a lot quieter and calmer and so he had become something of a loner. Outside the house, he wore the standard sneaks, oversize jeans, and sweatshirts. But, at home, he wore pullover tops, short-shorts, those sexy short alls, or mini skirts, and high-heeled sandals. Terry had quickly learned, nylons were hot under jeans. What really thrilled him most was to wear short-shorts, pantyhose and tall spiked heeled pumps.

When Terrance, at that moment in "boy" mode, had discovered the ornate book box, or "La Caisse," as Gramps had called it, again, last month when they were cleaning up the old house after Gramps death, he'd decided to offer it in the upcoming city-wide flea market hosted by some woman’s club. Today the lid would not stay open. Angrily he dumped the books. Several slipped off the table and crashed on the hard pavement.

After picking up the books and replacing them in the box and getting another mild shock, Terri waited a moment for the sudden wave of dizziness to pass, then arranged the box so the sun was shining on the books, displaying them well. The first tour bus was pulling in. She checked her lipstick in her compact mirror and straightened her blouse, wished again she had worn a skirt instead of these tacky old jeans. Something about the box of blank books bothered Terri and she vowed that she would make sure someone got them today. A soft, feminine smile played at the corners of her full, pouty lips as the bus eased to a smooth stop a few yards from the entrance of the park where the "Sisters of the Raven" held the annual women's club picnic, carnival, and flea market, quite a lucrative fundraiser, or so she had heard.

********************

Sharla knew she had been sent on this week long "Antiquities Tour" just to keep her occupied while Mom "surprised" her by moving her stuff from her dorm room into Janine’s former room. She was far and away the youngest person on the tour, but she was enjoying it immensely. It was Saturday, the last day of the tour and she had not yet bought anything.

Earlier that morning the tour guide had said they would make only one shopping stop. The small town had put together a three day flea market. The schedule would allow an hour of shopping time and then they would have lunch at a restaurant near the market square. After that, they would drive straight through to get home by 6 PM.

Sharla had decided to eat first. She had browsed over three quarters of the displays when she spotted the gorgeous hand made casket full of hand-lettered books. At one end of the box were a pair of blue leather bound books with the word Diary hand scripted in gold leaf on the spine. The first one had inscribed on the flyleaf, "Misty Dawn, my thoughts and reflections during my first year as an instructor." Every page was completely filled with a very fine, small script. The second book was the same except the flyleaf inscription said second year. She checked the first page of fine script in the First Year book. It started, "On this day, six years past, I departed my beloved Coven to take on the lonely but interesting position of Independent Revered Elder." Once more she was consumed with the idea that this was beyond coincidence, that it had to be fate that brought her to this place at this time to rescue this treasure.

No price was marked so she decided to start the bargaining at ten dollars each knowing that whatever the cost, the two books would be in her possession when she retired from the field. She set the two books on the table and fished four five dollar bills out, silently bemoaning the fact she surly did not have enough money with her to purchase all the books and the wondrous, engraved box so obviously built just to contain them. The girl at the table must have been possessed. She grabbed Sharla’s twenty dollars, and congratulated her for buying the box she called "La Caisse" and all fifteen books. She was stunned by this gift of good fortune. Sharla snatched up "La Caisse" and hurried away, before the girl could change her mind.

The bus driver was announcing the time to load warning on the bus PA. Now she had only a few minutes, so she tucked the first of the two blue books into her purse to read on the ride back home, and slipped the second back into the box. "That’s strange," she thought. "I don’t remember anything printed on the other books." She pulled the first book out and read "Basic Principles and Precautions of the Craft" in clear gold leaf script. The pages inside were filled with the same small precise script. She heard the loading warning, this time accompanied by the bus air horns. She eased the book in place and grabbed the trunk; after all it was not that big, maybe twelve inches high, by twelve inches deep, by twenty-four inches long and carried it to the bus. The driver had the luggage door open and smiling appreciatively at her hurried approach. He then, very carefully, tagged "La Caisse" as she watched. Seeing that he was being very careful with her treasure as he slid it in place, Sharla rewarded the driver with a bright smile, and then hustled to get to her seat. She could almost FEEL his eyes on her perky bottom as she moved toward the door at the front of the bus.

When the bus pulled into the parking lot, she saw Dad, Mom, and Andy standing next to Dad's van.

"They must have expected me to buy a lot," she giggled to herself. They were going to be surprised; all she had purchased was La Caisse with its two Diaries and thirteen other books.

The latest news was that a couple of Janine's friends had brought their boyfriends to help set up her new apartment. In three days, with the help of her new landlord, the place had been completely cleaned, repainted, and the furniture moved in. Then Janine and her friends and their boyfriends had returned to the family home and helped clean up Sharla's new room and Dad was everywhere. Dad repainted everything. Dad had even had the floor refinished. Dad had even bought new furniture. Dad had made it painfully obvious he was already missing Janine.

After a good dinner at a local cafeteria-style steak house, Sharla saw her new room. It was gorgeous.

Several months before, around midterms, Andy had been visiting one of his buddies. The buddy's big brother, a student in the local Community College Carpentry program, had been discussing the need for a class project with a couple of his friends. Andy had suggested a bedroom suite in Early American. He had sketched Janine's room and described Sharla's dream list: a canopied bed frame with bookcase headboard, a matching cedar chest, a night table, a vanity and bench, dresser, a desk and chair, a free-standing armoire, an occasional table. Eleven pieces en total were finally decided upon and accepted by the older brother's class as their project.

The day before Sharla left for the "Antiquities Tour," Andrew's buddy's brother had contacted Andrew and said that the team had each received an "A+ grade" for their project. They had voted and decided to offer Andy the right of first offer to buy the whole suite at material cost price. While Mom and Sharla were picking up the last of the stuff from the dormitory, Dad and Andy had checked out the furniture. Dad had purchased it and made arrangements for it to be delivered yesterday.

********************

Precocious and overly curious at the very best of times, Andy wondered what was so special about the heavy, ornate, hand-tooled box Sharla had bought and dragged home with her. Sharla had been very emphatic. He was not to open or even touch the box. Sharla had promised very dire but unspecified punishment if he did.

A couple of weeks after summer school started, Sharla had left for an early class. Mom had gone somewhere and said that she would not be home for lunch. Dad was at work. Finding himself alone in the house, and piqued with his driving curiosity, he easily slipped the useless, to his way of thinking, lock Sharla had had installed on her bedroom's door. Heedless of the warnings Sharla had given him, he moved into Sharla's room and cautiously opened the intriguing La Caisse, as she had called it. Carefully he looked through each of the 15 leather bound books of blank paper. Nothing! Blank books! No, maybe something was hidden under the cover! He carefully examined the binding of the Green book he was holding. Very carefully he twisted the cover to see if there was something hidden in the spine of the book. He felt a little shock and a bit dizzy and then suddenly decided he had been sitting on the floor too long. He put the book back in its box.

Andrew had then casually wondered if Sharla would let him borrow that sharp-looking red silk blouse he had seen hanging in the closet just before she slipped out of the room, making certain the lock he found so ineffectual was properly secured behind her.

As he strolled through the kitchen, the radio was announcing that "Today, June 22nd is the longest day of the year. "Huummm," he thought gazing out the rear window. "Wonder what the other girls, I mean guys, are doing down at the pool today?" He shook his head, trying to clear it of the idea he was a girl. "Where's that silly idea come from anyway?"

The Grimoire had protected itself.

The End of Year 1 ----

 

 

 

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© 2002 by Christy Lake. All Rights Reserved. These documents (including, without limitation, all articles, text, images, logos, compilation design) may printed for personal use only. No portion of these documents may be stored electronically, distributed electronically, or otherwise made available without express written consent of the copyright holder.