Horrors of the Dancing Gods

swearing that one way or the other he could get in there anyway. Short of killing him, which would have been easy enough but still would have bothered the Company, the only way to make sure he wouldn't blow their entry was to take him along.

They studied the maps, they studied the drawings Thebes had of a ravenlike bird sculpture that was allegedly what they sought, and they decided on the weight and duration of supplies. The valley was only roughly nine miles long by three wide; they decided that if they couldn't accomplish what they sought in seven days, then it was unlikely they, would be able to do so at all. The shrine of the McGuffin was nestled right into Mount Doom along the valley wall, but it was only about halfway back on the western side of the valley and a bit up the side. This would bring them past whatever was being constructed there but, they hoped, well west of it and clear.

Finally; there was little to do but practice, and wait, and hope that they would be tired enough to fall asleep by dawn.

Marge spent the early morning hours walking the area and flying up to the battlements. She was anxious to get away, to get in there, to get it all over with, if only because she was finding it harder and harder to control her behavior here. There were men all around, awake and asleep, and not just those damned 'mechanic” ciphers and imaginary types that kept changing all the time. Real mortal men. She felt a powerful hunger, a craving that two cleanings the night before hadn't even dented.

She had hoped to stave it off with a couple of the Hollywood types, but she couldn't sense that they had any souls; they were as meaningless to her as the 'mechanics.'

There was no one there, she was all alone, but something seemed to be whispering in her mind, feeding her Marvationlike sensations.

'Too late,' it whispered. 'Too late. You've already gone over. You are just fighting it. Park your mind and your reservations. Did you not find it possible to be alert in daylight today? Could a Kauri do that? Physically it has already happened. Deep down you already know that. You need only to accept it and let your body do what it must do. Unlike the Kauri, it will give you true power; real strength. Can you stand it, anyway? Can you stand another hour, another day, another week like this? Give in while you can still gain and use that energy…'

She felt like crying, but the voice was right; it was like heroin to an addict, blood to a vampire. She could not resist it.

Something inside her just snapped, and she remembered very little of the details of the next few hours, only an eventual sense of enormous strength, of well-being, of being satiated at all levels. She awoke and brought herself to a comfortable sitting position and stretched. She felt different. Not completely; she remembered who she was and particularly what was to happen later today. There was a certain irony in that, she who had been in a force fighting those of Hell more than once was now being protected, guarded, and aided by those very same forces.

It was daylight, in fact at least midday, yet she felt no tiredness, no sense of coma. She walked into the hotel bathroom and stared at the mirror. There was no reflection there, none at all.

She hadn't expected one and wasn't all that upset. In fact, it was impossible to remember just why she had fought this so desperately. It wasn't as if she were going to endanger Irving or even Larae.

She turned away from the blank mirror and went over to the polished black marble tile on the wall. In this she was reflected, although not terribly clearly. It was certainly good enough, though, to show the royal purple tinged with gold, the sculpted and overly large insectlike wings, the incredibly exaggerated female form that made even a Kauri seem plain. Dark lips, too. Huge Bardot-in-spades sexy lips.

She felt better, sexier, more gorgeous than ever before, and she could also feel within her the pulsing of the energy she had from using, perhaps overusing, those attributes.

Poquah wasn't going to like it a bit, but the old prude had expected it, anyway, and if the Kauri leader, whom she now could not even remember clearly, and Ruddygore had not wanted or expected this, then it was their job to have told her how to avoid it.

Not that she wanted to avoid it, not now. Unlike most, she felt no compulsions of obedience to anyone, no servility, nothing. She was totally, absolutely, and one hundred percent a free agent, in total control of herself and what she did, subject only to that one restriction that she found bothered her not a bit.

She was a sexual vampire, and she had total power over men to feed her needs. All the power she needed and not a fear in the world.

Unless the Ancient Ones came through. If the Ancient Ones prevailed, what kind of future would any of them have?

That, too, though, seemed to give her confidence. Those Kauri wimps could barely knock over a leaf, and they had little offense otherwise at all. She, on the other hand, now had some very great power if the opportunity came to, use it. She very much hoped it would.

INTO THE WOODS AT MOUNT DOOM

Hell may intervene directly in world affairs rather than by surrogate only to preserve the status quo.

— Rules, Vol. XIII, p. 17(a)

NOBODY EXCEPT MARGE HAD SLEPT VERY WELL DURING the morning, but all had adrenaline pumping at a massive rate by the time they assembled that evening at the battlement, including whatever Poquah's race substituted for it. He of course was still the only one who did not seem to feel undue concern.

Irving had decided on a minimalist approach, with the idea of wearing a single loincloth seeming both impractical and silly, not to mention unclean. Instead, he opted for nothing but a belt with a basic leather scabbard that would handle the sword and keep it from cutting his leg off in a fall, a black leather codpiece, and the leather straps to support them. He would also carry a backpack into the valley, but that would be left wherever they made camp. Everyone was to carry his or her own supplies.

Larae opted for almost exactly the same thing, except that she had her sling, stones in a pouch, and dagger on a slightly wider belt and would carry her javelinlike spear. The sight of the codpiece looked silly on that body, but Irving knew it was damnably necessary and not just part of the outfit.

Poquah wore brown and green britches and a more standard sword belt and scabbard affair, but he looked a lot more basic and a lot more sinister, as he had the times the others had seen the usually silent Imir go into battle.

Joel Thebes wore his crumpled and very dirty white suit and black saddle-style tie shoes.

They all gasped when they saw Marge, and she gave them the sexy smile and a movie star pose. 'Really stunning, the new me, huh?'

'Criminal,' Poquah sniffed. 'I knew this would happen! If you touch either of these two, I'll risk iron myself to finish you!'

She smiled sweetly at him and blew him a mock kiss. 'You know you couldn't do it. No man is ever going to be able to do that to me. Don't worry, I'm still on the team and we have the same goals. I'm not about to go after Joe's kid. But if you didn't want this to happen, you shoulda provided some way for it not to happen, or Ruddygore or the Sisterhood or somebody should have, right? It feels so right, so normal, I almost think the reason you all didn't was because I was always supposed to be one of these and everybody but me knew it. Irving, close your mouth, pull in your tongue, think of your almost lady love here, and remember that in an hour or so we're gonna be shot right into a situation that's likely to kill us all in the next couple of days, anyway. Right?'

Even Larae, whose only interest in girls until then had been as rivals or critical examples, felt the attraction Marge now exuded. The difference was, she now felt herself torn between a desire to complete her transformation to male and a wish to become one of those.