The Unexpected Consequences of Unattainable Desire

By Roz White

What happens when desires thought beyond reach suddenly become attainable? When a group of people are magically allowed this dream, the unexpected result is the need to save both themselves and the entire human race!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Sep 3, 2014
• ISBN: 9781326003647

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The Unexpected Consequences of Unattainable Desire

The Unexpected Consequence of Unattainable Desire

Roz White

Copyright Roz White, 2014 All rights reserved.

ISBN 978-1-326-00364-7

The right of Roz White to be recognised as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the author. Any person who does any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the author's prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

This story is a work of fiction. Any similarity to persons or characters alive or dead, or to events or places current or historical, is purely coincidental.

DEDICATION

Aside from all the Usual Suspects – my dear friends on UK Angels and Flickr who are too numerous to mention – this one is dedicated to my darling Samantha Ireland, but most of all to the lovely and supportive Sue Richmond, who in another letter casually remarked that she enjoyed stories about witches, dinosaurs and spaceships.

HA! Be careful what you wish for, babe...

CHAPTER ONE

Eye of... eye of... oh come on, where’s the bloody eye of newt??

Flames flickered in the darkened room: a small brazier sent clouds of perfumed smoke billowing into the shadows surrounding it. Within that cloudy, gloomy interior, a black-draped figure scoured shelves and cupboards with gathering frenzy. Finally, a hand reached out from the end of an over-long, frothy-laced sleeve, grabbed a small bottle, and emptied the contents into an increasingly foul-smelling little cauldron.

"Newt... henbane... yep, got that... fly agaric... what is fly agaric? Flies? Do they have flies anywhere..."

Once again, the robed figure swirled around the room, knocking over books and other strange ornaments in its haste. As the fires of the brazier flared and faded, anyone else happening to be in the room would have seen flashes of a black velvet skirt reaching to the floor, along with pointy-toed ankle boots, floaty lace sleeves that billowed and flapped, all topped by equally-black hair reaching to the wearer’s waist. It all gave the impression of a very localised – and increasingly frustrated – tornado, black as midnight and just as unfathomable.

More ingredients flew into the pot, flung by wildly-gesturing hands that sported nails as black as the rest of the outfit – although obviously false, and not especially well stuck on. One, for instance, came adrift at a crucial moment of a particular gesture, and landed with a faint plop in the cauldron. The figure looked out from under a raven fringe, frozen in mid-motion for a moment.

Bugger. For all that the costume and movements were, to all intents and purposes, feminine, the voice was suddenly anything but. Is that going to matter? the mysterious figure wondered under its breath. Bloody hope not... not now... not this close...

The... person... turned their attention back to the large book propped up in one corner of the room. Astarte grant my plea! it suddenly shrieked, arms stretching towards the purple-painted ceiling. Hear me, oh goddess, hear your servant’s prayers! Grant my boon, see into my heart and give me that which I desire so greatly...

The door suddenly burst open, and the room was flooded with harsh, bright light from the bulb suspended from the ceiling. The figure looked up, eyes wide and ringed with far too much mascara; bracelets and rings glittered in the light and jangled discordantly in the sudden, crashing silence. One slightly-less raven-like (but only slightly so, it has to be admitted) apparitions stood in the doorway, struck dumb by what it saw. Behind this figure, another, paler and with bright blonde hair but an equal affection for dark-hued velvet peered silently, stunned, over a shoulder into the room. But only for a moment or two...

"Jeez, Malcolm... it is Malcom, isn’t it? C’mon, I know it’s you... what the fuck do you think you’re doing?" the slightly shorter, fuller-figured and darker of the newcomers demanded, shattering the spell.

It’s not Malcolm, the figure by the brazier retorted petulantly. I’ve told you before, it’s Melanie now...

"Holy crap... Melanie, the other joined in with a sigh. How many times do we have to tell you this? We’re not witches... we can’t do this sort of thing, even if we wanted to! I doubt if anyone could..."

So why do you have all the ingredients, then? demanded Melanie angrily. What’s this all for, if not to cast spells and grant people’s desires? And this is my only desire...

The second speaker came forward and gently took the book from Melanie’s hands. I don’t know what you think you were doing, she said – and her voice was clearly female, in ways that Melanie’s clearly was not. We’re worshippers of the Goddess, not warty old hags trying to bend the world to do what we want it to! That sort of thing went out in the Middle Ages, hun... and we’ve told you before, we can’t help you...

Go back to the doctors, her companion advised – although her own kohl-lined eyes were dark and full of sympathy. "They’re the ones you should be talking to... not Ashtoreth or Astarte or any other aspect of the Goddess!"

Melanie slumped, her shoulders showing the dejection that filled her soul. They won’t do anything for me, she declared forlornly. They say I’m unstable, insincere... I’m sure Wendy’s been talking to them behind my back! They won’t even refer me to a specialist... this was my last hope...

The girl who had taken the book turned to her companion. Rosie... she began, her fine blonde hair swirling around her as she moved, "isn’t there anything we could do even to make it a little easier for hi... for her?"

Hush! Remember the rule: remember where we are! It’s Sister Rosamund in here... and what did you have in mind, Jen? Rosie asked in return – and then checked herself. Sorry – Sister Jezebel. But we’re not medical staff – not therapists, either! I wouldn’t even know where to start... She looked around the room – or at least, she tried to peer through both the fumes from the incense and her own long, dark, wavy hair. "Goddess alone knows how much of our stuff... she... got through doing this... "

I dunno, Jen said, uncertainty in both her eyes and her voice. Couldn’t we just, well, maybe let her in?

"Are you nuts? It’s not up to us, is it? We’d have to get all the others here, talk it through... we’ve never let men in before, let alone... well, you know..."

"But I am a woman! Melanie protested from across the fire. At least I am inside, where it counts... I know I am! A huge sob suddenly escaped her throat. I’m so desperate... I’ll pay for all the stuff I’ve used, I promise I will... and I haven’t actually asked to join... even though I’d love to, and I’m sure you wouldn’t regret it..."

"This is going to stink the flat out for weeks, Rosie added warningly. I just hope Andy doesn’t find any reason to call round for the rent or anything..."

If we open all the windows maybe... suggested Jen. Oh come on Ro... Sister Rosamund... can’t you see he’s at his wit’s end?

"Her! Melanie corrected fiercely. And yes, I am!"

Whatever retort was on Rosie’s lips was silenced by the bang of a not-too-distant door. She and her flatmate looked worriedly at each other.

You expecting someone? Jen asked, fearing the answer. Rosie shook her head.

Come on, hun – we only just got back from the shops ourselves! And even then we were early...

Then who... they both looked back towards Melanie – but another woman charged up the stairs and into the room before any of them could say anything more.

CHAPTER TWO

"I knew I’d find you here!"

The woman was only slightly shorter than any of the others in the room, and considerably more mainstream in terms of costume and appearance. Her suit was expensive, in a light grey colour, whilst her shoulder-length hair was neatly bobbed and its natural, light-blonde colour. Her face, whilst impeccably painted with pale blue eyeshadow and subtle rose-pink lips, was twisted into expressions of anger and distaste.

Hello Wendy, murmured Melanie, slumping even further into her dejection, if such a thing were possible.

What the bloody hell do you think you look like? hissed the newcomer. A bloody dogs’ breakfast, that’s what!

Oh, thanks! retorted Rosie – but her comment went unnoticed in Wendy’s fury.

"What sort of a man do you call yourself, eh? Cavorting around like this, making a bloody fool of yourself – and of me! I’ve had to come out of work again to pull you out of another bloody mess you’ve made; it’s bad enough when it’s at home, but this..." Wendy stopped to draw another breath, but the pause was nowhere near long enough for anyone else to put a word in before the tirade began again.

"Doing... this... at home is bad enough – it makes my stomach heave every time I come home and find you making a fool of yourself like this – but now you’ve actually gone out looking like this? Malcolm, what the bloody hell were you thinking! But of course, she went on, a runaway train hurtling headlong down its track. Of course, you weren’t thinking, were you? No, of course not – you never bloody think! It’s me that gets to do all the thinking, me that pulls in the money to keep us fed and a roof over our head, me that fends off the neighbour’s questions, me that feels like a worthless piece of I don’t know what... and all because you keep on doing this to me! Why, Malcolm? I don’t understand it; all I know is that even at work now, I’m a laughing stock because of you..."

Hardly... murmured Jen, but again – perhaps deliberately this time – the remark seemed not to be heard.

"I’ve never done anything to embarrass you! Protested Melanie feebly. I haven’t gone out before now, I don’t make a big thing of it... I haven’t even kept it secret from you! Can’t you understand? I need this... I can’t explain why or how, but I just know!"

Seemingly for the first time, Wendy looked around her. "So what’s with all this nonsense, then? Is this the latest kick, the new sudden craze? It won’t turn you into a woman either, you know: that’s all just special effects on the bloody telly, you idiot! You are what you are: