Just Desserts

2 Years Ago

“No!” her cry echoed through the vast, shadowy depths of the deserted restaurant, momentarily pausing him in a quest to hear lurkers or bystanders. There was nothing, and his knife found her throat and expertly slit it like a pig ready for slaughter. He drained her blood into the metal mixing bowl one of his acolytes had so thoughtfully provided, looking at its rich, red color with satisfaction.

“It will do well for the summoning, won’t it?” the acolyte asked anxiously, looking up at him with wide, blue eyes. He nodded at the shaven-headed girl, patting her black robe-clad shoulder.

“It’s fine, Elyria,” he told her soothingly. “She’s a fine sacrifice.”

Elyria (her real name was Suzanne) nodded back at him, but a shadow of worry still darkened her eyes. He filed it away in the back of his mind for a later day, when every acolyte wasn’t needed. For not believing him fully, Elyria needed to be punished. Perhaps fatally, if tonight’s work was successful. He wouldn’t need any of his petty little followers if tonight worked. He would be powerful beyond his grandest imaginings.

Elyria and the others followed him behind the counter at the old restaurant in one of the poshest parts of London. It was deserted, boarded-up, with three padlocks on the door and the windows painted over—except for certain small areas he had scraped free, the better to spot potential sacrifices. It was a wonder what certain large infusions of money could do, he thought smugly. A word to the right ear, with a wad of pounds, and the Texas Lone Star Restaurant was his, never to be torn down, no matter what an eyesore it became. After all, he had no intention of ever opening it to the public.

He had already drawn the circle in blue chalk on the splintery wooden floor of the old pantry. He carefully stepped into it and motioned Elyria, holding the bowl of blood, in after him, cautioning her not to smudge the chalk lines. The other acolytes were banished to the kitchen, surrounded by protective wards. He didn’t want them dead yet, especially because he had carelessly forgotten to protect them. If the summoning worked, of course, they would be killed at his leisure, starting with the faithless Elyria, but at the moment, he couldn’t afford to lose anybody who believed in him.

“Are you ready?” he asked Elyria. She bit her lip and nodded, her face bloodless in the dim light. The blood in the mixing bowl was the color of rubies.

“Good.” He took the still wet knife from the pocket of his robe and held it up so that the blood dripped down the blade, congealing on the handle. “Give me your wrist.”

Hesitantly, Elyria offered her hand, palm up, so he could see the delicate tracery of blue-purple veins just below the pale skin. Carefully, he sliced into her skin, a very shallow cut that oozed just a few drops of blood. That was all he needed. He didn’t want to accidentally kill her by slashing her wrist.

“I summon you, Alzacohoth, by old and fresh blood,” he whispered, chanting it in Latin, a language that prying Elyria didn’t know. She stared at him with wide, frightened eyes. The blood smeared on her skin smelled like pennies. “I summon you, Alzacohoth, by an iron blade still dripping with blood. I summon you, Alzacohoth, by the blackness of my own soul.”

He stopped, all of his senses straining. If it was going to work, then the demon would show up. If it didn’t work…either he would be left with egg on his face, or they would all be dead.

The stench of sulphur filled his nose, making him grimace even as elation brimmed in his mind. He had at least summoned the demon Alzacohoth.

WHAT DO YOU WANT? a voice asked, cold and crisp, in his mind, making him stagger and nearly fall out of the circle.

“I have summoned you,” he began, but the voice cut him off.

CLEARLY, YOU HAVE SUMMONED ME, YOU IDIOT MORTAL. WHAT DO YOU WANT WITH ME?

He heard Elyria stifle a snicker beside him, and fury flashed through his body like a red-hot wildfire. Her fate was definitely sealed, no matter what happened tonight. She was dead.

“Give me power,” he said boldly, facing the swirling darkness that indicated where the demon lurked. “That’s what I want. I want power.”

THEN POWER YOU SHALL HAVE, the demon said, and he thought it sounded amused.

The world swirled around him for a second, and when it cleared, he looked down at himself and shrieked in horror.

Alzacohoth had turned him into a woman.

YOU NEVER SPECIFIED WHAT KIND OF POWER, Alzacohoth said, now openly laughing. AND WOMEN HAVE THAT SPECIAL FEMININE POWER. HAVE FUN AS A WOMAN, PATHETIC MORTAL. YOU SHOULD LEARN TO SPECIFY.

And the demon vanished in a puff of sulphurous smoke.

“But, but--!” he spluttered in high-pitched fury.

“Don’t worry, Mas—er, Mistress,” Elyria said, patting his-her arm. “I’ll help you.”

“No, no, it can’t be,” she whimpered, sinking down to the floor. Alzacohoth had even changed his clothes to a girl’s dress, royal blue with white piping. “No, no…”

“Oh, yes,” Elyria whispered, now sounding almost gleeful. “You’re a girl now. You better get used to it. And one more thing—the other acolytes will just love you if I tell them that the demon took the Master away and left this delicate, vulnerable woman in his place.”

“No,” the former Master whispered, eyes huge with shock. “No, you wouldn’t.”

“Oh, wouldn’t I?” Elyria arched a wry eyebrow. “I know you were planning on killing me, just for doubting you. Well, now, the tables are turned, aren’t they?”

Her smile was vulpine.

“Oh no,” the former Master whimpered, sagging into a bundle of soft, blue fabric. “No…”

Present Day

The Texas Lone Star Restaurant still stands, still empty, still boarded-up. From time to time, a lone blue eye can be seen peering through the paint-free spots in the window, dark with desolation and loneliness, as the former Master stares at the life he-she could have had, if he-she hadn’t been so power-hungry.

She stares out the window and dreams of revenge.