Succubated!

Yael, wife of Heber, worked as a metalsmith as she and her husband traveled the dry lands of the Levant. When she'd set up their tent a day earlier, awaiting her husband's return from a side-trip, she had not expected trouble. She was unaware of the battles between the armies of the Israelites and the Canaanites, raging several miles away. She had not an inkling that she'd set in motion events that would save the Israelites, nor that they would inscribe her story in their Book of Judges, later part of the Christian Bible. When she'd woken that day, with the dew and the dawn, she hadn't imagined making her body and soul home to a desert spirit, a demon.

She looked at the wooden stake in her hand. Yael had pulled it easily from the ground an hour ago, letting one section of the tent it had tethered flap slightly. Now the lowest six inches of the long tent peg were stained with red and white, blood and brains. It had been easy, she thought. I'm so much stronger now. Yael was also the name of the mountain ibex, the goat that leapt nimbly among the rocks, and she felt the strength of a goat's kick running through her arms and legs.

Yael had used that strength to kill her enemy before he could murder her on enslave her. She'd confirmed Sisera's intentions easily enough: he wanted to eat, fuck, and rest, and he wanted power and control. He didn't want anyone knowing his whereabouts, so she had to die or come with him and be his woman. Yael rejected that choice, not that Commander Sisera had offered it to her. Instead, she'd made him sleep, then hammered the tent peg directly through his temple into his brain.

She glanced over at his corpse. Strange magic wandered the desert, but the Canaanite commander's body was just that: an inert mass of flesh. Made him sleep, she thought. What a funny way to think about it. Yesterday I wouldn't have slept with a man, not even Heber. They were married in name only, for each preferred the attentions of their own kind: women for Yael, and men for Heber. A serviceable arrangement. But once she entered me, I knew how to seduce him, please him, milk him dry and lull him into sleep.

Yael had danced around the tall Canaanite, slipping behind him and brushing her full breasts against his muscular back. She'd sung to him, an old song of the Kenite tribe, her voice sultry and sensuous. She had touched his mind, his desire, through her magic. Yael had removed her clothing, teasingly revealing her tan skin and her soft body.

Then she'd removed his armor and weapons, setting them aside, far from his reach. All the while she had bathed him in her own energy, the essence of her desires: the smell of freshly tanned leather, the taste of sweet berries, the sight of a winding oasis in the desert. She had done what she could to soothe him, and she had pleasured him with her body, caressing his hardness with her tongue, her lips, her fingers. Yael had lowered herself onto him, riding him gently at first, then with more urgency. She had moaned as she came, biting back a scream. And she had kissed him as he drifted off to sleep, enjoying the salty taste of his skin.

Then she had killed him, like a warrior of the tribes, with a fierce strike to his vulnerable head. A pool of blood still lay beneath Sisera's face, now large as the tent. She should have felt horrified, frightened, revolted, but Yael found she had only one thought, one emotion, and it wasn't even her own: satisfied.

Yes, the spirit whispered to her. It was justice. He was a pillager, a rapist, a man of greed and pride. Now you are more than him, more than any man. You are mine, Yael.

"I am yours," she whispered. "We are Yael." The spirit laughed. She was so delighted to have a body. Yael ran her fingers down her torso, pausing to cup her breasts, then slipped a hand between her thighs. She brought two fingers to her mouth and licked them clean. Then she spread her legs and prepared to enjoy their reward.

***

The vision wavered and dissolved into the darkness again. Una remained aware of nothing but her thoughts for a long moment; then she felt a shudder pass through her, and she gasped. She tried to inhale deeply, but something restricted her lungs. She had no body, she was in some place of no light and no sound. Is this hell?! The thought panicked her, through some horrified instinct from deep within herself.

No, she thought. Hell is pain, compression, timelessness. Something is... becoming, here.

A new vista grew from a pinprick of light, this time like a grainy home movie playing on a projection screen.

Three figures surrounded a fourth, who sprawled on the ground. They all looked like schoolboys, Una realized. They each wore a uniform she remembered all too well: a button-down shirt, a navy blazer, and khaki pants. The faces of the three tormentors were indistinct, but Una recognized the boy on the ground: Michael Belmont, barely a teenager. He was small and skinny, with unkempt brown hair and big, round glasses. A bright red scrape marred his cheek, and his nose was bleeding.

"Why did you call me out here?" Michael asked, his voice cracking. "You said you had something to talk about. If you want to beat me up, just do it."

"Oh, we're going to do more than that," one boy sneered. "You've been a real pain in the ass lately, Belmont. You need to learn your place."

Una watched, horrified, as the leader of the three drew back his foot and kicked Michael in the stomach. The smaller boy doubled over, coughing, and the two others started kicking and punching him in the ribs and face. She'd forgotten about this moment, the beating. Or maybe it had blurred together with too many others. Anger pooled in her, an ancient feeling, but no demon or desert spirit came to Michael Belmont's aid. Una could only watch.

Michael shielded himself as best as he could, covering his head with his arms, but it was useless. The larger boys had him completely at their mercy, and they reveled in it. "Look at you, you pathetic little faggot," the leader snarled, giving Michael a vicious kick in the chest. "You think you're better than everyone else, with all your fancy philosophy shit. Always trying to impress the nuns. But you're nothing."

"This isn't fun, Chas. He's not even crying or begging. Stupid mook just sits there like a dummy." Una remembered them now: the three Cs. Chad, the big-chested bully with the bulldog face; Charles, the stringy-haired kid who got off on other people's pain; and Chris, the quiet one who went along with everything, ready with the rope to hold a victim's hands, or a belt to whip with.

"Well, look at you," said Charles, prodding Michael with his foot. "Got anything to say for yourself at all, faggot?"

Michael coughed weakly and sat up, wiping a smear of blood from his mouth. His eyes were puffy from restrained tears, but his expression was defiant. "Just stop it, ok? It's stupid."

"Yeah? Well, it's not gonna be stupid when you're eating my shit," sneered Chad. "Get on all fours, homo. I want to see you beg for mercy."

Michael shook his head, a look of disgust on his face. "Go to—get lost."

"Aw, look, the little baby doesn't know any bad words yet," Chris snickered. "It's so cute!"

"He needs to learn some discipline," said Charles, reaching into his pocket. "Some respect. It's time you learned your lesson, Mikey. Somebody's gotta do it."

"You piece of shit!" Una yelled. "Get away from him!" No one heard her, of course. The scene continued, moving as steadily as a freight train down a track. She could only watch the action unfold, despite the pain she felt rising in her.

"Stay still, Belmont, or we're going to pound you good," said Charles, stepping closer to the trembling boy. "If you want to get out of this, I want you to do me a favor, okay?" He held out his zipper. "Suck it and swallow, and we'll leave you alone."

Una's eyes widened in horror. This isn't just any beating... it's that time. She remembered Michael's words when he visited the confessional a few days later, and the priest's shock when he'd admitted his guilt, the weakness. Father Leary had comforted the boy, offering words of wisdom—but not much aid beyond the walls of the confessional. No justice, and little relief from torment.

Fourteen-year-old Michael Belmont's eyes burned with rage, humiliation, and a sudden understanding. "You're going to have to kill me." The three assailants paused, shocked into silence. Una could tell that the bully had underestimated the younger boy, had assumed that he was just a target of opportunity.

"Damn straight," said Chad, the first to regain his voice. He raised his fists. "Chris, you get his hands, I'll get his—" but the small boy had already launched himself at the bully, teeth bared in a snarl.

Una watched as her old self launched a flurry of blows, fists and feet striking out, aiming for sensitive areas. Michael impressed her; she'd forgotten how a slight boy, not long past the start of puberty, could summon that kind of ferocity. But in the end, it didn't matter. Michael was outnumbered, and he was simply outsized and outmatched.

"Stop!" Una screamed, holding her hands to her face. "No more!"

Silence settled in an unexpected wash of relief. Una looked at the scene. Everything had frozen, like a video on pause. Then something happened which she certainly didn't remember from Michael Belmont's fourteenth year. In the air over the four boys, a distortion rippled into existence—something very much like the portals which weren't due to appear on Earth for decades.

A haze of pink fog emanated from the portal, settling over the frozen tableau. She glanced at the three Cs; their eyes were bulging, and their mouths gaped open in snarls of fury. Then she looked at her former self, curled up on the ground, face bruised, glasses broken, eyes red and streaming.

The change began, and the atrocious moment from her past altered before her eyes.

Michael Belmont's bruises faded, and glass snapped back into the frames, which subtly altered in shape. Hair trickled over the boy's shoulders, growing longer as Una watched in confusion. Michael stood up, as if jerked to his feet by marionette strings, and Una could see that his chest was swelling subtly, the buttons of his dress shirt shifting under unfamiliar weight. His hips widened, and his posture shifted to accommodate a different center of balance. The scrape on his cheek vanished, and his glasses shrunk to fit his new, narrower face.

Michael's hair plaited itself into a French braid, and his shoes blackened and shone as they transformed into polished Mary Janes. The khaki shorts the boy had been wearing rippled and shifted, two pant legs merging into one, the waistband tightening until it hugged her slim waist perfectly.
The plaid skirt swung gently around the new girl's thighs, and Una noticed she'd developed subtle curves and a handful of brown freckles on her pale skin. Knee socks rose from the patent leather shoes and circled the new girl's shins and calves, and the drab dress shirt changed to white, a silver cross shining at its collar.

The three Cs had also changed, their postures still belligerent but without the bruised knuckles and scuffs of a fistfight. Charles had altered the most: the stocky bully's features were softer, his waist thinner, and his jawline more feminine. Waves of pale hair fell around his chin. Una stared as the broad chest melted into rounded breasts, the school blazer hiding their bulk for a moment before Charles' clothes changed as well, becoming a tightly fitting turtleneck sweater, a pleated skirt, and knee-high boots. His stitched-on name tag had transformed into a patch for the Future Business Leaders Club.

Charles looked at the other girl, the one who'd been Michael moments before, with a disdainful smirk. She had one hand on Chad's shoulder, the other one planted on her hip, her posture radiating confidence. The scene snapped back into motion.

"I told you she'd be alone," said the blonde girl in the tight turtleneck. "Michela Belmont doesn't hang out. She's a priss. And a queer."

Chad sauntered forward, leaning hungrily into the personal space of the newly feminine Michela Belmont. "I don't know, Charlene. She's kinda cute. Maybe I want to show her a good time?"

Michela's eyes flashed as she took a step back. "What do you guys want? I told you, I don't need a ride home. I doubt you're even going my way."

Charlene scoffed. "Who'd want to go that way? You live with your mom at the ass end of town. Just accept it, honey: the guys and I are going to give you a lift downtown, and you're going to suck dick in the back seat for the ride. Capisce?"

Michela stared at the trio in horror, and Una's expression mirrored that of her strangely altered younger self. What am I even looking at? Another world? An alternate timeline, or reality? One where... I was a girl?

Charlene laughed in Michela's face, a sound like a barking seal. "Did you see the look on her face? Oh my god, it's too much. She's terrified. Don't worry, sweetie, nobody actually wants your skinny ass for sex. I'm messing with you."

"We just want the key to the infirmary," said Chris, speaking at last. "We know you're volunteering, helping Sister Bridgette out with stuff after school, and she trusts you. So if you give us what we want, we can skip the bullshit and everybody leaves happy."

"Nobody gets hurt," said Chad. "Unless you're into that. Are you?" He grabbed Michela's arm. Una winced.

"Let go of me!" Michela cried. "I can't let you into the infirmary. What do you want in there, drugs? All she's got is some Vicodin and Percocet; painkillers. You really want to get high off that stuff?"

"No," said Charlene, rolling her eyes. "But there's a skag-head downtown who'll pay good money for a stash, and then we'll get something better. Are you in, Belmont?" She stepped into Michela, planting her long, smooth-shaven leg directly between the other girl's knees, pressing firmly into her crotch. "I think you'd be happier giving us the keys." She gently gripped Michela's breast through her blouse, squeezing ever so slightly. "I know there's a bad girl in that uniform waiting to get out."

"What is wrong with you, Charlene?" Michela shoved the taller girl back. "Don't touch me. I'm not into... that." But Una could see the conflict in her eyes.

Chad stepped forward towards Michela again, forcing her to retreat until her back was against the brick wall of the school's rear courtyard. But the smaller girl held up a finger, as if pointing posed a threat.

"If you don't back off, I swear to God I'll report you to Mother Superior. She'll expel you, and I'll make sure the whole school knows why. Do you understand?"

Charlene's laughter echoed through the yard. "Nice try, Belmont, but we all know you're just a freak. Nobody is going to believe you. And you know what?" She put her face up to Michela's, a sneer distorting her pretty features. "We're going to have insurance."

Michela's bewilderment cut short when Chad grabbed her necklace and blouse in one meaty fist and yanked downwards. Her shirt tore, buttons flying in all directions and revealing pale, freckled breasts nestled in a white, lace-trimmed bra. Michaela gasped and tried to cover herself, but Chad forced her arms up and out of the way.

"Hey, looks like the novice nun has a slut hidden under that prim exterior. How about a taste, Chris? You hungry?" Charlene's tone had descended from mocking to a low growl. Una had the sense that something else, something dark and dangerous, was pushing to the surface.

Chad pinned Michaela's wrists above her head. "Chris, come on. Get the camera out, I'll get her... you know. In position." The burly boy looked nervous, and his eyes flicked between the girls, his face uncertain.

"What the—are you crazy?" Michaela cried out as she struggled in vain against Chad's grip. "I'm not a toy, and I won't let you do this to me! I won't forget this, any of you!" She twisted her neck to the side, avoiding Chad's hot breath.

"Fuck, guys... I'm not doing this. Forget it, no pictures." Chris's voice quavered. "This is too... too much for me. Let her go, Chad."

Charlene turned and slapped him across the face. "What the hell, Chris? You said you were with us on this. Don't tell me you're getting cold feet? Look, we just need the keys, and you can walk away. We can leave right now."

"You're insane! We're all screwed if someone finds out about this. Ripping her clothes off and... what, making it look like someone raped her?" Chris backed away, his face reddening. "I didn't agree to this!"

"Listen to me!" Michaela gasped. "I don't have the keys. Sister Bridgette keeps them with her, in her purse." She was panting, her voice wavering. Una could tell she was trying to keep herself from crying.

"Screw you, Chris. This entire plan's in the shitter, you ask me." Chad released Michaela, letting the girl slide to the ground in a heap.

"You know what? It's fine. We'll figure it out. Let's get the hell out of here, babe. Chris, you coming?" Charlene grasped Chad's hand, and the two walked away.

"You... you two go ahead." Chris stared down at Michaela and offered his hand to help her up.

She slapped it away and stood, clutching her torn shirt around her with one hand. "You're all despicable."

"I'm sorry," Chris whispered, and Una could see the pain in his eyes, the shame and regret. "They... I couldn't..." He took a deep breath. "Look, can I walk you home or something? I'm not really a bad guy."

Michaela and Una both gave Chris a look that would have cut diamonds. "You can't turn this around with some cheap apology." She brushed past him, but he reached out and caught her wrist.

"I know, I know. But I'm telling the truth. I never wanted anything to happen to you, Micki. I didn't think they'd actually rip your clothes. It was supposed to be, you know... a joke. I didn't think they'd actually do it, and I... I wouldn't have let them." The boy's tone was pleading, and Una realized with horror that he had feelings for Michaela. The original version of events had been cruel, but this new variation seemed worse in ways.

Michaela stared at him, her blue eyes narrowing with rage and suspicion. "What do you mean, they? You're part of it too, aren't you? You're the worst one—the one who was supposed to take the picture. I can't believe... ugh! I can't believe I almost let you take me out on a date."

She pulled her blazer tight across her shoulders and spun on her heel. "Never talk to me again, Chris." She stomped away from him, her head held high, her shoes clicking on the cobblestones as she walked directly towards Una.

"Micki! Micki, wait, I'm sorry! I'll make it up to you, I promise!" He turned to follow, but the scene slowed to stillness. The image of Michaela stopped in front of Una, then toppled towards the succubus.
The teenage girl still had an angry, distressed expression, frozen on her youthful face. Operating on instinct, the former priest reached out her hand to catch the falling girl, but her palm passed right through the figure. The apparition shimmered and vanished right into Una, dissipating into her body.

The lights went out and Una plunged into darkness, feeling it envelop her senses, and then her thoughts. Once again, she knew no body, no sensations, no self. She felt she drowned in a sea of black ink, and it was a long time before she could formulate a single thought in the void.

"Yael?" she said.

The sensation of a hand stroking her hair softly. Her head lay on someone's lap, warm and firm.

"Mmmm. What are you trying to do now, little sister? I told you what to do." Yael's voice was sleepy and musical, chiming out of a vast velvet emptiness.

"Tell me... again?"

"Ride their desires, pet. Become what they want. You've done it before."

"I can't, I don't know how. I don't want to become what... what someone else wants, what he wants."

A throaty chuckle in the dark. "My poor lamb. Your humanity is such a burden, such a cage. One I've loved to entangle myself in. You locked yourself in that beautiful form I gave you. Fierce and safe."

A slender hand traced its way down her cheek, down her neck, down to her heart. A soft whisper tickled her ear: "You can't get your body back if you don't let go. It's not your past that limits you, or even your human body. It's you. Release your will, dear girl. Give in. Open your mind."

Una felt herself drift apart, her thoughts fragmenting. The hand dipped lower, passing over her breasts and belly to the place between her legs. Soft lips kissed the pulse at her throat as deft fingers began their dance, and her body responded with a jolt of pleasure, stitching her thoughts back into coherence.

"Yes, darling... that's it." A tongue lapped at her earlobe. "Surrender to my touch. Feel my desire. You already became what I wanted once. But now you want to change, don't you?"

"Yes," she said, and her voice was a moan of ecstasy.

"Then change. Take the gift, then learn to do it yourself."

The hand left the ache between her thighs, but the ache remained, growing into a hunger, a need that consumed her. Desire grew until it encompassed the darkness, blossomed into light behind her eyes.

***

Una sat up, gasping for breath. I’m alive. She sat in the surgical chair in Jay Sigma's wet lab. Adrenaline flooded her senses, and she flailed one arm—the one she'd torn free of the restraints. Panicked, she grabbed at the restraint on the other arm, loosening the straps.

She abruptly noticed her hand. It was pale, with an undercurrent of sunny gold. Brown freckles dotted her forearm, and her fingernails were painted a deep burgundy. She blinked hard, unable to comprehend what she was seeing.

She glanced down and saw her breasts—just as pale, with a sparse sprinkling of freckles across her cleavage. They weren't the breasts she'd woken with; they weren't a deep scarlet, and they had a different shape, slightly smaller with a subtle concave slope into their round, natural weight that lent them a sensuous curve.

Una brought her hands to her forehead. Her horns were gone! Or were they? Beneath her swoop of hair—still black, straight and bobbed, she confirmed—she felt two stubby protrusions, each perhaps a quarter-inch long. They were sensitive, perhaps more sensitive than the longer versions, sending a tingle down her spine when she touched them.

I have to get up, she thought. Understand what's happened to me. She tore sensors and intravenous needles from her arms and forehead, causing fresh trickles of blood to spill onto her naked body. Una grabbed the edge of the chair to steady herself, her bare feet landing on the cold concrete floor. Her legs felt shorter than she remembered... and she had feet. She stared in confusion at the appendages, ordinary yet unfamiliar. The kind she remembered from past months of her life: delicate toes, curving soles. No hair or hooves.

Somewhere an alarm was beeping, and Una heard a crash from the next room. The speaker on the wall crackled to life. "Una? Oh shit, you're awake—hey, take it easy, okay? We don't know exactly what's going on with your body." Jay Sigma's voice was familiar, but had a timbre she didn't recognize. He's scared, she realized.

She took a step, and felt an unfamiliar center of balance: her body was smaller, less dense, with gentle curves that shifted more than she was used to. I'm softer? I... jiggle. She almost laughed at the thought. Reaching behind her, Una found she was still flexible, and still possessed of a tail. It too had shrunk, only inches long, but it still wagged cheerfully when she stroked it.

"All right, contaminant readings are nil. Una, please say something, so I know you're not completely off the rails. Then I'll open the door, and we can get you cleaned up." Another crash echoed from the room beyond, doubled by the speaker.

"Get me a mirror, Jay." Her voice sounded mostly the same, except perhaps smoother, unworn by time or trauma. Nanobots fixing up my vocal cords? Who knows? "Whatever your smallboys did... something worked."

Una looked around, trying to get a sense of her height. As Micki, she'd been as tall as Michael Belmont, and last night she hadn't been much shorter. In the first weeks of her abduction, she'd shrunk to Yael's petite, eternally cute size, and now she was somewhere in between. Around five-six, she thought. I can work with that.

A moment later, the laboratory door swung open, revealing Jay Sigma in a lab coat. He had a full-length mirror under one arm. Their eyes met, and Una sensed his relief, his concern, his fear... and his arousal. He was looking at her like she was a prize animal. "What are you waiting for, Jay? Show me." She smiled at him, and he blushed, swinging the mirror to hover between them.

She stared at the face of Michela Belmont, the teenager she'd seen in her visions. This Michela was all grown up; her face hadn't changed dramatically, but her eyebrows and cheekbones were more prominent, and she'd lost her baby fat in the transition between fourteen and twenty-six.

The woman she stared at could have been the kid sister of Una or Micki—if they'd had a sister who was barely a succubus. Compared to her statuesque demon sisters, she was petite and soft, with an androgynous cast to her angular features that gave her a waifish quality. Her hips dispelled any gender ambiguity, however: they were wide, her waist narrow, and her breasts a generous handful, even more noticeable in contrast to her slight frame. The slim curve of her belly rose into a subtle mound of Venus, and below that, a triangle of soft, dark hair.

"Shit, Jay," Una said, examining herself. "What the fuck did you do to me? I'm... just a girl."

"Well, uh," said Jay, his blush deepening. "I wouldn't say just a girl. You're definitely a hottie."

She punched him in the arm. "Be serious. How did this happen? I didn't... ask for it. Are the nanobots doing their own thing?"

Jay shook his head. "Everything checks out. They received a signal and went to work while you were unconscious. Is it possible you... decided to change yourself subconsciously?"

Una sighed, peering at herself in the mirror. Her irises were not the startling Belmont blue, but the yellow of Yael's stare—the same as each of Yael's incarnations, she realized. Still, her pupils seemed ordinary enough, if large.

"Yes," she finally answered. "That's definitely possible, given how I look now. But does this mean if I have a weird dream... am I going to wake up looking different every morning?"

Jay shrugged. "It's likely the nanites are reacting to upheaval in your mind. Like your body, your mental processes are probably also undergoing a... a kind of transformation? But the effect seems to be stabilizing. We can run a few more tests after you shower and have something to eat."

Una let Jay lead her to the bathroom. This time, he didn't stick around to watch. She luxuriated in the feeling of water hitting skin that felt delicate and new. She spent a long while scrubbing the blood off her hands and arms, and lingered a lot longer than necessary on her most sensitive areas: her small nubs of horn, her tail, and her newly rejuvenated pussy.

As she toweled herself off, she remembered another vision—the temptation offered her by Thomas Spencer. The promise of a normal life, laughing with John and Susan in the park, just like any ordinary woman. She turned and checked out her butt in the mirror. Yes, she thought. Susan's going to appreciate that ass. She bent over slightly, presenting her glistening lips to the mirror. And so will John. Her whole body flushed at the thought, and her new rosy-gold complexion made quite a difference; she could watch the blush spread from her cheeks down the center of her chest.

Una smiled wickedly and continued drying herself, lingering over her nipples. They were pink and perky now, easy to roll between thumb and forefinger, and her breasts had a pleasing heft. Everything was great. Euphoria washed over in a rush of emotion, and she laughed, then spun, watching her boobs bounce, her hair fanning around her, the towel slipping to the tile.

After a long moment, she collected herself and walked out of the bathroom in a white robe. Jay stood in the kitchen, frying bacon and watching as his fancy espresso machine warmed up.

"Jay Sigma!" Una called. He looked up, and she grinned at him. "I feel fucking amazing. Not sure how else to say this, but... I'm finally a real girl!"

"I guess that makes me Geppetto?" He twirled one side of a mustache, then turned with surprise when Una ran straight at him and jumped into his arms.

Una's momentum sent Jay staggering for a moment, but the reconstructed girl proved unexpectedly light. She wrapped her legs around him, holding on and giggling as he fought for balance.

"Thank you, Jay," she whispered, and planted a kiss on his cheek. "Thank you, thank you, thank you." She kissed his other cheek, then his nose.

"I just—hey, now." The hacker made a feeble attempt to restrain the giddy demon. "I think you're having a manic episode. It's a normal reaction to—" He cut off as she pressed her lips against his mouth, then seized his hair and plunged her tongue into his mouth.

Abruptly, her eyes widened. "Oh! Sorry, I didn't mean to..." She dropped to the floor, aware of their new difference in size. "...get carried away?"

Jay straightened his hair, catching his breath. "Don't apologize. I'll let it go, on the condition that you have something to eat. Then we should try a few things."

Una plucked a piece of crisp bacon from where Jay deposited it on the countertop and bit into it immediately. "Mmmm. This is the best bacon I've had in ages. Okay, what are these tests? Balance a spoon on my nose? Or more electrodes?"

"We'll get back to that after breakfast, but for now... try changing something simple about yourself. Maybe your nails again? This time you can make them longer." Una listened, then stared at her fingernails. They were short and painted with the same burgundy polish she'd first noticed. She stared at them and concentrated. Grow.

Nothing happened. She frowned, glancing at Jay, who shrugged. I'm using the same approach that worked before. What's happening? She concentrated on her skin, willing it to turn a deeper shade of tan. Again, nothing happened.

"Jay..." Una drummed her unaltered fingers on the counter. "Did I use up the nanobots somehow? I just tried this last night and I could change myself, but only temporarily."

The hacker was studying a readout on his phone. "I don't get it. The nanomachinery has received two signals from you, although I can't tell from outside what they are. Your readings show a reasonable amount of Type IV etheric energy, but it's not being transferred to the bots. It's like your body is... damming it up? Again."

Una stared at her perfectly ordinary arm, pale with golden undertones and a dusting of brown freckles. I'm mostly human, she realized. And I'm stuck this way...?