“Sally,” Baroness Elizabeth Zemo complained, “I can’t believe how lame these job applicants are. Look at this one. ‘Dr. Boom.’ A proctologist who blew up his house to keep his wife from getting it in the divorce. Or ‘Flower Child.’ She uses flower petals to distract her opponents.”
“Well, after the Terminus Team almost got wiped out, there aren’t a lot of henchmen around, your Excellency,” the Flexible Felon replied, and then returned to sipping her silicone shake.
“And then the Hooded Hood snapped up all the rest for the Purveyors of Peril,” Elizabeth exposited. “Heaven knows where they all went after that little sideshow he put on. Even though my plans are henchman-light, I still need a few minions I can trust to handle the side plots. Any responses to your web page yet?”
Silicone Sally stretched from her comfortable sofa across the room and played her fingers across a computer keyboard. “Just some teenage wannabees and a lot of spam. Someone called Roni Y. Avis is peddling get-rick-quick schemes.”
“Fine. Pick out the dorkiest girl over 18 and have her come to the warehouse at seven p.m. tonight.”
“What good will that do?”
“If I can’t find what I want, I’ll make it. Now where’s that book of Grandfather Otto’s?”
Several hours later, in a dim, dank warehouse near the Engleheart Bridge, Sally was lighting a forest of candles while the Baroness was inscribing a pentagram around a hospital gurney. As Sally lit the last one, the Baroness donned black and scarlet robes and withdrew a ceremonial athame from its sheath. A bound rooster clucked feebly in a nearby cage.
“Isn’t this Baron Otto’s thing?” Sally carped as she took a 20-foot stride to return to Beth Zemo’s side, twanging like a taut rubber band being released as she did so.
“Hmmph,” replied the Baroness. “He’d only bitch about how I was doing everything wrong.”
“But you’re no sorceress,” complained Sally. “What are we doing here meddling with forces we don’t understand?”
“Stop worrying,” Elizabeth snapped. “See, here’s the instruction book. ‘The First Big Book of Transfigurations.’ I’m German. As long as I have an instruction book, I can do anything.”
“Do I have to stay for this? I mean, I can count the number of evenings I’ve spent as myself in the last eight months on one hand. Lance needs me. I need him.”
“Just bring the victim in, sedate her, help me get started and you can go chase Lance.”
In short order, Sally did just that, bringing Ramona Dingle, a freshman at Byrne Community College, into the candle-lit room and injecting her when she came to a halt on spying the Baroness’s improvised dungeon. Moments later, Ramona was strapped to the gurney.
“All right, Sally, anoint her with the mulberry-seed oil and use the charcoal to make the sigil on her tummy.”
“Check. Grease her and mark her.”
Sally did so, while Elizabeth read incantations from the instruction book open on a nearby stand.
“All right, Sally, I can take it from here.” Elizabeth stepped over to the gurney to examine Ramona.
Silicone Sally wasted no time, taking another 20-foot stride past Elizabeth and the stand as she zipped toward the doorway. A gentle breeze followed her, rustling the pages of the book.
The Baroness returned and proceeded with the incantations, ending nearly an hour later. As expected, a pale green glow surrounded the unfortunate student, and when it dissipated, a much more attractive, six-foot three Amazon arose from the gurney, shrouded in tawny orange and black striped fur, and bearing a distinctly feline face.
“Aha!” Elizabeth Zemo gloated. “My new tiger-girl! Arise, Ramona, and prepare to do my will!”
“Purrrr,” Ramona replied.
“Purr? Tigers don’t purr. They roar.”
Ramona walked over, knelt, and rubbed her face against Elizabeth’s legs. “Mrrrow,” she urged. “Mrrow.”
Fifteen minutes later the Baroness conceded defeat. Ramona was basically a gigantic pussycat who wouldn’t even harm a gerbil.
“Dammit,” she cried, “where did I go wrong?”
The answer came from Baron Otto, who shimmered into the warehouse dungeon. “Playing around with my toys again, Granddaughter?”
“Not playing. Just charming up a minion. You know how hard it is to find loyal help these days.”
The Baron withdrew a scrying crystal and scanned Ramona as she wound around his legs. “Hmmm. Ah, yes, you forgot the bird sacrifice. The blood was needed to arouse the feral instincts. Your servant is, shall we say, malevolence-deprived.”
The Baroness glanced at the trussed rooster, still clucking feebly. “So how do I fix this?”
“Sorry,” intoned Baron Otto, “you can’t. No fowl, no harm.”
Playing the part of Baroness Elizabeth Zemo
J. JONAH JERKSON
Voice of the People
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