Thrifting. The pastime occupation of Hipster and gutter rat alike. Unlike other businesses targeted at the poor the humble thrift store holds a special place in even the striving upper middle class as both a way to cut expense and still maintain status. Thus its was that even in the most gentrified parts of a city you can still turn a corner to find at least a Crossroads or Buffalo Exchange, if not a full on Goodwill or Out of The Closet. It’s a good business, as long as you pretend you’re not making any money.

In San Pablo, where the blue collar had actually held on by the whites of their knuckles (low rents meant more competitive wages with Mexico and China), thrift stores where everywhere. Sometimes people who lived in the central neighborhoods forgot that places like Gap and H&M even existed.

Diana Odenkirk’s hand shook as she reached out to feel the dress’s fabric. She knew as a rail thin old lady she wanted something luxuriously drapey, in natural fiber if she could help it. The burgundy linen felt immaculately soft. The wrapped front immediately reminded her of one of Sarah’s dresses. The one she had almost put on because it had looked so comfortable and pretty.

Why had it taken the Deus Ex Machina of a god-like being accidentally using her powers? She lived in the Bay Area. She should’ve known it was an option.

As a woman of science she desperately wanted to know by what means a being of myth(or practically indistinguishable from myth) such as Circe had been conjured. As a trans woman (it felt good to at least try out in her mind) she didn’t care. Diana had a perfect body to live out her last 30-40 years in, and that was all she needed to worry about.

She looked over at the alleged mythical witch, who was trying on suit jackets in the women’s section and posing. It should be terrifying that this kid had forced her to the ground with her mind and then involuntarily reassigned her sex.

Instead they had gotten into a very extensive discussion about bluegrass and electric hokum on the drive over and lunch. She wasn’t actually lying about being a musician, and had smiled indulgently as Diana gushed about Pherric defeat. It was hard not to see her as an aimless twenty-something.

She shuddered. Don't think about it, Diana.

Her hand brushed over the fine linen weave, again. It was perfect. She unhooked it from the rack and strode toward the changing room, ignoring the blood curdling screams of her amygdala as it activated well tread patterns of fear and self disgust.

She held her head high. Diana had missed two score years of adult womanhood to its irrationality. Now, with the body she had always secretly needed, she would not be cowed by its outdated defense mechanisms.

In the changing room, her heart beat in her ears. A cocktail of adrenaline and dopamine shot through her veins. This was a thing she had only ever daydreamed about. Over a half century on the outside looking in.

She slowly peeled off her old man jeans, and lifted her coffee stained work tee over her head. It was hard to take her eyes from the dressing room mirror. Diana watched as a woman followed her motions, keeping pace with the state of her own undressing. That's ME! I am the woman in the mirror!

It had been so hard to put on these clothes in the first place while Circe was waiting for her. She had stepped out of the shower and spent who knows how long inspecting her face. The full body mirror was no different. Before the dress was even touched, she inspected every square inch of her body.

Some things were notably similar, like her old, sinewy but still muscular arms. Others were what you'd expect a woman of her age to possess. Overall she was very happy. It felt perfect. She sighed in relief, she had been obsessing in the back of her mind over whether or not it had all been a huge mistake, whether she was really worthy of this body.

It was the answer to all of her questions. This was correct, the affirmative, yes, absolutely.

As she tugged the bunches and folds of the dress over her willowy frame, she marveled at how soft the linen was against her skin. It was like luxuriating in a fine bedsheet.

Diana fumbled with the back zipper as she noted how good the ripples of cloth looked over her body. Once secure, she rocked her hips from side to side and let her exposed arms drift loose, watching the billow of the dress. Pretty.

Her heart was in her chest before she could bring herself to look at the mirror. Swallowing, she attempted to compose herself. What if she looked wrong? What if after all this she had just tricked herself into thinking she could pull this off. That she could really after all these years, be a woman. It didn't matter, the band-aid had to be torn off. Her head jerked up.

She was face to face with a Roman matriarch. The layered skirt, with gold brocade, burgundy as the blood of her rebirth. The wrap front extenuating her smallish breasts. Lips stained red with the heat of seeing yourself for the first time, pale skin of the old who don't get out much, and gray fine curls they belied her mixed European heritages. All she was missing was a laurel.

Somehow, it had started to rain in the chaining room.

She pinched herself.

There was no more need for euphemism.

Diana cried.

~~+-0-+~~

"Shit." Circe circled the Radio Emporium again. Ebeneezer the Clunker had been complaining pretty loudly on the trip back, and now was screeching and grinding at every turn. Diana looked out from the passenger seat window onto her store, sadly. The excitement of the past several hours evaporating into nothing.

The place was crawling with cops.

They had roped off the entrance in caution tape, and two officers stood guard in front of the shop door. Circe looked over to Diana in askance of what to do. Her response was an expression of panicked indecision. The car behind honked, swerving around them into oncoming traffic and speeding off.

"Fuck it, lets go to my place while we figure out what to do." Circe said, driving away from the store.

Diana just looked back at her shop and her apartment above, apparently stunned into silence. Circe shrugged it off, this stuff didn't happen to small business owners. They got to be the most favored class in the nation, and cops had to be pretty pissed off to mess with them. Circe didn't know what to tell a person like that.

The drive to the Iron Triangle was the tense silence of crisis, ratcheting ever harsher as they pulled into the development. Circe knew in the back of her mind that something was wrong in the working class community just from the lack of people on the street. The sight of cops parked on her block of duplexes was enough to confirm her wildest fears. "Shit!"

Diana frowned. "Why are they doing this?"

Circe jolted, it was a good question. They turned out of the development. She was operating under old oogle instincts- See cop, run. They pulled into parking in a lot for the shoreline trail, out of sight. Think like a cop. Why were they after her? "Maybe they think I killed you or something?"

Diana brightened. "Oh! Obviously! Some good Samaritan must of seen something worrying, and then the police saw the workshop and assumed the worst." She hummed happily. "I can just come forward as myself, and they'll stop looking for you!" Diana moved to open the door.

Without really thinking about it, Circe reached out her mind and held the door locked. Diana struggled to open it for a second before, with dawning horror, she turned to look at Circe. "What.."

"Not so fast." Circe spoke soft and quick, cutting off Diana's thought process. "How would they possibly believe you?" They needed to run. Letting Diana fall into the cops hands would not end well for either of them. Circe was better informed- She needed to make this decision for both of them.

Diana stuttered, and then fell silent thinking. Good, Circe released her mental grip on the lock. "Maybe that's the right thing to do..." Smiling at Diana, she tried to reinforce that she was trustworthy and knew better. "But we don't have all the information, and its possible that someone knows what I am and is trying to capture me."

Diana pursed her lips. "Oh."

Circe laughed at Diana's clear naivete. "I don't know about you, but I don't want to end up locked in a government lab." C'mon Diana get it though your thick middle class skull. Cops aren't friends!

The older woman looked scandalized. "The government wouldn't do that!" Putting a hand on her chest, she balled it into a fist. "Even if some people would want to, you are an American citizen! You have rights!"

Circe's mood dropped. She remembered what it was like as a train hopper. Rail yard guys willing to beat you within an inch of your life. Podunk Cops who would shoot if they even caught a glance of reflective backpacking fabric. Slow nights drinking yourself to death. Getting cheated by venue that preyed on homeless touring musicians. The friends who died by a chance slip, jumping on a moving train. Grinding despair. True freedom.

Circe's determination hardened, and she shifted the car into reverse, peeling out of the parking lot. "They don't give rights to the already free." Circe didn't care if Diana heard her or understood. She had tasted freedom twice, and she wasn't going to give it back this time.

The autonomic fear responses set off across her body- bile in her throat, shaky hands, adrenaline flooding her synapses, and yet her mind felt calm. She realized that by storing her mind in her unbody she was at a remove from the biological process of fear.

Diana watched Circe twitch uncomfortably as they drove along surface streets to old town. The older woman's eyes bore into her, deepening the rising discomfort. "Are you actually the mythic Circe?"

Circe had had enough. She turned off her adrenaline receptors to make her body stop jerking, and composed herself. "No. I was fucking with you." The honesty surprised her, but it made sense. They had gone from a silly, if gory, journey of self exploration, to having cops surrounding both of their houses. A real do or die moment, not a time for self aggrandizing lies. "I'm going to take us to my band mates' house."

Diana nodded, her eyes hard as she clenched her dress and watched the road. "Will I be allowed to leave?"

Circe sighed. Flicking the lock open, she pulled to a stop. She realized just how much she had fucked this up with her power tripping. "Do what you want." It came out more defeated then she would have liked.

Without a word Diana stepped out of the car, closed the door, and walked off. Circe leaned her forehead against the wheel. The moment she had power she had abused it. She had tasted the endorphin rush of holding an older woman hostage, if only for a few minutes. It had been intoxicating, thrilling, shameful. Would she ever be able to make it up to Diana? Would she be able to forgive herself?

Sitting alone in Ebeneezer the clunker, Circe swore to herself to never let her biological body cloud her judgment. Just as she had stopped the adrenaline from causing a panic attack, she would cut herself off from the rush of power. She would not replace her coke habit with non-consensual sadism.

A small voice in the back of her mind asked 'what about consensual sadism?'

~~+-0-+~~

Det. Jeffery Kovech glared at the DNA test results. Clarence Lovelace lost roughly a pint of blood sometime in the last 48 hours. No sign of struggle in the unit. No clues to his location. A dead end. The sun was setting, and he was well into overtime.

He had been so proud of keeping his urges under control last night. The coke was tearing all of that down. Stupid. Reckless. Evil. His knee bounced uncontrollably as he sat in his office chair. The Officer Take during drug busts was an open secret. A privilege. Keeps the sheep dogs from going wolf. Kovech never let himself partake. Now he knew why.

Drugs might silence the wolves in some, but for him it made them louder. It was hard to focus on work. He was lusting for the texture of real silk lace panties. His breath choppy, his palm sweaty on the mouse, he felt himself strain against his linen slacks.

Kovech bit the inner lining of his lip hard enough to draw blood. Usually he would bury all this under whiskey, but he didn't want to see what happened when he crossed the cocaine with more alcohol. Bad idea? Kovech rubbed his eyes vigorously.

Phone rang. Roy.

"There's a witness at the North station." Roy spoke clipped, professional. No sign of tweaking in his voice. "I'm going to pick her up. Get a briefing room ready."

"Ten-Four." Kovech was jealous. Roy knew how to handle himself at a level he could only dream about.

Fuck it.

Kovech slipped his hand into his herringbone jacket to retrieve his second flask. Like magic, his coffee dregs became a full mug. He would face zero consequences for this.

Now, time to reserve that room.

FriendlyPastoralist

Yeah Yeah I'm late, AND I promised a full part. Well too bad, I lost this part twice because both my computers failed practically simultaneously. It burnt me out big time. So anyway part 5 is mostly done. but I gotta rewrite big parts 6. Anyway while I was on hiatus I plonked out a short story that was too close to my own life and ruined my brain for a bit. You can read it here I MISS YOU

Check out my other works:

Darla Darling Dearest

The Thing In The Abyss

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