Magical Girl Syn
by Jennifer Kohl
Cynthia chewed her pencil as she watched the clock slowly tick its way to 4. Around her was the buzz of hushed conversation, the barely restrained exuberance of bored teens whose exams are over, trying to stay beneath the notice of a strict but slightly deaf nun, but at the same time vibrating with the awareness that there is very little she could do in the scant minutes between them and freedom.
But for Cynthia, this was more than the countdown to her final day of high school. This was her birthday, the day she became an adult, and she and her best friend Ruth planned to spend the entire afternoon celebrating. But of course that meant time was slowing down as she stared at the clock; clocks, Cynthia had always suspected (as, on some level, most people do), know when they’re being watched, and deliberately, maliciously slow down.
She believed in magic. We all do, of course—magic is just talking at things to get them to do something. It works on people all the time, and sometimes animals, so we never entirely learn that it doesn’t work on anything else. Even if you think you know better, you don’t; every time you sing “come out, come out, wherever you are!” to your keys, or curse your crashed computer and call it names, or chant “come on, come on...” as the man on TV carries the ball toward the end zone, that’s the part of you that believes in magic trying a spell.
Cynthia didn’t believe she knew better. She was convinced that there had to be more to the world than “go to school, get a job, marriage, kids, retirement.” There had to be more than the gray city with its gray sky and gray people. She knew, not just deep down but out on the surface, that she was destined for adventure, excitement, and romance.
Unfortunately for her, she was right.
She met Ruth outside the huge iron gate that separated St Anne’s from the city. The two of them had spent their entire childhoods living behind those gates, living in the orphanage and going to the school under the baleful eye of the nuns. It hadn’t been a bad childhood, but like any child they were impatient for it to end.
They ducked into the restroom of the convenience store down the street from the nunnery to apply forbidden makeup, giggling all the while. When they were done, Cynthia examined them both in the mirror.
Ruth was, of course, gorgeous. Ruth was always gorgeous. Dark, flawless skin, a fountain of straight black hair that cascaded to her waist, big dark doe eyes. By comparison, Cynthia felt pale, plain, and flabby, blotches of still-healing red sunburn on her paper-white nose and cheeks, her blonde hair more frizzled straw pigtails than fountain of gold.
She popped the top button on her blouse to show a bit of collarbone. She knew by most teenagers’ standards that was nothing, but after almost two decades in a nunnery it felt bold, daring, a little naughty. Well, I’m a grownup now, aren’t I? she thought, and undid the bottom three buttons to expose her midriff. Tying off the blouse just above her navel, she eyed herself critically in the mirror.
“Hot,” laughed Ruth.
Cynthia poked herself in the belly twisting this way and that. “I’ve got a muffintop,” she said.
“Do not,” replied Ruth.
“Do too! See?”
Ruth waved a hand dismissively. “That’s not a muffintop, you just have internal organs, unlike models.”
Cynthia laughed as the two emerged into the hot summer afternoon. “I’m pretty sure models have organs, Ruthie!“
“They photoshop them out,” Ruth said vaguely. “So, where we going first?”
“How can you photoshop out internal organs, they’re inside you! And Miss Kitty’s,” Cynthia said decisively.
Ruth groaned. “I thought today was about celebrating being adults!”
“It is! But I’m not passing up birthday stickers!”
“Those are supposed to be for, like, five-year-olds, Cynthia.”
“Free. Stickers. Free stickers!”
Ruth sighed. “Fine, you get your free stickers. But I’m not going to a toy store! I’m going to that boutique on 12th. See you there when you’re done?”
“Sure,” said Cynthia, trying to hide a sly grin. Ruth obviously just wanted to split up so she could buy Cynthia’s birthday present, so Cynthia wasn’t about to object.
Cynthia practically skipped her way to the little toy shop a few blocks down from St. Anne’s, Miss Kitty’s Curios and Amusements. She pushed open the green-painted door next to the big display window and found herself once again on fairyland.
Miss Kitty’s was a strange toystore. It was not a place to buy Pokemon cards or video games or Barbies. Miss Kitty mostly sold dolls and stuffed animals, ugly, lumpy things that were almost impossible not to love, at least for Cynthia. Also stickers, huge sheets of them kept by the checkout counter, and every single year as far as she could remember Cynthia had received one on her birthday.
As she walked deeper into the shop, a bent figure shuffled slowly around the corner. “Grankitty!” Cynthia cried as if she hadn’t seen the old woman at least once a week for the past decade.
“Cynthia,” the old woman said gravely.
They were not actually related. Cynthia had simply declared Miss Kitty, the wizened old shop owner, her grandmother on first meeting her, and kept calling her that since. She made a good grandmother—she was quiet and serious, but indulgent as long as Cynthia wasn’t too noisy or messy, and something about the way her green eyes twinkled in that wrinkly dark face screamed “witch.” Cynthia was quietly certain Grankitty was, if not magic herself, at least privy to secrets beyond what the nuns could or would teach. She ran a small, dim, old-fashioned toyshop, how could she NOT have something mysterious tucked away in the back?
“Here for your birthday stickers, child?” the old woman asked.
“Of course.” Cynthia smiled.
“Not too old for them?”
“Never!” Cynthia cried in mock-horror. “I plan to be young forever, and the secret is stickers.”
The old woman chuckled drily. “Good luck to ya, then,” she said. Every once in a while just the hint of an accent Cynthia couldn’t place would creep through.
“Ruthie thinks I’m too old,” said Cynthia.
“Fah! I’m thrice as old as the two of ya together, and I’m not yet too old for stickers.”
Cynthia’s eyes drifted upward, flicking back and forth as she did the math. “How old ARE you, Grankitty?”
“As old as my tongue and slightly older than my teeth,” she replied sternly. “And you, child, are old enough to know better than to ask that kind of question.”
“Yes, Grankitty,” Cynthia said dutifully. She turned to browse the shelves, looking for anything new the store might have gotten in since her last visit.
After a few minutes, she found something, an adorable, floppy stuffed tiger kitten, about four inches long. “Grankitty?” she called out. “How much is...”
She trailed off as she stepped around a shelf and saw Grankitty’s face. It was white as a sheet, and she looked like she was about to be sick.
“Grankitty—” Cynthia started, but Grankitty cut her of with a gesture. In the silence, Cynthia listened. She had grown up in the city; the whine of sirens and thump-thump of construction was just background noise to her. But those weren’t just sirens she could hear; there were screams mixed in as well.
The thumping grew closer, faster, the toys rattling on the shelves as the ground shook, and then—
Cynthia saw it just a moment through the crowded display window, a massive, dark, hulking shape, and then the whole front wall caved in. Shards of glass and bits of green-painted wood showered over her as she screamed.
The thing was so tall it had to hunch over to fit inside the shop, and as wide as it was tall. It was dark greenish-brown, and scaly where it wasn’t furry. Its legs were thick and squat, its arms were lean, muscular, much too long for its body, and ended in massive clawed hands.
She screamed again, kept screaming. She’d fallen onto her butt at some point, and scrambled backwards in a panic as the thing reached for her. She rolled over, onto her knees, struggling to get away and get to her feet at the same time.
Then the huge claws were wrapping around her torso, impossible strength pulling her back and into the air.
Half a continent away, Kelly opened the door to her apartment, surprised to find it wasn’t locked. “Emma?” she called out as she entered the living room, dim and shadowy by the light filtering in through the curtains. Her girlfriend shouldn’t be home this early, but why else would the door be unlocked.
Kelly’s heart froze as she heard a clatter from the bedroom, followed by a familiar giggle. It couldn’t be, she thought. Emma’s not—she wouldn’t— But the squeaking of bedsprings was unmistakable.
Shock gave way to rage, and Kelly slammed the bedroom door open. Her screaming fury died on her lips, however, at what she saw: Emma, her lithe body arched backward, her face blissful as she rode... a man.
“What the fuck..?” Kelly breathed. She preferred women but had had flings with guys here and there—though none since she started dating Emma, obviously. But Emma? Emma was 100% lesbian, zero interest in boning dudes whatsoever. Yet here she was, apparently having the time of her life fucking a man Kelly’d never seen before, a wiry little guy, fit but very short.
The man looked at Kelly, his eyes deep and dark as a mineshaft. “Hello,” he said with a smile and just a trace of an accent—British, but something else too.
“What the fuck!?” Kelly said louder. “Emma, who is this!?”
Emma kept riding the man, panting as she turned her head to talk to Kelly. “God, Kels, I had no idea... So good... Can’t stop...”
“What have you done to her, you bastard!?” Kelly demanded, stepping further into the room. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”
“Stop,” the man said. “Calm down.”
Kelly stood stock-still, feeling her anger and hurt draining out of her. In its place came a pleasant sort of floating feeling, a serene unconcern, and that was terrifying. Or at least it should be, but she couldn’t quite seem to feel it.
The man sat up, holding onto Emma’s hips to keep her bouncing in his lap. He looked Kelly up and down, and apparently liked what he saw. “Strip,” he said.
Feeling like she was in a dream, Kelly complied. She knew she shouldn’t, but it was so easy to just go along with it, so pleasant...
“I am glad I spotted you, my dear,” he said to Emma. “I had no idea I’d be getting two for one.” He beckoned Kelly to come closer, and she did.
Any second, she knew, he was going to order her to join him and Emma for a threesome. That should probably bother her, but at the moment she didn’t much mind. He seemed able to control her emotions and actions, so he’d probably make her enjoy it.
But instead, to her surprise, he stopped, whipping his head around to stare right through her. A wild, triumphant grin spread across his face. “Her! She’s finally activating.” He laughed and shoved Emma of his cock. “You’re mine now!” he declared to no one in particular, then snapped his fingers. Clothing—nondescript slacks and a shirt—appeared on him as he got out of bed and walked toward the bedroom door.
He paused, then turned back to face Emma and Kelly. “Forget,” he said, making an odd little half-wave.
Kelly blinked. What had she been doing? She looked down at her naked body, and then turned to see Emma sprawling on the bed, flushed, her hair disheveled. Kelly grinned. Right, that’s what. She leaped onto the bed, and Emma giggled.
The last wizard on Earth let himself out of their apartment. As he waited for the elevator, he whistled a tune forgotten for centuries. He’d found her again, and just in time. Now the plans of a millenium could be fulfilled.
Cynthia screamed and struggled in the creature’s iron grip. She kicked futilely in the air, beat ineffectively at it with her fists, and screamed until her throat was raw, but it still slowly lifted her up and back.
Somewhere below and to her left there was a flare of light, and then a voice spoke. It was a woman’s voice, a warm, rich contralto with just a bit of Irish lilt woven through it. “Put her down, Beast,” she said firmly. “It’s me you’re here for.”
The world spun as the creature tossed Cynthia aside. She braced herself to hit the ground or a shelf, but fortunately crashed into a display of stuffed animals.
She stared at the woman staring defiantly at the monster. She was standing just where Grankitty had been, but the old woman in her shawl was gone. In her place was a radiant—literally, the light earlier had apparently been her—beauty around Cynthia’s age, her perfect body clad only in a black, lacy corset-and-panties set, matching garter belt and sheer stockings, long, fingerless black lace gloves, and shiny black high-heeled ankle boots.
As the monster charged her, she laughed and tossed her tumbling mass of curly auburn hair defiantly. Just as the creature reached to grab her, she jumped and flipped, doing a handstand on its knobbly hand before throwing herself higher, catching it on the chin with both boots, then somersaulting backwards in the air before dropping lightly onto her feet.
Cynthia stared in shock. Who WAS this woman? With her perfect beauty and superhuman athletics, she could very well be an angel... But her body and outfit suggested her origins lay in the opposite direction. At the same time, there was something familiar about her...
And then it clicked. That impossibly beautiful, perfect face! Make the nose a little crooked, the eyes a little smaller, add a mole and wrinkle the whole thing up like a grape turning into a raisin, and you had... “Grankitty?” Cynthia whispered in disbelief, still sprawled in a pile of stuffed bunnies and puppies.
The other woman ignored her, leaping again at the creature. Her hands flared with light, and it staggered back, roaring.
“Yeah!” Cynthia found herself cheering. “Get that thing!”
But it was rallying. As she sprang back, it swiped at her, sending her crashing into the wall. She was back on her feet almost immediately, but not quite fast enough: the thing caught her, pinning her arms to her sides. She struggled, but it was clearly stronger than her.
The creature held her in its palm like a doll, using thumb and fingers to hold her arms. With one swipe of its other claw, it tore open her corset and panties, exposing full, firm breasts and a neat triangle of red hair. The fur at the creature’s own crotch stirred, and a cock emerged, tiny-looking compared to the creature’s massive bulk, but more than a foot long in reality.
Cynthia screamed again. She’d never seen a penis before—a real, erect one, not an illustration in a biology book or photo in a magazine passed around the girls’ dorm accompanied by muted giggles—but she was sure they weren’t supposed to be that long or thick. How could that go inside a person!?
But the creature shoved the redhead onto its cock, and her cry didn’t exactly sound like pain. Grabbing her thighs in its massive hands, it began pumping her up and down its length, and her struggles soon ceased. In fact, she sounded to Cynthia almost like she was... enjoying it?
She cried out, and flared with light. The creature grunted, shuddered, and then... dissolved away into nothing.
Grankitty hit the ground with a sickening crack.
Mind reeling at what she’d just witnessed, Cynthia picked herself up off the ground and staggered over to the old woman. For a moment, Cynthia thought she was dead, but then heard her moan.
“No...” Grankitty said. “Your birthday... Run, girl... before it... claims you... before... he finds you...”
Cynthia shook her head. “It’s gone, Grankitty. We’re safe.” She was crying, she realized. “You saved us.”
“Not... that...” Grankitty wheezed. “You... before I...” Her eyes stopped focusing on Cynthia, or anything else. Slowly she breathed out, a long, horrible rattling sound.
She didn’t breathe back in.
“Grankitty?” Cynthia pled, shaking her slightly. “Grankitty!”
Through her tears, she saw something rising from Grankitty’s body like mist. It gathered together in the air above her, forming into a softball-sized sphere of light and darkness, swirling around each other but never blending. Cynthia stared at it open mouth, her mind finally shutting down at one too many impossible things.
The mist finished congealing, and the ball of light and darkness hung in the air a moment. It bobbed slightly this way and that, and Cynthia remembered what Grankitty had said about running. She tried to scramble to her feet, but it was too late. The ball fixed on her, and then shot forward with blazing speed directly into her heart.
Cynthia gasped as a wave of pure joy swept through her entire being, light and life and energy singing in her blood. Then another wave followed, just as pleasurable but utterly different, a tingling aching bliss that hollowed her out and made her skin tingle. Then another wave filled her with joyful light, and then again the empty, ecstatic darkness. Light and dark, joy and pleasure, love and lust swept through her in wave after after, following each other faster and faster until she couldn’t distinguish them anymore, could only float limply and helplessly in their grip.
Then the changes began. She could feel her face shifting, and knew what was happening: her sunburn healed, blemishes erased, imperfections perfected, until it was as flawless and beautiful as a doll, just barely recognizable as her own face. Her hair turned finer and fuller, bursting out of its pigtails and transforming into gentle waves of perfect gold, which then wound themselves back into perfectly braided pigtails. Her legs got longer and leaner, her skirt going from respectable to obscenely short in the process. Her torso lengthened too, her waist slimming and tummy flattening while her breasts swelled, straining against her blouse. The blouse lost, buttons spanging off it in every direction, vanishing among the shelves or bouncing off the ceiling. A moment later, her bra snapped too, disintegrating away as the remnants of her blouse tied themselves into a knot below her ribcage, just barely covering the bare minimum of her breasts. Her shoes and socks shifted too, the former becoming chunky, black, high-heeled Mary Janes, while her socks lengthened, creeping past her knees and halfway up her thighs.
The light faded, and she floated back to her feet. She ran disbelieving hands over her face, chest, belly. She felt incredible, more alive and more powerful than she’d ever been in her life, and her skin tingled everywhere she touched.
And if bare skin felt that good... She ran a hand up to her breast, and gently stroked through the thin fabric. Fingertips brushed over her nipple—and her eyes rolled back as her knees nearly buckled.
“Ohhh wooooow...” she breathed. Grinning breathlessly as she continued teasing her breasts, she looked down at the floor, much more distant than she was used to. She ran her free hand along the strip of bare skin between sock and skirt, then slowly pulled up the skirt. She licked her lips in anticipation, unable to imagine how good this was going to feel—
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” said a small, high, but squeaky voice.
She turned and stared at yet another impossibility: the toy cat she’d been looking at earlier was standing a few feet away, glaring up at her with hands on hips.
It sighed. “I’m sorry this happened, but I did try to warn you, Cynthia—well, I guess that name doesn’t really fit you like this, huh?” It shook its head sorrowfully. “I’m sorry I couldn’t stop this... Syn.”