A Mythical Match-Up - A Voluptuous Vixen, Part II (Patreon)

Maeve Marigold - sorceress, scholar, and investigator extraordinaire - carefully adjusted her wide-brimmed conical hat, absently tucking an errant lock of her luxurious red hair into its inner band. She glanced down and tugged at the lace lining her white dress beneath her corset, causing her enormous furry breasts to jiggle in their tight confinement. She reached between her breasts and retrieved a hand mirror. She gazed at it. A gorgeous vulpine face sporting a short, black-nosed muzzle and striking amber eyes gazed back. She kissed the air naughtily before slipping the mirror back into her cavernous cleavage. She felt something stir between her breasts as she withdrew her hand but paid it no mind.

Satisfied with her appearance, Maeve looked up at the stately manor house before her. One familiar with Eastern Selee architecture would have been impressed by its use of vincae lines to simultaneously draw one's eyes to the central hearth and the sky - thus honoring the Starmother - not to mention the subtle crosshatching along the false walls. One who had never heard of Eastern Selee architecture, let alone the elves of Selee - or indeed the Realms of Shaltae altogether - might have remarked it vaguely resembled a traditional two-story Japanese house, with numerous wooden columns and beams and large, gently curved roofs. However, the columns, window frames and gables were decorated with abstract silver-gold filigree that brought one to mind of Celtic knots. The walls appeared painted green but were in fact covered with myriad tiny leaves growing from the house itself. A simple dirt path flanked by a pair of foot-high metal torches (presently unlit) led up to the porch and the wide double-door entrance. The surrounding area resembled a pleasant woodland but was dotted with exquisitely carved white granite statues of lithe elves. Most were nude. Though seemingly set in the middle of a wilderness, the estate was actually enclosed by an ivy-covered stone-and-mortar wall. Furthermore, the faint, muted bustle of a city hung in the air.

A twinge of nostalgia and homesickness briefly gripped Maeve. She quickly shook it off and proceeded along the path, her bushy red tail swaying as she walked.

She trotted up the porch steps. She tugged on a small rope hanging inside a small niche in the wall adjoining the doors. An unseen bell rang. Maeve waited patiently until the door opened.

"Ah, Mistress Marigold," intoned a figure at the entrance.

"Hello, darli...Lord Hwell," said Maeve.

Lord Hwell nodded solemnly. He was a tall, pale-skinned raven-haired elf, austere in demeanor and appearance. He wore a long dark-purple robe, featureless save for yellow hems along the sleeves. His eyes, though sunken, were pale blue and gleamed with intelligence. He had long pointed ears.

"Well, come along," said Lord Hwell.

"Thank you, Lord Hwell," said Maeve as she entered the foyer. It was wide and low-ceilinged with dark black floors and white walls. The decor was minimal but extremely well-crafted.

Lord Hwell shut the door, turned and started walking.

"You are late," he remarked.

"Oh yes, er, apologies," said Maeve quickly, following him. "Preparations took longer than anticipated."

"It bears repeating that I do not vacate my home lightly," he said, still walking. "Quite irregular - not leaving at least a single servant or guard."

"The ritual is...tricky," said Maeve, wincing. "Complicated. Esoteric. Any interference could ruin it."

"So you say," said Lord Hwell. He stopped suddenly and looked back at Maeve. "Your reputation is not sterling, Mistress Marigold, but neither is it particularly dire. All those with whom I spoke said you always put your clients first. This and the exigency of the situation is why I will grant you free roam of my estate in my absence. There are few outsiders to whom I would extend this trust. Especially now."

"I am honored, Lord Hwell," said Maeve, managing a quick curtsey.

"To be frank, I care little whether you feel honored," said Lord Hwell, continuing. "I mention this only to underscore the importance of your task." The pair entered a long hallway. Their steps echoed throughout the otherwise still and silent manor. "Uncover the plot against my house," said Lord Hwell, lowering his voice. "If there is a spy among my retainers, flush them out. If some twisted augury has penetrated my defenses, exorcise it. I do not care how you do it so long as my house and my reputation survive."

Ahead lay a small room dominated by a shrine to the goddess Cejaisee. Three elves stood in the room, apparently waiting for their arrival. Two wore simple yet sturdy-looking silver pauldrons and chestplates over sky-blue tunics and wielded short glaives. The third was also dressed in a blue tunic but had no armor and carried no weapon. He did wear a curious leather sling around his shoulder that held a heavy book. All three stood at attention as Lord Hwell entered.

"We can speak freely here," said Lord Hwell. "I have dismissed the rest of my household, including my dear Lansa. She has embarked upon a short journey to Estavan to visit an old friend. These three," Lord Hwell gestured at his retainers "Are the only ones, besides us, aware of our ploy. I have business in the commercial district. While I ordinarily leave such tasks to my major domo, he too left with Lansa, so it would only make sense for me to go in his stead. Furthermore, it is not unusual for nobles visit certain shops in person. My presence should not arouse suspicion."

"Which shops are you patronizing?" inquired Maeve. "Er, so I know where you are if I need to contact you."

"The D'arin Tailors," he said. "Anyone remotely familiar with the commercial district will know where to find them, should you send a messenger. Their raiment is of excellent quality yet never gaudy. They provide laundry services as well - an unusual but welcome arrangement. I will take my time; perhaps visit a tea garden. Expect my return after sunset."

"That should be enough time," said Maeve.

"Good," said Lord Hwell. "If there is nothing else, I shall take my le-"

Something in the room croaked.

"...What was that?" asked Lord Hwell sharply in the ensuing silence. His retainers looked around in confused suspicion.

Maeve cleared her throat.

"Ah, er, yes," she said. She reached into her cleavage and, after some rummaging, pulled a large, green frog out of her furry bosom. The disgruntled amphibian struggled in her grasp for a moment and then sat down on her open paw. It ribbited. The four elves stared at it.

"What was that creature doing in your...in there," said Lord Hwell, his voice oozed with shock and disgust.

"Why, my familiar," said Maeve brightly.

"Familiar?"

"Yes!"

"Why was it-" began one of the guards before being silenced by Lord Hwell.

"It's quite safe inside and the dear does adore the warmth," explained Maeve. She leaned in and made kissy faces at the frog. "Yes he does, doesn't he? Likes being all warm and comfy? Yes he does!"

Lord Hwell's expression did not change It did harden, though.

"I see," he said. "Ensure it does not leave any slime."

With that, he marched out of the room, soon followed by his retinue. Maeve stood in the shrine, frog in paw, waiting. She listened as the elves' footsteps grew more and more distant. She heard the front door open and shut. Then, silence. She hurried out of the room, ran down the hall and into the foyer, still clutching the frog. She peered out through a small, shaded window and saw Lord Hwell and the other three elves passing through the gate.

"All clear, darling," she said happily.

She bent down and carefully placed the frog on the floor. It looked up at her with a sort of vague malice.

"Let's get you back into shape," she said, pulling a small wand from her bosom. She waived it in the air. The instrument glowed briefly with purple light.

Suddenly, the frog started to...expand. It grew to the size of a small dog and then its legs and arms began to stretch. Its green color faded. Its form and outline grew hazy and indistinct as though it were flickering in and out of existence. At last, its shape stabilized with a soft pop.

Mike stood in its place.

"There we are," said Maeve as she tucked the wand back into her breasts.

Mouth agape, lips trembling, Mike slowly looked down at his hands and flexed his fingers. He then looked up at Maeve through bloodshot eyes.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAH!"

"Quiet!" yelped Maeve urgently, waiving her paws in the air.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAH!"

"They're gone but still might hear you! Please!"

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAH!"

Maeve began frantically digging through her cleavage. She yanked out her wand.

"AA-no-no-no-no-no-no-no-no-no!" cried Mike, raising his hands when he spotted the wand.

Maeve hesitated.

"I'm okay!" he said desperately. "I'm okay!" He took a deep breath and exhaled.

A few seconds passed. Maeve put the wand away with a weary sigh.

"Really, darling, was that necessary?" she said with something of a huff, placing her paws on her rotund hips.

"You...you turned me into a goddamn frog!" he breathed, leveling an accusing finger at her.

"I did tell you to prepare," said Maeve.

"You said you were going to make me a disguise," said Mike angrily. "Not..." he shivered "Rrrrgg, that was so...awful!"

"Awful?" said Maeve. She sounded both concerned and offended. "Did it...hurt?"

"N-No, not really. It was just so...with the legs and arms and...and the way my body felt and I couldn't..." Mike trailed off, struggling to find the words to describe the inconceivable and bewildering experience.

"Come now, the morphic adjoinment was nearly seamless," tutted Maeve. "Your mental faculties were virtually untouched - more difficult than it sounds. A crueler or less capable mage would have left you nothing more than a particularly bright frog rather than a frog with the mind of a...a human."

"Don't say that," snapped Mike. "I don't even want to think about it. Just...Christ on a bun, is this going to give me PTSD?"

"Pee-tee-est...dee?" said Maeve, cocking her head. "Is that some kind of...mental affliction? I assure you there will be no side effects. That hardly ever happens."

"So it HAS been known to happen," said Mike bitterly.

"Rarer than a rainstorm on the Salt Wastes," said Maeve. "And typically a product of very rare and unusual circumstances."

"Right. So, exactly how many humans have you transformed?"

"Er..."

"Never mind," sighed Mike.

"Oh, don't be like, darling," cooed Maeve, stepping closer. "I admit I can see how it might have been upsetting for one such as yourself, unused to magic, but it couldn't have been all that bad." She winked at him. "Did you enjoy your...plush new home?"

Mike's face reddened. He actively avoided gazing down at her absolutely spectacular set of jugs.

"You were in no danger of suffocation, in case you were wondering," said Maeve smugly. "I have complete control over the extradimensional space and can open and shut the portal at will. Regularly venting air is a trivial matter."

"Why did you just change me into an elf or...some other thing that walks on two legs and can talk?" asked Mike, desperate to steer the conversation in another direction.

"As you may have noticed, recent events have left Lord Hwell - my client - somewhat paranoid," said Maeve. "He barely trusts me as it is. I doubt he would tolerate involving an assistant, even one that I vouch for. That, and your appearance might alarm whatever conspiracy bedevils the poor elf, particularly were they to learn you are human. Remember, they may be listening - perhaps even watching - even as we speak."

Mike silently admitted that she sort of had a point. However, he could not help but recall the mischievous glitter in Maeve's eyes when she cast the spell, whereupon the world around him grew larger and larger while his skin grew slick and green. And he was almost 100% certain that, after the frightful metamorphosis, the now gargantuan had Maeve giggled as she tucked him into her not-so-secret compartment. He looked down and saw that his clothing had survived the ordeal untouched. He had donned a fresh pair of blue jeans, a simple black T-shirt and brown leather jacket for the journey and brought a messenger bag - newly purchased - to carrying his belongings. He'd considered bringing some pepper spray or even purchasing a stun gun but had decided to trust Maeve to protect him if there was any trouble. Now, he was having second thoughts.

"Ah yes, temporizing possessions into a morphic matrix is not terribly challenging," said Maeve, misinterpreting his sudden interest in his clothes. "Though some enchanted objects possess a degree of sentience, complicating th-"

"Yeah, good, good," said Mike vaguely. He hadn't been around Maeve too long but had already learned she'd launch into a pointless lecture at the drop of a hat. And if you didn't stop her early on, there was no stopping it.

"Look, uh, I know you said the details of the case were on a need-to-know basis, but come on, it's not as though I'm going to start blabbing about it to other elves. If I'm going to help, it might be useful to know more about what's going on."

"True. Even so, I have a professional obligation to Lord Hwell," said Maeve uneasily.

"Well..." Mike's mind raced "...If you don't help me, you, uh, wouldn't be serving him to the best of your ability."

"That's..." Maeve silently mouthed something "...Absolutely correct! Yes!" she said with sudden gusto. "If you are to be an effective assistant, no information can be withheld."

"Uh, yeah, right," said Mike, a little taken aback by how little effort it had taken to convince her. That was another thing - she could be very mercurial.

"Very well, where to begin?" said Maeve. "Lord Hwell has rivals. Hardly needs saying as he is a well-to-do noble elf." She hesitated. "Er, do you have nobles on Earth, darling?"

"No...well, kinda," said Mike, waiving his hand vaguely. "Not anymore, really, but I know what you're talking about."

"Splendid! Now, House Illiendri ranks among House Hwell's most belligerent adversaries. In addition to a long and rather dreary history of bickering, insults, and general disdain between the two families, both manage vineyards and wineries. They compete for profit and prestige. About, oh, two months ago, House Illiendri snatched a rather lucrative contract from Lord Hwell by offering the client a comparable quality and quantity of wine at a price just below Lord Hwell's. Infuriating but not particularly disconcerting, as the two houses have been trading similar blows for ages. However, disaster continued to strike House Hwell thereafter. Two weeks later House Hwell's best vineyard manager defected to House Illiendri. Apparently the fellow learned the family used a rather disparaging nickname when referring to him in private. Then came the infestation of pick mites in their northern vineyard, the loss of the Aethrd contract, the worker uprising, and so on and so forth. A mere six days ago, a sealed letter arrived at Lord Hwell's doorstep. It threatened to reveal a rather upsetting family secret - a secret I am not privy to - unless House Hwell sells one of their more famous and productive vineyards to House Sylaestae at a pittance. The blackmailers did not divulge their identity but it is fair to assume House Sylaestae, House Illiendri or both are the culprits. Simply put, House Hwell cannot afford to lose this vineyard, especially after all that has happened." Maeve paused. "Yes, that is an acceptable summary."

"O-kay," said Mike slowly, digesting all this. "And...you think one of his rivals bugged his house with stuff from Earth?"

"Yes, if by 'bugged' you mean concealed devices. At first, Lord Hwell suspected a spy amongst his household. He interrogated all of his retainers and even dismissed a few - to no avail. For a time, he forbade discussing matters of business on his estate and surreptitiously conducted meetings in tea gardens, forums, and so forth. It made no difference. He sought me out soon after the blackmail letter." For the first time since they arrived in the Realms of Shaltae, Maeve scowled, appearing genuinely angry, or at least very frustrated. "I employed every divination, every augury spell in my repertoire, scoured his estate for the slightest murmur of hostile dweomers. Nothing!" She sighed and, in an instant, returned to her usual bubbly self. "That is when I discovered this 'pod of sound' and learned of Mythic Matches and of Earth. The rest you already know."

"Right, got it," said Mike, nodding. "Now, I'm not going to promise anything. I'm no security expert, but I was able to rush order these on Amazon."

He unzipped his messenger bag and produced a pair of devices that resembled walky-talkies.

"Oh, yes!" exclaimed Maeve, looking closely at them. "How do they work?"

"Kinda simple, actually," said Mike, shrugging. "They're RF scanners. Er, radio frequency scanners. See, most electronic bugs are just tiny microphones with a radio emitter. The microphone tranduces sounds into radio waves, which are invisible and can pass through solid matter. The radio waves are picked up by a radio receiver, which translates the radio waves back into sound. These RF scanners can pick up and pinpoint sources of radio waves."

"Fascinating," whispered Maeve. She hesitated. "Why did you bring two?"

"I figured you could take one. We'll cover more ground that way."

Maeve literally squealed with delight as Mike handed her one of the scanners.

"Careful, they're kind of delicate," said Mike. "And expensive. I sprung for near-field models with a wider range. They aren't top-tier - can't afford them - but they're relatively easy to use, especially since there shouldn't be much background noise. In fact, lemme check."

Mike pressed the power button on his scanner. After a brief warm-up, the screen displayed an empty graph.

"Wow, uh, yeah," said Mike, shaking his head in amazement. "Virtually no background radio signals - you'd never see this back home. This makes things a lot easier."

Maeve tentatively pressed the button on the scanner Mike had handed her and watched, enraptured, as the screen came to life.

"You'll be able to tell there's a radio signal if a line appears along the graph there," he explained, pointing at her screen. "You'll need to cycle through the frequency ranges as you scan. Just...turn that knob back and forth. Don't touch anything else. If it stops working, let me know."

Maeve experimentally twisted the knob as Mike instructed and nodded.

"Excellent! I see I picked the right, er, human for the task!"

"One complication," said Mike, grimacing. "Well, more than one. The radio frequency the bugs use might be out of the range of these bad boys. And there's always the possibility it's just a recorder, not a transmitter."

"Mmm?" said Maeve distractedly. Despite Mike's instruction not to do so, she was fiddling with the scanner's other controls.

"Instead of transmitting a radio signal the bug might just be recording nearby sounds," sighed Mike. "The RF scanners really won't be able to pick them up, especially if they're not recording. Of course, that would mean whoever's behind all this would need to regularly pick up and re-plant the bugs."

"That seems unlikely," said Maeve, tapping the scanner's screen. "Lord Hwell rarely receives visitors and intruders would be hard pressed to penetrate the estate, let alone the manor. In addition to his guards, there are magical alarms scattered everywhere. Truly competent magicians or thieves could find a way around these defenses, but to do so on a regular basis would be nigh impossible."

"Well, I did bring something else along," said Mike, reaching back into his bag. "I didn't even have to buy it - got it when I was still in college."

He pulled out a device that looked like a barcode scanner.

"Oooo, what is it?" said Maeve, looking up.

"A non-linear junction detector, or NLJD," said Mike. "It's a lot more complicated than RF scanners but it basically detects electronics - any electronics - even if they aren't on."

Maeve stared at him blankly.

"Any bug - even if it's just a recorder - will have some electronics inside," explained Mike. "Problem is it doesn't have as great a range as the RF scanners and tends to give a lot of false positives." He paused. "Not sure if you know this but uh, are there a lot of nails - metals - in this house? I mean, in the walls and stuff?"

"Oh goodness no! Apart from the occasional decorative gewgaw, elven houses are partially built from harvested wood and partially grown, held together with wooden joints, plaster, pitch, stone, or even magic. Elves view metal as fundamentally lifeless and therefore inappropriate building material for things related to life, such as homes. A somewhat misinformed view, in all honesty, as elementals-"

"Okay, great," interrupted Mike quickly. "This thing might actually come in handy."

"Where's mine?" asked Maeve.

"Only got the one. Sorry."

"Aww, why?" whined Maeve.

"Because it's even more expensive and I couldn't rush order one AND because this thing isn't as easy to use as an RF scanner," said Mike promptly.

"Oh, very well," sighed Maeve. "Shall we begin?"

"Right, uh, I'll take this side of the house and you can take the other," said Mike, pointing. "Just run the RF scanner across any surface or object that might have a bug. If you get a signal, check around for anything small that looks out of place. I read that a lot of bugs are disguised as screws, outlets, and other things you'd see in a house, but since this isn't exactly an average American home, they should stand out. It could be embedded in the wall or something so you might need to do a little property damage to get to it."

"Excellent!" said Maeve. "I'd say call out if you find anything, but you are not supposed to be here and I'd rather not explain your presence to Lord Hwell. Come find me. The house is large, but not labyrinthine."

"Er, anything I should watch out for?" said Mike. "Like, traps or something?"

"Lord Hwell and I have disabled all of his estate's internal protective wards and alarms," said Maeve. "I informed him that they would interfere with the investigation. Technically true."

"So, no pit traps, spring-loaded poison spikes?"

"Of course not, darling!" laughed Maeve merrily. "Nothing like that around here."

Satisfied, Mike nodded, turned and started walking.

"I'm fairly certain, at least," added Maeve absently.

Mike stopped mid-step, groaned, raised the RF scanner into the air and began checking the wall.

* * *

Mike did not realize how long he had been exploring the manor until the light dimmed to the point he was forced to raise the brightness setting on the RF scanner. He gingerly rotated his shoulders to relieve their stiffness. His arm was actually sore from the effort holding the scanner in the air so long. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. Unsurprisingly, there were no bars, but it did still serve as a clock. His eyes widened when he noted the late hour. He hurried over to one of the small windows, peered through it and saw that the sky had turned a deep, ruddy orange. He turned and stared into the shadow-steeped interior of the house.

"Hey, Maeve?" he called softly.

No response.

Mike shook his head and ventured deeper into the mansion. He activated his phone's flashlight. The tiny but intense glow from the lens provided just enough illumination to navigate the dim corridors. As he stepped around a corner he spied a bright orange glow emanating from a room twenty or so yards ahead. Then, the glow flickered. He spotted a familiar-looking silhouette nearby.

"Ah, there you are, darling."

It was Maeve. She sounded tired.

"Any luck?" he inquired wearily, already knowing the answer.

"Not one blasted sign of these...signals," she said.

Mike walked over to her and found the buxom vixen witch was leaning against the wall, arms folded, RF scanner in hand. A small, glowing orange orb hovered in the air next to her. She looked disappointed bordering on bitter.

"Are you certain this apparatus is not defective," she said, holding up the scanner.

Mike hesitated. He tapped the wireless hotspot icon on his phone and waited a few seconds. He then brought the RF scanner close to the phone and, sure enough, saw a spike in the lower gigahertz range.

"Here," said Mike, gesturing. "Bring your scanner over here."

Maeve stepped away from the wall and waved her scanner around Mike's phone.

"Oh!" she said, looking down at the screen. She looked up. "How did you...?"

"I made it send out a signal," said Mike, shrugging. "Not technically a radio signal, but close enough to test the scanners. They're working."

"Is your device also emitting light?" said Maeve, shielding her eyes from the intense glow of his phone.

"Uh, yeah."

"And it serves as a miniature grimoire AND can invoke Mythic Matches?" said Maeve, some of her characteristic enthusiasm returning. "I MUST acquire one of these."

Mike chuckled. Boredom could make just about anything funny.

"I take it your reconnaissance was no more fruitful than mine," she said. "Even with that other tool, the...ah..."

"NLJD," supplied Mike. "To tell the truth, I gave up trying to use it fifteen minutes in. The damn thing's range is just too short. I could spend days and wouldn't even cover half the place. Like trying to dig for buried gold with a teaspoon."

The two were silent for a time. The shadows around them grew deeper as day turned to dusk.

"I hate to say it," said Mike. "But I don't think there are any bugs here. They must be spying on the family some other way."

"No," said Maeve, almost petulantly. "Nothing short of a god or archmage could have concealed their work from my auguries. This is no boast; it is fact. And Lord Hwell was thorough in his interrogation of his retainers. I darkly suspect he employed telepathic probes - illegal, even for nobles."

Mike opened his mouth, but then shut it.

"Oh out with," sighed Maeve.

"How to put this..." he began. Suddenly, inspiration struck. "Well, see, there's this story on Earth - one of my favorites - written by a guy named Edgar Allan Poe. He's mostly known for his horror books, but he actually wrote some really good detective stories too. Anyways, there's a character Dupin. In the story he makes an observation that there's a big difference between analysis and calculation."

"What do you mean?"

Mike waved his hand vaguely.

"There's calculation - brute force, searching every corner and checking every conceivable possibility - and then there's analysis, which involves inductive reasoning and lateral thinking. Sometimes you get so bogged down by details that you don't see the big picture - miss the forest for the trees - and can't see an obvious answer. Or you don't realize you're asking the wrong questions."

Mike hesitated, unsure how to continue and felt a little foolish for telling a professional detective how to do her job.

"Hmmm..."

"What I'm trying to say is we could search this house over and over again with RF scanners, NLDJs, hell, metal detectors, but-"

"But perhaps there weren't any 'bugs' here to begin with," said Maeve suddenly, raising a digit into the air.

Mike felt a lump grow in his throat. True, it had been Maeve's idea to bring him in even after he had told her he was no security expert. Still, he couldn't help but feel as though he'd failed her. That alone made him feel bad. The fact she probably wouldn't be helping him find his sister now made him feel worse.

"Yeah, uh, I'm sorry, but I don't thin-"

"Instead of asking 'where in the manor have they hidden the devices?' we should have asked 'where would they hide the devices?'" she continued, ignoring or oblivious to his words. She started pacing. "Infiltrating the manor even once would be a difficult task in itself. And where would they conceal these devices once inside, hmm? In which room or rooms would Lord Hwell, his family and their retainers be most likely to reveal their secrets? How would they know? This house is sprawling. And do not forget that Lord Hwell conducted all of his business meetings outside the estate for a time. It didn't make a difference."

"Uh, yeah, I guess that makes sense," said Mike, struggling to keep up. "But-"

"Which means..." said Maeve, rubbing her chin. She absently tucked the RF scanner into her chest as she thought.

"Hey, careful!" protested Mike. "I was kinda hoping I could return it fo-"

"Of course! Of course!" cried Maeve, pounding her palm with her fist. She whirled around to face Mike and held his shoulders. "Brilliant, darling, brilliant! How could I have missed it? It's so obvious!" Her tone grew suddenly despondent. "Oh, the shame! I have been myopic as a blind mole. How can I call myself a professional investigator after this debacle?" she wailed.

"Er...no big deal?" said Mike, bemused. "Happens to the best of us."

Maeve hugged him, practically shoving his head into her furry, watermelon-sized breasts. Mike felt some all-too familiar unseen force suck him in. It was like being stuck between two large and very plush sofa cushions that smelled of strawberries and lilac. And jiggled.

"Oh, thank you, darling," she cooed. "You've done soooo much for me. Do not think for a moment your kindness will go unappreciated!"

"Mmmmf! Mmmf!"

"What was that?" she said, staring down at him, or at least his neck.

"MMMMF! MMMF!"

"Ah," said Maeve, cupping her mouth to suppress a giggle. She gently pushed him and thrust her chest forward. Mike's head popped out, sending him staggering back against the wall. He gasped for air.

"Sorry, darling," she apologized, boobs still bouncing.

"Don't...do that!" shouted Mike, face bright red - whether from embarrassment, near-suffocation or arousal, even he wasn't certain.

"Oh come, mustn't grumble," said Maeve. She adjusted her corset and floppy black hat. "Our task is nearly at an end. All that remains is-"

Maeve was interrupted by the creak of distant doors opening. Both she and Mike turned their heads and peered around the corner. Shadowy figures could be seen against the dim red glow of the open doorway at the end of the hall.

"Drat!" hissed Maeve. "It's Lord Hwell. He's early."

"It's okay! I'll just...hide somewhere and slip out afterwards," whispered Mike, shutting off his light and frantically shoving his phone into his pocket.

"Too risky, not enough time," said Maeve, shaking her head. "We'll need to disguise you again." She dismissed the orange glowing orb with a wave of her paw. Darkness fell. Despite the low light, Mike saw her pull her want out and raise it in the air.

"NO!" yelped Mike far louder than he had intended. He covered his mouth.

"Mistress Marigold?"

Mike and Maeve froze. It was indeed Lord Hwell.

"Is that you?"

"Not a frog! Please!" begged Mike, lowering his voice. "It was really weird and unpleasant! Let's just tell him the truth."

"I, er, I'd rather not, darling," said Maeve, flustered and uncertain. "He's never seen a human before and, as I said before, quite paranoid. He doesn't care much for other races either and might banish you from his home on sight and then sack me."

"Oh come on-...what are we supposed to do then?"

Maeve gave this some thought. Suddenly, she perked up. She waved the wand.

* * *

Lord Hwell scowled as he walked down the hall flanked by his guards and trailed by his page.

"Mistress Marigold, is that you?" he repeated irritably.

His keen ears picked up some kind of scuffle up ahead - the kind that could only be made by more than one person. He nodded curtly in the direction of the disturbance and his guards stepped past him, readying their polearms. They had not gone more than a few yards when a familiar figure stepped out of the shadows.

"Apologies, Lord Hwell!"

It was Maeve.

"Why were you skulking back there like a petty thief?" snorted Lord Hwell as his guards lowered their weapons. He looked around. "And why is it so dark?" He snapped his fingers. Warm, orange light flooded the hallway from seemingly nowhere.

"Ah yes," said Maeve, blinking in the sudden brightness. "Again, my apologies. I had simply gotten so wrapped up in the investigation that I did not notice the gradually dimming light. However, I-"

"Who else is here?" said Lord Hwell sharply. "Do not lie. I know what I heard."

"I do not, as a rule, lie to my clients," said Maeve indignantly. "There is another here and I shall introduce them and explain their presence forthwith." She turned and addressed someone in the room. "Come out."

Nothing happened.

"Don't be shy. Despite Lord Hwell's stern tone he means you no harm. All shall be well."

A few more seconds passed. Then, a second figure emerged from the room. It - or rather, he - was a red fox beastfolk, like Maeve. He was, it must be said, quite strapping, with broad shoulders, muscular arms and a wide, flat chest. He wore a simple black tunic with white trimming, a broad leather belt wrapped around his lean waist. Though barefoot - like most beastfolk of his ilk - he also wore coarse, dark-blue breeches. Curiously, he also had a sort of second belt slung crosswise along his shoulder and hip - one much Lord Hwell's page, only it had a bag attached rather than a book. His roguish vulpine countenance betrayed equal parts diffidence and fear.

"This is M-...Mykhael," said Maeve. She shot 'Mykhael' an annoyed look. "Well? Aren't you going to bow? You stand in the presence of a lord."

Mike met Maeve's look with an infuriated one, albeit briefly. He bent the knee.

"I see," said Lord Hwell coldly. "Why, pray, is he here?"

"He is a messenger, Lord Hwell," explained Maeve. "I paid him a small stipend to wait nearby so I could send him to fetch you should I finish the ritual early. And, as it so happens, I did finish the ritual early. I was just about to send him out when lo and behold you returned. Ordinarily, I would have met him at the gate but I didn't want to leave your house unguarded and so bade him enter." She chuckled. "Sorry, darling," she said, addressing Mike. "It appears as though your services will no longer be needed."

"Ah," said Lord Hwell, blinking. "Er, yes. Of course." He nodded at Mike. "You may rise."

Mike rose - somewhat clumsily - to his feet.

"Now, you said you concluded the ritual early?" said Lord Hwell. "Mm. I suppose that means the news is either very good or very bad. Out with it, then."

"It is better to show rather than tell, Lord Hwell," said Maeve. "If I may."

Maeve reached into her cleavage and produced the RF scanner. The elves looked at it curiously. She took a step closer to Lord Hwell and gave him a questioning look. Nodding in understanding, Lord Hwell motioned for his guards to stand back. Maeve ran the scanner along Lord Hwell's body - first his arms, then his torso, and then down to his knees. The elven lord watched, perplexed, but otherwise did nothing.

As he watched her work, Mike suddenly realized what Maeve had been talking about. He gasped.

Of course.

But...was this really the best move?

As Maeve ran the scanner along the bottom of his robe she stopped suddenly. Then grinned.

"Ah ha!" she exclaimed. "Th-"

"If I may!"

It was Mike - or Mykhael - who had spoken.

Maeve and the elves looked over at him in surprise. Mike quickly fell to his knees.

"Er, Mistress, forgive me but uh..." he said, withering under the collective glares of the elves and the panic-stricken look Maeve was giving him "...I don't think the spell is working. No magic troubles Lord Hwell."

"What is the meaning of this?" hissed Lord Hwell. "How dare you speak out of place, i-"

Mykhael raised a finger to his lips, indicating that he should stay quiet. Lord Hwell expression turned from one of irritation to one of fury. Just as he was about to unleash a tirade, Maeve too pressed a digit against her lips. This caught Lord Hwell off guard.

"Alas, you are correct," she said slowly, glancing back at Mike over her shoulder. "There is no magic here. Good eye, darling."

The elves exchanged bewildered looks. Maeve stared at Mike, who motioned for her to go into the room he'd been hiding. He mouthed the words 'trust me.'

Maeve hesitated, biting her thin lips, and then made her decision.

"I will provide a full refund for the initial fee, Lord Hwell," she said somewhat stiffly. "For I have failed you - utterly." As she spoke she tilted her head towards the room as well, motioning for the elves to follow them. Silently.

Lord Hwell fumed but said nothing. He gestured for his retinue to accompany him and reluctantly started walking towards the room. However, Mike frantically pointed at Lord Hwell and mouthed something else. Maeve stared at him, confused. Mike mouthed the words again, this time far more slowly.

'Make...him...leave...the...robe.'

It took a few seconds for Maeve to understand was he was trying to communicate. However, as soon as she did, her eyes widened. She held out an arm and stopped Lord Hwell. His guards reflexively raised their weapons but Lord Hwell wordlessly bade them to stop. He still appeared irked, but there was now a shade of fear in his pale face. Nodding appreciatively, Maeve ran her paw along the lower hem of his robe until she found what she had been looking for - a small, hard lump buried within the fine fabric. She held it aloft for Lord Hwell to inspect. Lord Hwell ran his fingers along the hem until he too felt the tiny object. His eyes narrowed. Saying nothing, he slowly removed his robe and placed it carefully on the floor. Underneath, he wore a sleeveless linen undershirt and silk pants held by a thin belt with a small pouch and sheathed dagger attached.

The group slowly made their way to the room, which turned out to be a small study with a single short square table and four pillow seats.

"Okay," said Mike softly, wiping his brow. "We should be fine as long as we keep our voices down."

"Would someone explain to me what is going on?" whispered Lord Hwell furiously. "What was that object in my robes?"

"A 'bug,' Lord Hwell," said Maeve gravely. "That is, a small device that acts as an ear, transmitting all that it hears to some distant malefactor - like a scrying mirror, only in reverse. This is how your enemies were able to divine your secrets."

Her words were met with stunned silence.

"Impossible," said Lord Hwell in disbelief. "Our wards would have countered any such magic. And even if they hadn't, our bondmages would have detected it."

"I never said it was magical," said Maeve.

"What?"

"It is simply a mechanism - a sophisticated and complex one, mind, but mundane - no more magical than a farmer's spade or clockwork timepiece."

"Such things exist?

"Yes, Lord Hwell, they do," said Maeve patiently. "Surely you've heard word of the amazing artifacts that have recently appeared in the markets of your fair city?"

"I...do recall certain gossip in the tea gardens but dismissed it as beastfolk dross."

Maeve simply shrugged.

Lord Hwell stood there for a time. He paced back and forth, pausing once to look down the hallway at his robes still lying on the floor. Then, he scowled, nostrils flaring.

"Those conniving snakes!" he growled. "How dare they tamper with my garments? I shall have everyone in that cursed tailor shop arrested, whipped and thrown into the dungeons, released only when they deign reveal the identity of the conspirators."

Lord Hwell paused. His gaze drifted towards Mike.

"That does not explain why you interrupted your mistress and dragged us here rather than simply let her destroy this 'bug.' You are no mere messenger, are you?"

Mike felt a pit form in his stomach. His mouth went dry.

"He is a messenger, Lord Hwell," said Maeve quickly. "The truth is, I learned of these devices through him. As I said, I occasionally employ him when visiting the city, but he has uses beyond carrying missives."

"I see," said Lord Hwell. "Still, that does not answer my question. I would like to hear an answer. From him, if you don't mind," he added, raising a hand just as Maeve was about to reply.

Mike swallowed.

"Well, the way I see it, uh, Lord Hwell, if you destroy the bug, your enemies will know you've destroyed it. They won't be able to listen in on you anymore but...why not use it against them?"

"Explain."

"Pretend you didn't find the bug and start feeding it bad information," said Mike. "Trick them. Say...I dunno, that you know a type of wine will be in demand in some city when it isn't or...or that you're going to buy a vineyard or business that's about to fail. Maybe they'll buy it from under you thinking you know something they don't and then they'll get hosed...er, lose a lot of money. You should be able to figure out who's been bugging you based on who reacts to what information you leak, at least. That's why I stopped her from destroying the bug. Er, I mean, you could still destroy it if you wanted, but at least now you have the option."

"Wisdom, Lord Hwell," said Maeve, beaming.

Lord Hwell stared at Mike for a dangerously long time. Then he turned. He took a few steps, hands steepled.

"Yes...that could work," he said quietly. "Very good. Quite clever, in point of fact. It irks me that a mere commoner thought of it before I did but...so be it. I suppose this means I cannot move against those wretched tailors just yet, but their punishment will come in time."

He turned back to the group, arms behind his back.

"Malcolm," he said, addressing his page. "Fetch Mistress Marigold's full reward."

The page nodded and scurried off.

"As for you, Mykhael," he said, looking at Mike. His eyes were cold and calculating as ever but his gaze was no longer quite as acerbic. "I do not care for your familiar and imperious tone. However, while your mistress neutralized the threat, you rendered it an advantage I can exploit." He reached into the small pouch around his belt and flicked a coin at Mike, who fumbled for it the air before catching it. "Oh, and if you speak of anything that happened here this day - to anyone - you will deeply regret it. Are we clear?"

"C-Crystal," stuttered Mike.

"Hm?"

"Crystal clear, Lord Hwell. What you said is crystal clear. Clear as a crystal."

"Ah. A curious - but apt - turn of phrase. Very good."

* * *

Mike breathed a deep, soulful sigh of relief as soon as he passed through the gate, exiting the compound. It was night out. The air was crisp and cool, though a vaguely unpleasant smell wafted in the breeze along with the scent of trees. Mike peered up and saw a scattering of buildings and towers rising up ahead. He looked down and saw that he was standing on a cobblestone street. He could make out faint sound - voices, laughter, and music - in the distance.

Then, he remembered the coin. He looked down at the thing in his hand - his paw. It was about the size of a dime but much thicker and denser. He held it in the air.

Was it...gold?

"Bravo, darling! Absolutely spectacular!"

Mike whirled around and saw Maeve trotting towards him, her smile as wide as the full moon above. She hugged him - much gentler, this time, but just as enthusiastically.

"You met my expectations, exceeded them and then exceeded them again!" she laughed. "You say you aren't an investigator but you bloody well should be!"

"Thanks," said Mike, grinning, pocketing the coin. He was actually starting to like the unrestrained affection she showered him with. Somewhat to his surprise, she leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. It was nice, but a bit odd - almost like being kissed by a small dog.

"Could you change me back and send me home now?" said Mike, looking down at his furry body. It felt weird but was nowhere near as disconcerting as being a frog."Not that this whole experience wasn't...interesting, but I could use a drink or ten."

"A drink, you say? But why leave for your world for drink when there are libations aplenty on this one?" she said slyly, gesturing at the city.

"Huh?"

"A celebration is in order!" exclaimed Maeve, still holding him in her arms. She lowered her voice. "Why else do I think I chose to change you into a fellow foxfolk, mm?" she purred, running her paw along his chest, pressing her boob against his shoulder. "So we could frolic in the city afterwards unencumbered by curious stares and questions regarding your identity and race. My, you're even more handsome up close in this form."

"Uhhh...Maeve?" gulped Mike. He wasn't sure if he should be panicking or jumping for joy.

"Come!" said Maeve suddenly, grabbing him by the paw and pulling him towards the glittering city. Her grip and strength, once again, proved surprisingly strong.

"Can we at least talk about my sister now?" cried Mike.