Sapphire's Place - Valerie Hope's " Music of Change "

Music of Change #5:

Thrill Of The Hunt

By Valerie Hope

"There's a piece missing," Grace Kincaid said, raking a carefully-manicured hand through her fluffy auburn hair. She took a frustrated drag from her cigarette and blew the smoke in a long plume over her head into the slowly billowing cloud above her desk.

"I don't see how," Joshua said, running his eyes over the Byzantine chart the detective had constructed out of the spotty evidence they'd gathered. "It looks like you've constructed a very clear picture of how it happened."

"Exactly," Grace said, running a square-tipped French-manicure nail across her glossy lower lip. "We know exactly how. What we don't know is why."

"You've been at this for three days, Grace," Joshua said. "Is something wrong?"

"I don't know," Grace said. "It's strange."

"I specialize in strange," Joshua said fondly.

"That you do," Grace said with a dazzling smile. "It's the transformation, Doc. Part of my mind still thinks like it used to, like a sixty-year-old cop. But there are all these new constructs in my head, too - telling me how to wipe myself properly and how to deal with my period like the twenty-nine- year-old woman I've become."

"You've begun your menses?" Joshua asked. "How did you handle it?"

"Just felt kinda greasy for a few days, a few cramps, nothing major. A few Advil did the job admirably. It was nowhere near the ordeal that Joyce had made it out to be," Grace said, making mention of his long-dead and lamented wife.

"Anything else?" Joshua asked.

"Yes," Grace replied, "and this is the part that bothers me. I used to be all business, Doc. Now I have these really infuriating thoughts - not thoughts, really, more like compulsions - that pop up and they're making it hard to live my life."

"Such as?" Joshua asked, flipping open his notebook.

Grace was by far his most intriguing case since he'd begun working with the miraculous Music of Change - she was possessed of such an acute mind that she'd actually wrested control of the transformation away from Joshua and guided it herself, and unlike any of his other patients he'd been completely aware and analytical during the whole process.

"For instance - I can't seem to leave the house unless I've fixed my hair and makeup to perfection. I don't mean a 'good job,' Doctor. I mean it has to be like the cover of Cosmo or I physically can't seem to leave my house."

Joshua chuckled. "It's normal, Grace. The only reason that you're having any trouble with that at all is that you are still aware of what life was like for you as a man, when grooming meant running a comb through your hair and finding a shirt that was 'clean enough.' You based your current form on an image. An image is what can be seen, Grace, and you have to stay true to that image on a basic level in order to continue being who you are and who you want to be."

"Purity of design," Grace said. "I guess that makes sense."

"And, to be honest, I think the only reason that the time you spend on your appearance seems so long right now is that you're still comparing it to the way it was for you when you were still male. Most women take forever in the bathroom for a reason. It takes a considerable amount of time for a woman."

"It does, at that," Grace said. "I'm just glad that I got some idea of beauty from the Music, or I'd be hopelessly lost."

"Actually, the sense of beauty came from your subconscious, from the billions of images you sort through every single day and don't even know it. All of those images were stored and filed, you just weren't aware until the Music tapped them."

"That makes sense," Grace said. "I wondered why I looked a little bit like Morgan Fairchild. I used to think she was the most gorgeous woman I'd ever laid eyes on."

Joshua rose stiffly. "What time are you going to get started tomorrow?" he asked.

"Why, Joshua, such concern for me," Grace said in jest. "People will say we're in love."

Joshua narrowed his eyes - but whether in consideration or vilification, Grace couldn't be certain - and chuckled. "I just wanted to know what time Heather and Jenna needed to get the girls here tomorrow."

"The girls. Everything changes so quickly," Grace commented. "A week ago it was always Dr. Renfro and Arturo LaPaglia. Now it's 'the girls'."

"I know," Joshua said. "I can't help feeling like we've lost this one, Grace."

"We haven't lost it until I quit breathing," Grace said, and Joshua believed her. "No need for you to get poor Karla out of the rack early tomorrow - she's been through the mill at my hands quite a bit these last few days. But let's get started with the lovely Annaliese about 9 a.m., okay?"

"Sounds good," Joshua said, putting one hand on the door. "I'll see you tomorrow. And, Grace - as your doctor..."

"I'll be in bed in an hour or two," she said, unable to hide her smile. She was starting to think that the young doctor was starting to get a little sweet on her. And she couldn't say that she wasn't starting to feel the same way about him. Besides, she hadn't really tried anything sexual or sensual on 'this' side of the fence yet, she'd been too busy with the case. And Claudette Renfro, Dr. Renfro's buxom wife, reported that Joshua's intellect wasn't the only thing huge and well-formed on him.

"Can't have you running yourself ragged," Joshua said. "I just wish I could get you some help, someone to help you take this on... I'm not much good, trying to solve the case with you every night and then up at dawn to run Corporate Rewards."

Grace tapped her lip once again. "As to that, Joshua, I've had a couple of thoughts."

***

Dylan Hopewell, Tyler Beauchamps and Walter Staley ordered another round for their table, trying hard to keep themselves in the good graces of the three girls who'd finally, after an evening of trolling, come and sat down at the men's table.

Hopewell - he hated his first name and didn't allow anyone to call him 'Dylan' - was the stereotypical pencil-necked geek, wearing a blue checkered dress shirt and khakis which literally hung off his emaciated frame, and his 'Alfred E. Newman' face was dominated by the oversized pair of glasses he had to wear in order to even see his hand two feet in front of his face.

Staley - who also hated being called by his first name, but not quite so vehemently as his best friend - tended the other direction, being a touch overweight and also in clothes that looked as if they'd been handed down from older siblings or at least found on the two-dollar rack at a yard sale. He'd started sweating again - he always did around girls - and he was constantly mopping at his receding hairline with a napkin and trying to stumble around his crippling shyness and be something approaching charming.

Ty Beauchamps, the self-styled Casanova of the group, had taken it upon himself to go out with his two friends and get them, if not laid, then at least out in public. Hopewell and Staley were computer nerds of the highest order, spending their days cloistered in their home office-slash-prison, passing Top Ten lists back and forth and talking about Anime and Star Trek or whatever it was that geeks did. Granted, though, they did incredible work, and Ty was the one who managed to get out there in the world and actually sell the stuff to people with real money.

Together, the three of them were the core of Intrusystems, a software and network security consulting company that was reputed to be one of the best in the country. Ty was more at home in his 'business casual' look, wearing a nice blue sweater and dark trousers. He fought to keep himself trim and good-looking, but it was starting to get harder as he climbed in years. The gut was growing and the hairline was making its irresistible march backwards. At least he still had the winning smile that could make the sale. As long as he had that he could still do what he'd done for most of his thirty-three years and make a living.

The girls were seriously drunk, which was pretty much the only reason that they'd been paying attention to the three men anyway. Ty was hoping it would go better - he genuinely liked the two men he worked with and would have loved to have sent them both home with a lovely little girl for the evening. But it wouldn't be the case. It wasn't intrinsic geekiness, either - the simple fact was that Staley and Hopewell were entirely too intelligent for their own goods. Every time they'd try to engage in the trivial, meaningless chitchat that usually led to the elusive 'hook-up,' they'd make a wrong turn and find themselves discussing the nature of the universe or the relative pros and cons of J2EE as opposed to C++ for shipping professional applications. They'd start talking to one another and gently edge whomever they were with out of the conversation.

Ty smiled and tried to re-engage in the never-ending flow of slurred banter that his 'companion' for the evening was issuing. The most Ty could decipher was that it involved two other women named Gloria and Kelly and that they used to be her friends but they kept doing horrible things to her and whatever guy she was trying to date. Ty tried to hide his yawn behind his hand.

The conversation was rapidly interrupted by the appearance of a jaw-droppingly gorgeous brunette at their table. Her shiny hair was gathered back in a tight ponytail that gave her a very sleek look, and she wore a charcoal-gray tube dress and a short matching jacket, which hugged her every curve. The skirt was high enough to show a wonderfully inviting length of leg in smoky gray stockings. She put out her cigarette in an ashtray on the table next to Ty's and favored the men with a dazzlingly bright smile.

"Hi, boys," she said in a husky alto that could excite a eunuch.

"Gracie?" Hopewell asked tentatively. She nodded.

"Grace!" Staley echoed, hopping up and enclosing the woman in a crushing hug which she returned in earnest, patting the man's back companionably before being handed off into a similar rib- creaking embrace from Hopewell.

"Where the hell have you been?" Staley said, hip-shoving the drunken girl he'd been talking to so that this new 'Grace' person would have a seat. The gorgeous woman took it primly, crossing her legs but letting her skirt ride up high enough to give a teasing glimpse of the lace tops of her stockings.

"Working," she replied, signaling a passing waiter for a drink. "Up to my ass, actually. That's why I'm here, truth be told - although I wouldn't mind catching up with you two reprobates for a little while, either."

"How can we help?" Hopewell asked.

"Probably ought to talk about it in private, boys," she said, raising one arched eyebrow meaningfully at Ty and the three barflies they were with.

"Oh, don't worry - this is our business partner," Staley said. "Ty Beauchamps, this is Grace Kincaid. Detective Grace Kincaid. We've helped her out several times in the past with some cases she was working."

She extended a perfectly-manicured, beringed hand. "Pleasure. Any friend of these guys..."

Ty took the offered hand warmly. "Nice to meet you, Detective."

She smiled and Ty's blood pressure raised a few points. "When we're in a sleazy bar like this one, it's just Grace."

Staley took up Grace's torch, turning to their three companions of the evening. "Girls, I'm really sorry, but would you mind if we cut the evening a little short? We kinda need a little privacy. I was having a really good time."

The women looked more than a little relieved to take their drinks and leave. Not only because they were hopelessly intimidated by the intellects of the men at the table but also the addition of the runway-model police detective to the table left them all feeling extremely threatened. Every eye in the bar was on the newcomer - men directing glances of desire, the women jealousy. They couldn't get far enough away.

"So what's this all about, Gracie?" Hopewell asked.

"Real nasty one," Grace responded. "You boys ever hear of Dr. Karl Renfro?"

"Nope," Staley said.

"Somebody tried to kill him. The assassin is in custody, but he's in no shape to talk about what happened. Neither is the Doc. We have a good idea about what happened, but we can't figure the why. We need motive, boys, and we're going to have to dig for it. And I don't know anybody who has better shovels than the two of you."

"Look, I know you just met me," Ty said, "but I'm partners with these guys. If you'll have me, I'd like to help too."

Grace looked him over critically. "If Staley and Hopewell say you're okay..."

"Absolutely," Hopewell chimed in. "Ty's the best. And he knows everybody."

"Good enough for me," Grace said. "Listen, I need you three to come to Dr. Renfro's offices tomorrow morning and get the full story. Can you make it?"

"No problem," Staley said. "But why wait? Looks like our entertainment for the evening just hooked up with those three guys over there watching the basketball game."

Grace looked at the slender Movado on her wrist. "I have no problem with that, I just have to make a phone call." She fished in the pocket of her jacket and pulled out a slender and oh-so- sexy little cellphone, dialing it quickly.

"Joshua, it's Grace. Yeah, they're interested. They wanted to come by tonight. Is that going to be a problem?" she said into the phone. "Great. We'll meet you there in about an hour."

The waiter set a glass of white wine in front of Grace as she lit another long white cigarette. "That should just give me time to finish this up," she said, sipping the wine. "Now, boys, tell me everything. What the hell have you been up to?"

***

The foursome met Joshua outside the back door of Corporate Rewards, passing them through with his keycard as they made introductions. He showed them through the little maze of corridors and into the large office that Grace had appropriated for her investigation. The programmers and the salesman made themselves comfortable with coffee while Joshua drew Grace out into the hall to speak privately for a moment.

"Nice place," Staley said, reclining on the leather couch, which lined the wall opposite Grace's large desk.

"Really nice," Hopewell responded. "And I really like the music they're playing around here. Relaxing."

"Yeah," Ty said, yawning as his eyelids got increasingly heavy. "Relaxing."

***

"They're under," Joshua said, checking his monitor from the control room outside. "Just a light trance, nothing serious. We just have to see if they're able to handle the truth of this case."

Grace nodded, looking over Joshua's shoulder. She laid a soft hand on his shoulder as she watched the monitor, and Joshua couldn't deny the reaction his body had to her touch. He was definitely starting to fall for the beautiful detective. He tried to shrug it off as best he could, tearing his eyes from the slender, long-nailed hand on his shoulder and returning his attention to the monitor.

Grace noticed his reaction and smiled the secret smile of women to herself. "I don't know anything about Ty Beauchamps," she said, "but I've known these two for most of their lives. Great guys."

"I know. They were processed along with all of the other people who knew you when we altered their memories," Joshua said. "They were the easiest to bring over - they were so excited to hear that you were happy."

"I just wish them the same happiness," Grace said wistfully.

"You sound as if you have little hope that they'll ever find it," Joshua commented.

"I don't, really," Grace said. "They've been each other's only friends for as long as I can remember. They really don't know how to relate to other people. That's why I was so glad that they've got this business partnership with Ty. At least they're not trying to make a go of it just the two of them anymore."

Joshua turned in his seat and gave Grace's eyes a long, searching look. Seeming to find confirmation from them, he reached back to his control board and brought up the levels of the Music that had the three men entranced.

"What are you doing?" Grace asked.

"Seeing what it would take to make them happy," Joshua said.

***

The world seemed to fade away a little bit for the three men as they were swallowed up into the thickening music. It seemed to leach into their bones somehow, making itself a part of them. Then, seemingly out of the fabric of the Music itself, a voice rose. A thick, melodious and deep voice that seemed to resonate from inside them as well as outside.

"How do you feel, Dylan?" the voice asked the first of the men.

"Don't call me that," the man protested. "Everybody calls me Hopewell. I hate my name."

"Why do you hate your name?"

"It sounds like some soap-opera hunk name. I have no idea why my mom named me it. I've always been a 98-pound weakling and I always will be. I should've been named Sherman or Chester or something like that. A face to match the name."

"What face would match the name you have?" the voice asked.

"Rugged and handsome," the young man responded dreamily. "Lantern jawed and hazel eyes, soft hair and lots of it. Big pectorals and a washboard stomach, one of those smiles that melts people. Something off the cover of a romance novel, y'know?"

"You sound as if you've thought a whole lot about it," the voice said.

"I guess I have," Hopewell said sadly.

"What's the problem, Hopewell?" the voice asked.

"I don't want to talk about it."

"I think you must want to talk about it," the voice said, "or you'd have hidden it better."

Hopewell's face broke and tears began to stream down his narrow face. "I don't know. I guess it's nothing to be ashamed of, but I just can't seem to make myself say it out loud."

"I think I know what you're getting at, Hopewell. A lot of things make sense because of it. Spending all your time with Walter, for example, and not having any attachments outside of him. I know it's hard, Hopewell, but you have to believe me when I tell you it feels better to say it out loud. Just take the chance. I won't give away your secret, I promise you."

"You won't?" Hopewell asked.

"I promise. Just tell me what you're feeling."

Hopewell sobbed. "I love him so much," he said, sounding as if a ton of pressure lifted off of his heart with the first syllable. "He's everything I've ever looked for."

"You've never told him," the voice said.

"How can I? He's not... like me. And there are other problems."

"Like the cover of your romance novel?"

Hopewell chuckled in embarrassment. "Yeah," he said, trying to hide his pain behind laughter. "Staley isn't exactly centerfold material."

"Tell me something. Would it be easier for you to tell him your feelings if he did look like that romance novel?" the voice asked.

"I don't see how I couldn't, then," Hopewell said.

"And what do you think would happen?"

Hopewell's face closed off. "Then I wouldn't even have him as a friend anymore."

"I see," the voice said. "What would make the difference, then, do you think?"

"One thing that would help immeasurably would be if I was attractive to him. Staley has a tendency to think with his dick, after all, and if I was someone he was attractive to, then maybe all of this would be easier for both of us."

"Do you think that's possible, Hopewell?" the voice asked.

"Me being attractive to Staley?" Hopewell replied sarcastically. "Not fucking likely. He only likes girls. And only a certain type of girl, too."

"What type of girl?"

"Ever read Playboy? Ever get a look at Victoria Silverstedt? Platinum blonde, china-doll face, tanned all over, tall, huge knockers. That's the kind of girl he likes. Shit, maybe if I looked like that then he'd give me a chance. But until that day, I'm not going to get my hopes up."

"I don't think it's such an impossibility," the voice said. "Tell you what, Hopewell. You get an image of that woman - Silverstedt? - in your mind. Picture her alive, moving, walking and talking and laughing. Fill in as many details as you possibly can and hold the image tight in your head. Tight as you can. She's going to help you."

***

Walter Staley floated happily in a limbo of his own making, just letting the incredible music wash over him and through him. Suddenly a voice emerged, from somewhere inside the core of the music and somewhere inside his mind and heart at the same time. He wasn't sure why, but he immediately liked and trusted the voice. Something told him that the voice was going to be a friend to him.

"How do you feel, Walter?" the voice asked.

"Call me Staley," the man responded. "I hate my first name. I sound like I should be an old man in a nursing home."

"Well, don't you have a nickname or something?"

"Have you looked at me lately?" he asked the voice. "The only nicknames I ever got were things like Fat Ass and Tubbo. I'll pass."

"You could always make one up for yourself."

"How lame is that?" Staley said. "The only one who ever had a nickname for me that didn't suck was Hopewell. He used to call me 'Block' back in college. We knew this art major who said that when we stood next to each other we looked like a stick leaning up against a cinderblock."

"You really like Hopewell, don't you."

"He's the best," Staley said. "I'd go crazy if it wasn't for him. Sometimes it's like he's the only smart person in the world. I know he's the only one who understands me."

"That's great," the voice said. "It's good to have a friend like that."

"I just wish he knew more people," Staley went on. "I worry about him sometimes. He never goes out unless I'm with him and he doesn't even know anybody. I wish he could get a date or something."

"Well, if you understand him the way he understands you, maybe his standards are way too high for any outsider to even stand a chance with him," the voice opined. "Ever think of it that way?"

"What, you mean like he doesn't know anybody because they don't know him as well as I do?" Staley said.

"Exactly," the voice said.

"That's sad," Staley said. "Jesus, when you put it that way, I wish I could go out with him. At least then he could be with somebody who understands him and still get a little every now and then."

"Not many friends would be willing to go that far," the voice said.

"Why not?" Staley said. "If there was any way in the world that Hopewell and I could still be the friends we are right now and get off with each other, that would be the best."

"What kind of woman do you think Hopewell would like?"

Staley laughed. "I have no idea. He refuses to talk about it - he blushes all bright red and gets so embarrassed he can't talk any more."

"Well, what kind of woman would you wish for Hopewell?" the voice asked.

"She'd have to be a clothes-horse," Staley said. "He loves to make fun of how women dress, so she'd have to be the best-dressed woman in the world. And I'd like her to be someone that he thought was beautiful, inside and out. Someone who could get along with me, too, since we're so close, and not feel threatened or jealous somehow. Maybe somebody who could drag him out every now and again, y'know, one of those party girls who dances all night and then takes him home and fucks his brains out."

"Do you actually think he'd go in for a 'party girl'?" the voice asked.

"Not as such, like a raver or something. She'd have to be as smart as he was, or he'd get bored with her. What I was talking about is one of those girls who just really likes to have fun. It doesn't matter what she's doing, just so long as she's having a good time. So it can be an all-night dance club or a quiet evening at home playing chess or something."

"What do you think she'd look like?" the voice asked.

"He's always had a thing for brown eyes like mine," Staley said. "So I figure she'd be one of those brown-eyed, brunette beauties with the tanned skin. You know, the ones that almost look like American Indians?"

"Can you picture this girl in your head, Staley?" the voice asked.

"Sure," he said, laughing. "Hell, if Hopewell doesn't want her, I'll take her."

"Flesh out that picture, Staley," the voice bade him. "Make her real. Picture her talking, walking, dancing, whatever. Know her down to the smallest detail. We're going to work with that picture and see what happens."

***

"Tyler? How do you feel?" a deep, rich voice that emanated from the air around him asked. His eyes snapped open, but Tyler Beauchamps could see only darkness.

"Who's there?" he asked.

"A friend," the voice said. "Are you feeling all right?"

"Scared," Ty said instantly. "I don't know what's happening to me."

"Nothing is happening to you," the voice said. "You're still in Grace Kincaid's office and you're asleep."

"So I'm dreaming," Ty concluded.

"Not necessarily," the voice said. "Some of it is like dreaming, but other parts are like being super-awake. I won't get into it here."

"Where am I?"

"I told you. Grace Kincaid's office downtown. You're safe."

Ty tried to relax but failed miserably. "I don't like this. I want to wake up."

"What has you so spooked here, Tyler? Is it something I can help with?" the voice asked him gently.

"I can't control anything here," Ty said. "And how can you help? I don't even know you."

"You're not a very trusting soul," the voice said.

"Comes with the territory," Ty said.

"What territory is that?" the voice asked.

Ty didn't answer. The voice tried again. "What territory, Tyler?"

Ty sighed. "I can't discuss it."

"You can," the voice said. "I guarantee it. I won't let your secret leave this room."

"What kind of guarantee?"

"The best kind," the voice said. "As soon as you 'wake up,' I'll cease to exist. You can discuss anything with me and it won't last longer than the time you're here."

"I guess I can live with that," Ty said.

"So, what territory are you talking about here? Why can't you trust anyone?"

"The territory is the Central Intelligence Agency," Ty said. "My real name isn't Beauchamps. It's Norman. I work for the government."

"And why are you here?"

"Think about it," Ty said. "These two guys write security software for a living, and they're accounted some of the best in the nation at it. It stands to reason that they'd also be able to get through some of the best security in the nation, too, doesn't it? So the government sent me along to check them out."

"And did they check out?"

"Jury's still out," Ty said. "There is some questionable stuff - like this helping out Grace Kincaid - but by and large they seem clean. There's just the one problem."

"Which is?" the voice asked.

"I never counted on liking these guys so damned much."

"Why is that a problem?"

"It means that when they find out about me - and they will find out about me, they're way the hell too smart for me to hide from forever - they're going to be really crushed, and I'm not going to have any way at all to apologize for what I've done. And I hate that - just being who and what I am is going to betray them and there's not a goddamned thing I can do about it."

"And it troubles you," the voice said.

"Everything troubles me," Ty said. "It's what I'm paid for. I'm worried about what Hopewell and Staley are doing with their talent. I'm worried about breaking their hearts. I'm worried about other people in the world who have their eyes on these two guys, and how the hell I'd stop them if they tried to take them. I'm worried that I'm going to turn forty and never have a family, or that I'm going to turn out like my dad. I'm worried about the price of gas and the fact that I've been drinking so much."

"That's a lot of worry."

"That's just chapter one," Ty said. "God, I wish there was some way away from it all."

"Away how?" the voice asked.

"I dunno. I was in the store the other day, buying a dress shirt, and the salesgirl there was dumb as a post. She could barely work the register and couldn't talk about anything deeper than what she was going to do this weekend. And I caught myself thinking how great it must be to be like that. Dumb and happy."

"Don't you feel like you're doing something important?" the voice asked.

"Hell, yes," Ty said. "I know I am. I know I'm defending my country from the inside, keeping my eye on the bad guys. The CIA isn't so evil as the television and movies make it out to be, y'know. We are fighting for the security of this country."

"You sound as if you're proud of what you do."

"I am," Ty said. "I wish there was some way to still do it and be proud but also to be as carefree and happy as that salesgirl. What a life that would be."

"Does it have to be a salesgirl?" the voice asked. "Couldn't it just as easily have been a waiter or a gas station attendant?"

Ty chuckled. "No, it would have to be a girl."

"Why is that, Ty?" the voice asked.

"Because I've always wanted to be a girl," he said honestly. "I started crossdressing when I was twelve. If I had another life to live, I'd definitely want it to be as a female."

The voice seemed amused. "I'm impressed by your honesty about it."

"It's not a disease or anything," Ty defended. "And besides, you don't exist anymore once I wake up, so what do I have to lose from being honest."

"Tell me, Tyler, what would this dream woman be like?" the voice asked.

"She'd be a beauty, for one thing - petite and delicate looking. Small but durable, tough as nails but looking fragile as a dream. The complete opposite of me. A perfect little Asian flower. A little on the bubble-headed side, but smart as she needs to be."

"Keep that picture tight in your mind, Tyler," the voice told him. "She's going to help you through what's to come."

***

"Amazing," Grace said, unable to take her eyes away from the readings of what was happening to the three men. "I thought the statistics only showed a 40% incidence of gender transformation."

"This is unusual," Joshua said. "But not unheard of. Many men have hidden desire to be women, whether they know and express it or not. And the gender transformations are usually the ones that interest me the most psychologically - it seems that a lot of the 'cures' for these men's maladies stem directly from an inability to associate with their own gender. It's rewriting all the rules for gender dysphoria as we know them. Dr. Renfro and I were going to publish a paper."

"So what happens next?" Grace asked.

"We let them go with it," Joshua told her. "They have to accept the change wholeheartedly in their minds before the Music can unlock the potential of the desire and start rewriting their genetics."

"Incredible," Grace said. "Having been through it doesn't compare to seeing it from your perch. I'm just glad it was you and Dr. Renfro on these controls and not someone else."

"What do you mean?" Joshua asked, meeting her sparkling blue eyes.

"I mean, there are a lot of people who would use this miracle to make a quick buck, and others to punish people or overpower them. Some might have even used it to fulfill some kind of sick fantasy or something. It took people with some strong morals and ethics to do what was necessary for this to work out for the betterment of man."

"That's kind of you to say," Joshua said.

"It's true," Grace pressed. "I'm serious, Joshua. You and the doctor - but particularly you - are the most giving and kindhearted people I've ever known. And in you I've never met a person more committed to doing what's right and what's good. I'm really honored to know you."

Joshua's mouth worked for a moment, but he wasn't able to form any words.

"Speechless, huh?" Grace asked, amused.

"Yeah," Joshua managed. "Grace, I..."

She laid a long-nailed finger across his lips. In an instant it seemed as if his senses returned to him, and he began to notice the warmth and softness of her, the unnamable feminine sense of her, the smell of cigarette smoke and Chanel No. 5. It was intoxicating.

His eyesight wasn't betraying him - her head wasn't getting larger. It was that her face was getting closer to his own. Closer, and closer...

***

The Music was all. It flowed through him, around him, he floated in it. It fed him and sheltered him. It was all things and none. Dylan Hopewell knew that he'd never be able to live without a part of it near him always. The voice was gone, for the moment, but it didn't matter - the music was building inside him, like a swelling pressure behind his heart. He knew that life would never be the same when that bubble burst.

He lifted his hand to wipe tears from his eyes, and a small part of him registered surprise at how tanned and slender his hands had become. The nails were long and formed perfectly, adding length and elegance to his fingers. Beautiful. More than beautiful enough for Staley. More than beautiful enough for anyone.

***

Walter Staley felt wonderful. He felt better than he'd ever felt. Every breath was a caress; every stir of his body against his seat or his clothes was a lover's touch. He hoped it never ended. He felt like his every fiber was reaching out for something, straining against the bonds of his flesh to tear away and fly.

Some small things began to crop up, little at first but more and more annoying as they began to detract from his enjoyment of his body, of the music around him and in him. His shirt was too tight across the chest, and his trousers were too snug across the hips. His shoes and socks were slipping off, and there was nothing quite as distracting as socks that wouldn't stay up. And there was something in his mouth and nose - a soft, tickling sensation that was hard to concentrate around.

But somehow, strangely, it just seemed to add to the enjoyment after a time. So his clothes were tight... all the 'fun' clothes were tight. And the soft tickle was flirtatious and made him feel good inside. He decided that maybe they weren't such annoyances after all.

***

Ty Beauchamps had fought the sensations pouring through his body and soul for as long as he could, but it just felt too damned good to keep pushing against for long. It was like being given permission to feel good for the first time - he was soaking in pure pleasure and relaxation, reveling in it as it submerged his body in itself, like the incredible music that was invading his soul. He hoped the music never ended. He wanted to feel like this for as long as he lived.

Somewhere outside his senses, outside the realm of the music and the feeling, he heard a noise. A long, sustained moan, which could have been pleasure or pain. He kicked himself. It was unlike him to forget the people in his care... he should have been looking out for Staley and Hopewell instead of losing himself in this pleasure like he had. It wasn't like him at all, to lose control like that. What if it had been Staley or Hopewell who gave that moan?

"Ah... Staley? Hopewell?" he said.

Or at least tried to say. There was a touch of accent in it that made it a little hard to understand. And it was in a breathy, high soprano that wasn't anywhere near his usual rich baritone.

But did it matter? The voice was sexy as hell.

***

Grace broke the kiss and smiled at him, a smile that was equal parts gratitude and pure enjoyment. Joshua was breathing a little raggedly and looking bewildered.

"Well?" Grace asked. "Any comments?"

Joshua only laced his strong hands behind her neck and pulled her in for another kiss.

A mechanical beeping distracted them from their kiss. Grace looked down automatically to her cellphone, but Joshua found the culprit in his control monitor.

"Shit," he breathed. "The patients."

"Are they all right?"

Joshua checked his displays. "They're about ready for the transformation phase to begin. And we're going to have to play it very cool here. They could be in for a massive shock unless we ease them into the transformation. We made this kind of a rush job and I want to make sure they're going to be okay."

"What does that mean?" Grace asked. "I'm going to start introducing them to their new identities now," Joshua said. His look changed to one of regret. "It's going to take a couple of hours, Grace."

She caressed his cheek, an impossibly feminine gesture. "No worries," she said. "There will be plenty of time later for us to conclude our business together. Like... at my place? Tonight?"

She was blushing fiercely and found herself unable to meet his eyes. Joshua gathered her hand in his and pulled the palm around from his cheek to press an unbelievably soft kiss into the fleshy part of her thumb.

"Yes," he said gently.

"Joshua, I... I..."

"I know," he said. "You're a virgin, theoretically."

"It's not so much that," she said. "I'm just afraid that... after Claudette, I mean, I'm afraid that I might... I might be kind of a disappointment to you."

"Look at it this way, Grace. The only thing that Claudette really has going for her is very intense enthusiasm for what she's doing. I don't doubt for a second that you're going to be more than a match for her in that department."

"I don't doubt it either," Grace said, chuckling nervously. "I've wanted you so badly since I got to know you."

"And you are a very beautiful woman, Grace Kincaid. I've wanted you as well."

She smiled a Cheshire Cat smile. "Hmm. That's the first time anybody every called me a 'beautiful woman' like that. I like it."

"Get used to it," Joshua said.

"I plan to," she said. "Listen, Joshua -"

"Just Josh."

She smiled. "Josh. There's something I wanted to ask you. I mean, from when I was married, before - there was a certain word that my wife used that used to make me feel incredible, and if you wouldn't mind, I'd like to use it regarding you."

"It's okay by me," Joshua said fondly. "If it doesn't make you feel awkward."

"I don't know if it will or not. There's some small part of me that still feels like an idiot for even thinking about calling a man something so intimate and, well, feminine."

"Tell you what. I'll meet you one-for-one. I'll use a word that my ex-wife used to tell me made her feel special and sexy and loved on you. Do you think that would make it a little easier... baby?"

She blushed, and then smiled a radiant smile as she kissed him once more. "I think that would help a whole lot... honey."

He turned back to the console with a will. "I have to pay attention here, baby. Sorry. I wish I could give this the attention that it deserves, I really do."

"It's okay," she said. "I'll get started on the computer and get their paperwork going."

***

"Fascinating," Joshua said to Karla Renfro as he paused to gentlemanly light the cigarette of the lovely young woman who had been Ty Beauchamps. "It's a 100% occurrence. Every single one of the transformees who've undergone this ceremony has started smoking afterwards."

"It, like, makes sense, though," Karla said, helping Walter Staley sort through a rack of clothing for something to wear. "If you think about it and stuff."

"Why's that?" Joshua asked, sitting Ty down and starting his cursory medical examination to make sure everything in the new body was functioning properly.

"I first worked out the Music with the help of two other men," she said, snapping her gum as she shook her head at one of Walter Staley's choices. "A young musician named Pedro Hernandez and a Cheyenne medicine man and Ph.D. in philosophy named Matthew Proudwing. The first time we got a run of the music that actually, y'know, like, worked, Matt was all like, 'we should make it like a Cheyenne tribal rite.' I went, 'that doesn't have any basis in science,' but he went 'it couldn't hurt' so I said yes, y'know? That rite involved ritual smoking. It was the, like, prototype for the Music we're using now, and I bogarted a whole lot of the stuff we used first. Maybe it's just, like, a holdover or something."

"I can see how that might have happened."

There was a knock at the door and Joshua looked up. "That's probably Grace. Can you let her in, Karla?"

Karla hopped up and bounded over quickly, running with her hands rigidly by her sides just like a teenage girl who was trying to show off how well her breasts bounced. She even hopped back and forth from foot to foot when she tried to stand still. Her entire body language was that of a seventeen-year-old high school cheerleader. It seemed strange that this was the feminine ideal that Karl Renfro had been carrying around in his head when the Music transformed him.

Strange? Joshua thought, thinking for a moment back to the only time that he'd been invited to dinner over at the Renfro's apartment, while they were still trying to lay the business foundation for Corporate Rewards. There had been several pictures on the wall, of the daughter they'd had who had committed suicide. Sarah, her name was. Joshua remembered it now - the same smile, the same eyes... Sarah had even been in a cheerleading outfit in one of the pictures. Dr. Renfro had somehow changed himself into the form of his own daughter. It all made sense somehow.

Karla came in just ahead of Grace, who was carrying three envelopes. Joshua kissed her briefly before turning back to Karla.

"I was thinking, K," he said, using the nickname she'd given herself lately. "You have better things to be doing than just waiting tables during the week and then just hanging out around here. I know you like to dance. If you wanted to, I could talk to Jenna and see if she can get you an audition for her dance squad."

Karla's mouth dropped open into a perfect 'O' of surprise and joy. "You mean, like, be a cheerleader with her? Oh my God, that is totally perfect! I could dance and make a little extra money and hang out with Jenna all the time! Thank you so much, Josh! I totally love you!" She gathered him up into a tight hug, which flattened her considerable breasts against his chest and then bounced away; back to helping the former men choose clothes.

Grace leaned against a clothing rack, favoring him with an enigmatic smile. "You're some piece of work, Doctor Little," she said fondly.

"Did you get them?" Joshua asked.

"Most of them. It'll be a few days on the social security changes, but I managed credit cards and drivers' licenses without a hitch. We'll send the team over to their office and house tomorrow morning and get the place all girly."

She turned to the new women. "And there are some extra considerations for the former Mr. Beauchamps," she said, "but they'll take her input to make happen. But, in the meantime..."

She held out an envelope to the petite Chinese girl who sat on the examination table. The girl couldn't have been more than five foot one. She had a slender, waifish body with that gorgeous, blue-black hair hanging in a thick, soft curtain to her waist. She had a perfectly smooth golden complexion without a single blemish from the tops of her size four feet to the lithe, slender neck above the pert little 34B breasts. She was wearing a skin- tight 'girlie' tee shirt with the number 51 across the breasts and a pair of distressed, ripped jeans, which showed off her perfectly flat stomach and lean-but-still-feminine flanks. She wore heavy eyeliner around her almond-shaped eyes and thick pink lipstick on her rosebud mouth. She was having trouble at the moment managing to take the envelope, smoke her cigarette and gaze at her in the mirror.

"Tyler Beauchamps is now Taylor Beauchamps, daughter of a Chinese mother and a Cajun father. It's the best I could do to reconcile the name with the face."

"Thank you," she said, but it came out 'sank you' in the breathy, sensual accent she'd adopted as part of her transformation. She offered him a shy smile and her overlarge; innocent brown eyes registered nothing but the purest joy. "I'll be glad to help you arrange those 'other' matters you spoke of."

"Great," Grace said. "And if you wouldn't mind helping us out, Lord knows we can use your connections."

"I'm happy to help," she said. "I can never repay you both for what you've given me."

"Just seeing you happy makes up for any trouble," Joshua said honestly.

"Welcome to the ranks, sweetheart," Grace said fondly. She turned from there to offer a second envelope to the lovely brunette that was sorting through the racks of clothes like the clothes-horse she'd described while in the Music's grip. She was tall, about five nine or five ten, with a dynamite 36-25-35 figure, which was all tanned flawless skin. Her wide, little-girl eyes were so brown as to appear black and ringed around with the longest, softest-looking lashes Grace had ever seen. She had a mouth like a fresh-cut fig, with the 'Eighties 'bee-stung' lips which looked just perfect for kissing. Her eyebrows and hair were like her eyes, such a dark brown that they appeared black, and she'd started off by teasing it out into the popular 'Sixties style that appeared on Heather Graham in all the 'Austin Powers' posters, with the long bangs which were brushed back from the shorter ones which were layered underneath. She'd already dressed in the latest fashions in the room, wearing a pair of gold leather pants which fit her like a second skin and a white leather halter top with fringe that hung over her bellybutton. She'd fished out all the big jewelry from the nearby bin, wearing two thick golden chains, several thick gold bracelets and rings, and dramatically large golden hoop earrings which nestled invitingly into the thick mane of dark hair. She'd used bronze powder on her cheeks and a glossy bronze lipstick to add luster to her face, which was something out of a wet dream. She was just finishing putting a coat of black mascara on her impossibly long lashes to compliment the bronze-and-silver eyeshadow and the thick black liner on her upper and lower lids.

"You look beautiful," Grace told her, handing over the envelope.

"What are these?" the girl asked in a silken mezzo-soprano.

"Credit cards, a little money, a new drivers' license and birth certificate," Grace said. "All made out in the name of Stacey Walters."

Grace turned to Joshua. "I couldn't think of a decent feminine equivalent of Walter," she explained. "But Staley lent itself to Stacey easily enough. Besides, it's a sexy name for a very sexy woman, right?"

Stacey looked demure. "Thanks," she said.

"Which means you've probably made 'Dylan' into 'Dyan' or something," the third woman said in a chirpy, happy soprano. Grace turned to look at the statuesque beauty that was smiling at her. She was tall - five foot eight easily, but adding to that the strappy black platform shoes it made her taller even than Joshua. She was tanned like the rest, her skin even in tone and without a visible flaw. She wore a little black party dress which barely covered the top three or four inches of her incredible dancer's legs and strained to keep back her overflowing, 38DD breasts which stood up magically like the girl was either a teenager or the client of a skilled plastic surgeon. The face was angular and narrow, dominated by huge blue eyes and a wide, expressive mouth. She wore heavy black liner like the other women to emphasize the large, expressive blue eyes underneath the arch of her eyebrows. A voluminous, soft mane of platinum blonde - almost white - hair spilled around her delicate face and down the well-muscled back. She was already putting the finishing touches on her long nails, which she wore squared off and very long and now covered with a lustrous coat of white polish. She smiled a model's smile - all teeth and sexual suggestion.

"Actually, no," Grace answered. "I knew how much you hated your first name, so I dropped it altogether. Hopewell, you are now Hope Wells."

Hope took the envelope gingerly, trying to save her new coat of nail polish, and her grin got even wider. "Thank you so much," she said.

Joshua came up beside her, taking her off to speak more or less privately. "I know you're a little disappointed," he told Hope gently, putting an arm across her tanned shoulders. "That you're not going to be able to be with Staley the way you wanted to."

"I'll get over it," she said stoically.

"You may not have to," Joshua said. "As a matter of fact, your chances may be a lot better. Her mind isn't as changed as her body. You may not have been able to be together as men, but you might be able to be together as women."

She eyed Stacey appraisingly and nodded. She walked across the floor as quickly as she could in the six-inch platform heels and helped her friend into the matching gold leather jacket she'd selected, pulling it up over her shoulders in a gesture more caress than anything else. Hope lowered her head to the juncture of her friend's neck and shoulder, eyes closed.

"Mmm," Hope said. "You smell good."

Stacey didn't act shocked at all - in fact, she pressed against Hope's large soft breasts and released her breath in a little sensual sigh. "So do you," she said dreamily.

"Glad you like it," Hope responded, giving her friend's hand a little squeeze.

"Ladies, if you don't mind," Grace said loudly. "We did come here for a reason, at first. I would still like your help on the case, if you're willing to give it to me."

"Absolutely," Hope said, holding up her new long fingernails. "If I can only manage to type with my new claws, I'll run down any stuff on the computer I can for you."

"Great," Grace said. "We should probably get started. I have something I need to get done tonight; so the sooner we start the sooner we can get this finished.

"Agreed," Hope said, giving a hungry glance at Stacey. "I'd say we all had things to do tonight."

***

Hope set her cigarette in the ashtray and turned back to her console, one hand threaded in her thick mane of almost-white hair. "It doesn't make any sense," she said. "Arturo LaPaglia doesn't appear to be working for anyone. Whoever did pull his - her - strings, either paid in cash or wired it in through a very well-secured account."

"I'd suspect cash," Stacey said from her own terminal. "LaPaglia has a lot of money spread out in banks all over the world. And it looks like he made all his deposits in person. He didn't do much business over the wire."

"Which gives me an idea," Hope said. "Stace, bounce me a record of the amounts of those deposits. Convert them to US dollars if you can."

"Gimme a second," Stacey said, typing frantically. She'd gotten the hang of typing with long nails in no time, as had Hope. "Okay, now what?"

"Let's assume, for a second, that whoever hired LaPaglia is in the city. Which means that he's likely to bank in this city as well, probably through a corporate account since that much activity at that volume would be a little suspicious."

"I'll buy that," Grace said, taking a drag from her cigarette.

"Which means that all we have to do is take a look at some bank records and see if there's a corporate account locally that has withdrawals that match some of LaPaglia's deposits."

"How long will that take?" Grace asked.

"Not too long," Hope said. "A couple hours. There actually isn't that many local banks, believe it or not, and most of them are serviced through big central databases. And since Stacey and I have already found a way into most of these bank databases anyway - not that we've stolen anything, Detective, we just wanted to see how good the security was - it shouldn't take us long to take a good peek. It's just number crunching."

"Set it up," Grace said, "and hopefully something will shake loose."

"It's all in the details," Taylor said from where she sat reviewing Grace's assembled evidence of the attempted assassination that led to the creation of Karla Renfro and Annaliese LaPaglia. "There's something missing."

"I know, I know, I know," Grace said, rubbing the bridge of her nose.

"Let's step back, here," Taylor said, her own investigation experience coming to the fore easily, even though the girl did tend to get a little distracted from time to time, either by the music that the other girls played while they worked (Taylor liked to dance) or some strand of conversation that floated by her. And now that Hope and Stacey both knew about her ties to Central Intelligence and had forgiven her for it amidst a tearful and embrace-ridden reconciliation, she didn't mind flexing her muscles a little bit. "Doctor Karl Renfro wasn't well-known. He operated more or less in secret and kept his work very private and exclusive. He kept close tabs on all his patients, so it couldn't be someone he changed wrongly."

"Which means that whoever wanted him dead would have known him before he created the Music of Change," Grace said. "That makes sense."

"How much do we know about that time of his life?"

"Very little, and Karla seems to have forgotten a great deal of it during her transformation. Bits and pieces float to the surface, like today in the reassignment room, but for the most part it's a blank."

"She mentioned two names," Taylor said. "Pedro Hernandez and Matthew Proudwing of the Cheyenne nation. We should check those names out."

"Already have," Grace said. "They're both passed away, and under no mysterious circumstances. Dead ends, both."

"What if it's a family thing? Have you checked out his wife?" Taylor asked.

"Yeah. She didn't have any enemies that I can find, and no one that would be looking for vengeance on the good doctor for her own adjustment," Grace said. "Renfro's family is a bust, unless..."

Taylor looked intently at Grace's look of intent concentration. "What is it?" she asked.

"Stacey," Grace said. "Can you run some names for me?"

"It's what I'm here for," the brunette said.

"First, give me the rundown on Renfro's daughter. Sarah Renfro."

"Roger," Stacey said. "Anybody else?"

Grace's voice couldn't exactly cover the pain it took to say, "Yeah. Find out what there is on Joshua Little, too."

The End of Part Five