III. THE SHAG CLUB

"Vandecamp, here? In the castle?" Gary looked extremely doubtful.

"It's true! Ghosts never lie. They can't, since Casper v. Spengler. Moaning Martha said he's hiding out in the Slipperin common room!"

Gary slammed his fist into his palm. "Just as we always suspected! We've got him now!"

Hymenea was elated. It was working, just as Professor MacGargamel had said: Gary couldn't resist a mystery, and the next step was convincing him that he and Hymenea needed to work together. "It's too bad we can't get into the Slipperin commons. We're Stiffendors!"

"Thank Gwar! Only sleazoids and skanks are in Slipperin house. Every time I get a dime bag from Malco Flimfloy it's full of stems!"

"Forget about that. I can brew up some Polymorph Potion to disguise us, but we'll still need to get the password to get in. If only we had some leverage over someone in Slipperin!"

Gary appeared to remember something. "Isn't Shaghorn a Slipperin? Maybe if you finally went to one of his club meetings you could wheedle it out of him."

The Shag Club! Of course! Shaghorn had monthly meetings of all his favorite students, all brown-nosers and overachievers, and for some reason he thought Hymenea would fit in. He had issued a standing invitation to her, but she had never felt compelled to go, not since Gary went to one and reported back that it was a cover for a multi-level marketing scheme ("Shagalife") and Shaghorn was recruiting the popular kids to sell powdered potion supplements to their followers.

"That's perfect!" Hymenea said. "We could both go--I'm sure that between the two of us, we could get that password out of Shaghorn."

"Uh uh. Count me out. I still have a dozen boxes of Shagalife powder I haven't been able to unload. You go, and when you get the password I'll be ready."

Hymenea was disappointed. "Well, I guess. When's the next meeting?" She hoped it wouldn't be too far away.

Gary checked his planner, a long-billed toucan he pulled from one of the many pockets in his voluminous robes. "Awk! Shag Club meeting at nine p.m.!" the bird squawked as Gary clutched it tightly around its neck. It shrugged. "Awk! It's a liv--" Its raspy voice was cut off as Gary squished it back into a pocket.

Tonight! That was too soon! "All right, Gary. Meet me tomorrow morning." Time was tight, but she should just be able to make it.

---

If she was going to fit in with the popular kids in the Shag Club, Hymenea would need something special to wear. She didn't want to look like she just came from the library.

She clapped her hands. A swarm of mice emerged from the corners of the room, arranged on the floor to do her bidding. A flight of twittering bluebirds landed on the windowsill, ready to do their part. The mice held needles, buttons, and sequins in their paws; the birds carried lengths of ribbon and thread.

"All right!" barked Hymenea. "No more wallets and handbags for now! I have a new assignment, Alpha priority!" The vermin scattered to their workstations, pushing the knockoff accessories they usually made out of the way. Hymenea mentally calculated: delaying the order would put a kink in her supply chain, but she would just have to eat the loss and explain it to her Hong Kong wholesale partners later. This was more important.

She laid out ivory-colored Chinese silk and French lace, supplies she had been saving for just such an occasion. She stood still and thrust her chest out as the bluebirds flew around her with measuring tapes in their beaks, taking her hips, waist, and bust measurements. "Take as much off the waist as you can," she said; no lunch today.

Soon the animals were busy at work, cutting and sewing the pattern until their little paws were raw. "No slacking!" she yelled at a mouse who was slowing down. "If you can't keep up, this castle is full of hungry owls and cats who'd be happy to take you off my hands. Remember, if it weren't for me you wouldn't be working at all. I think a little gratitude is in order!"

Her point made, she went to the Stiffendor common room and looked around. Everyone else was at class: good. Entering Bubastis Phinx's room, she found her classmate's trousseau and delicately searched through it, dividing her attention between the girl's silky underthings and the door, lest anyone walk in on her. Bubastis was curvier than Hymenea but about the same height: the cream silk stockings Hymenea pulled from the drawer should fit her just right. And Bubastis, who loved to flaunt her ample assets, had such a large collection of lingerie that she'd never notice them missing. "I'm just borrowing them, anyway," Hymenea thought to herself. She pulled an adjustable garter belt with little hold-up straps from the same drawer and closed it softly.

---

After checking the progress of her work force ("Who do you think you are, house imps? Chop chop!"), Hymenea had another stop to make. Professor Cassandra's class was just letting out, and the Divination instructor sat at her stone desk behind a crystal ball, a disemboweled sheep, and various other implements of the arts of prophecy.

"I've been expecting you, Miss Gunger," said the dreamy-eyed professor. She wore a headscarf and heavy earrings and wrist bangles.

Sure, thought Hymenea. She made no secret of her belief that Divination was a bunch of hooey, but the scuttlebutt in the castle had it that Cassandra and Shaghorn had been an item during their student days, so she should have the information Hymenea wanted.

"Truly, I have," the professor insisted. "I know all about your desire to enter the Shag Club and seduce Boris--er, Professor Shaghorn."

Hymenea blushed, but quickly regained her balance. "Did Gary tell you that?"

"Nay, the Fates themselves. But fear not, I shall not put obstacles in your way: you are destined to succeed."

Despite her skepticism, Hymenea was delighted. "So you'll help me?"

"That is my destiny. Come, look into the entrails of the sheep; I had my class prepare it as an exercise, but in truth it was for you to read." The charms attached to her headscarf jingled as she turned this way and that as she readied the desk--an altar, Hymenea now realized.

The gory carcass was still warm; Hymenea gingerly stuck her fingers into the mass of guts and began searching. "What am I looking for?" she said. This was nothing like when she had dissected hobbits in Magical Anatomy class.

"Don't look with your eyes," Cassandra said, "look with your hands."

Hymenea closed her eyes and let her fingers trace the avenues down which the sheep's life had formerly raced, gradually overcoming her disgust. As she did so, her mind's eye followed a similar winding path, from memories of the past to images of the future.

"I see . . . a wheel . . . a wheel of fire, in the sky," she said softly. It was as clear as if she were looking right at it. "It's a spaceship. . . . It's landing . . . in London. Beams of fire--shooting out. The city . . . in flames! It's so hot!" Beads of sweat popped from her forehead; her hands worked more frantically as they ran the course of the animal's bowels. "War," she continued. "More . . . more ships. They're everywhere. . . ." She pulled at a different spot, her hands now guided by mystic forces greater than any she had experienced. "It's Hogwallow. . . . The castle is . . . the last safe place. I see refugees . . . miles of people, magic and non-magic, desperate for sanctuary. . . . I see wizards preparing for one last battle. . . . Something is coming . . . from the ship. . . . It's--it's coming!" Her face twisted into a mask of fear; she turned away to avoid the terrifying sight, but with her eyes screwed shut, the invading image playing in the theater of her mind. There was no way she could hide from it. "It's . . . it's looking at me! Make it stop! Make it--"

Suddenly, her entire body became rigid, the muscles of her neck and shoulders taut as if she were about to vomit; her eyes opened, but only the whites were visible as they rolled up into her head. Her hands clamped tightly on the sheep's intestines. A deep, horrible voice emerged from her throat like a burst of miasmic gas bubbling to the surface of a swamp: "BLAARRRGHH! AT LAST! THE BLUE ORB IS G'NRAATH'S TO CONQUER! WIZARDKIND WILL FALL! BLARRGUGH--"

With a wrenching effort, Hymenea broke contact with the vision and released her hands from the sheep's bowels. She stood panting from the exertion and the terror of what she had seen--what she had experienced. The sheep's red vitals dripped from her hands and forearms.

Finally, she said with annoyance, "That's not what I wanted to know! What did that have to do with anything!? I wanted to know what turns on Professor Shaghorn so I can pump him for information!"

Professor Cassandra shrugged, her charms clinking together. "Oh, is that all? Well, I can show you that." She waved her hands over the crystal ball and an image began to take shape. Why didn't we try this first? Hymenea thought.

As Hymenea watched the brief scene unfold she recoiled, a look of disgust on her face. "Eww, really?"

Professor Cassandra nodded smugly.

"And you . . . ?"

The Professor nodded again. "Oh, yes. Sometimes the truth isn't what we want to hear, is it?"

Her hands still red with blood, Hymenea managed to thank Professor Cassandra for her time, barely concealing her irritation at the pointlessness of what the sheep entrails had revealed. And this was how Cassandra spent her time, and even got paid to teach it? Hymenea snorted once she was out of the classroom: divination was still a bunch of hooey as far as she was concerned.

---

After she had cleaned herself up, around the time Shaghorn's club meeting was starting, Hymenea shut herself in her room and rallied her work force. She slipped off her uniform and brassiere, and then slid Bubastis's stockings onto her long legs; they felt heavenly. Clipping the tops to the borrowed garter belt, she stood and instructed the birds to hop to it. The dress had turned out beautifully; the last step was to sew her into it. "Tighter," she instructed as the birds drew the closing threads together. With the bodice's built-in lift, she felt like a parfait about to overflow from a glass. No bending over, she thought, getting used to the shortness of breath it caused, but it would be worth it when she got the Slipperin password from Professor Shaghorn.

One of the birds awkwardly clutched a heavy black-framed pair of glasses in its beak and dropped it in Hymenea's hand. "What's this?" she said; she didn't even wear glasses. "Trust me," the little bird squeaked with a wink. Hymenea shrugged and put them in her clutch; then she stepped into a pair of wand-width high heels, examined herself in the mirror, and stepped out into the common room.

"Blimey," said Wrong, who was sitting with Gary playing a game. "What's the occasion?" Hymenea savored the feeling of Wrong's and the other Stiffendor boys' eyes crawling over her body, knowing that they would never, ever lay a finger on it. The one boy whose attention she craved, however . . .

"Oh?" Gary said, finally looking up. "Good luck," he murmured before turning back to his cards.

"Hmmph!" Hymenea stalked out. This was all for his benefit, wasn't it? It wasn't as if she liked wearing hot clothes to glamorous parties, rubbing shoulders with popular and wealthy students, and being an object of intense desire to everyone, was it?

The Shag Club meeting was in a large room in one of the towers, and was already in full swing when Hymenea got there; she may have been known for her punctuality as a student, but when it came to social occasions, she was a believer in being fashionably late. At the last minute before entering, she remembered to put on the chunky glasses the bird had given her.

There was Professor Shaghorn holding court in a high-backed chair in the corner, his attentive students around him like courtiers around a throne. "No, Shagalife is over," she could hear him saying, "but allow me to tell you about the revolutionary new family of Shagway products. . . ." There would be time to get to him later; she looked around at the rest of the room. Other students stood in clusters, chatting around a long table piled high with hors d'oeuvres and desserts. She noticed an empty plate disappear, only to reappear covered with a fresh supply: house imps! She blushed imperceptibly thinking of her experience the night before in the dining hall and decided to steer clear of the table, just in case the imps were still mad at her; she would probably pop a seam if she ate anything, anyway.

"Why, Miss Gunger," a deep voice rumbled behind her. It was Professor Shaghorn approaching, holding out his hand to greet her directly. "How . . . delicious . . . that you have finally graced the Shag Club with your presence." He leaned his ponderous form down as if he were going to kiss her hand, but only a shallow bow came of it. Hymenea realized that the other students were looking at her; the other conversations had died down to nothing.

"Oh, my pleasure," she said. Then she appeared to remember something. She reached for her glasses and said, "Oh, excuse me. I just came from the library."

Shaghorn stopped her. "No, no, leave them on, by all means. They look very . . . becoming." He steered her toward his corner and took his seat as she stood by. The others gradually began talking again, but Hymenea remained aware of their gazes. With a start, she recognized her housemate, Bubastis, in a black dress with a neckline so low and a hem so high that it was practically a belt. What was she doing here? Hymenea thought. Bubastis was a terrible student. What interest she could hold for the boys who gathered around her was beyond Hymenea. The other girl briefly made eye contact with Hymenea and smiled in a polite way: she hadn't noticed her missing stockings, and if Hymenea were careful, she never would. She hurried to stand on the other side of Professor Shaghorn's chair, putting the crowd of students between herself and Bubastis.

"So, Miss Gunger," Shaghorn said in a low purr, "I know you didn't come to hear about the wonders of Shagway."

Hymenea giggled coquettishly. "Am I that obvious?"

Shaghorn grinned with satisfaction. "Still having trouble with your wand, is that it?"

Shaghorn didn't need to know that Hymenea had undone the squib on her wand after class the day before; in fact, it was folded neatly in her clutch, ready for use. But it could be the opening she needed. "I've tried everything, Professor Shaghorn," she cooed, "and the only thing that came off after working all night was my clothes." She leaned her cantilevered cleavage into his face for emphasis.

"Ah," he said, perspiration dotting his forehead, "that does pose a fascinating . . . theoretical problem. For example, did you try casting a spell backwards, to compensate for the reverse in the wand's polarity?"

"You mean a spell to make clothes appear on my body?" she said.

"Exactly. If you were to start out . . . in a state of undress, shall we say?" She felt his eyes rove up and down her body as clearly as if he were rubbing his hands on it.

"Oh, I tried that," she lied, "and the best I could do was a little pair of panties."

"L-little?" he said, swallowing.

"Tiny," she said. "Practically invisible." Her eyes darted around the room. To her distress, there was Venerea van Teton whispering in Bubastis Phinx's ear. Bubastis's eyes narrowed as van Teton pointed her finger at Hymenea. That bitch! Time to hurry this along. "I'm wearing them right now," she said to her mark. "Do you think that's important, Professor?"

He gulped. "Important! Why it's at the very heart of the matter!"

Hymenea pressed forward. "Professor, are you available for one-on-one consultations? Maybe you could take a look . . . in your private chamber?"

That seemed to halt Shaghorn in his tracks. "M-my private chambers? That would be highly irregular. Y-you'd have to go through the Slipperin common area. . . ."

"That isn't a problem, is it?" she said, idly chewing one end of the glasses. She let her tongue caress the earpiece as she turned this way and that as if in the throes of barely-disguised passion. No use being subtle now; let him have a good look.

"W-well," he said, "there's a code word." His impulses were clearly at war within him. For all his reputation as a dirty old man, Hymenea knew he normally looked but didn't touch. Would her bold offer be enough to get past his caution?

Time to pull out the big guns. Screwing up her courage, she played the card Professor Cassandra had given her. She leaned close to his ear and whispered, "I'll let you come in my hair."

The start Shaghorn gave and the look of shock on his face worried Hymenea: had the information she got from Cassandra been false? But then he narrowed his eyes and smiled and said, almost as softly, "Yes, I think your wand is a case deserving of intense, long-term study. Perhaps you're right; to get into the Slipperin commons you'll need to--"

Professor Shaghorn didn't get to finish his sentence. So fixated was Hymenea on working information out of him that she didn't see Bubastis Phinx stalk across the room towards her, and didn't even realize she was there until she felt the cold splash of Bubastis throwing a drink in her face. A collective gasp arose from the assembled students, and anyone who didn't see Bubastis's first move couldn't help but hear her loudly say, "That's for taking my clothes without asking!"

Hymenea sputtered, too shocked to respond. Her face and bodice wet, the cold and surprise hardened her nipples, which strained against the fabric of her dress.

Bubastis wasn't finished. She hefted a large, gooey chocolate cream pie from the table and whispered, "And this is for what you said about me." Splat! Before Hymenea could so much as protest, Bubastis had thrust the dessert into her face; cream and chocolate ran down her bare shoulders and filled the top of the dress. It was cold, too. Although blinded by the sudden attack, Hymenea could hear the Shag Club's stunned reactions through cream-clogged ears.

"What!?" she finally managed to squeak out as she wiped the pie from her eyes; it plopped loudly to the floor.

"Oh, don't act so innocent!" her housemate said, getting into her face; Hymenea stepped back, so intimidated and off-balance she was. "You know what you said--Venerea told me!" Hymenea looked in the direction of Bubastis's pointing finger: there was her Slipperin nemesis, smirking and with eyes flashing. She stood with arms folded, surrounded by a group of students oblivious to her role in the scene that unfolded before them.

Rage boiled within Hymenea. It was less that she was angry about being confronted and humiliated: she was so close to getting what she needed from Shaghorn, and this distraction had ruined the whole thing! She made a move for the wand in her purse automatically, but Bubastis cut her off, swatting the clutch out of Hymenea's hands. "I don't think so!" She pushed again until Hymenea felt her bottom ram into the edge of the dessert table. So that's how it was, eh?

"I didn't want to do this," Hymenea warned as she picked up another pie, the first platter she reached. Splat! Sticky purple berries covered Bubastis's face and neck; Bubastis shrieked and lunged at Hymenea, grappling with her as they rolled across the front of the dessert table, smearing whipped cream and frosting everywhere. Half-emptied and smashed plates fell to the ground, only to be replaced by fresh pies by house imp magic.

Hymenea could hardly hear Shaghorn's half-hearted protests over the screams and yelling of the invited guests. The old pervert was probably loving this, she thought; he'd probably been hosting these parties for years in hopes that something like this would happen. Well, this could still work to my advantage, she thought. At the first opportunity, she grabbed hold of the top of Bubastis's now-sodden dress and yanked it down with a ripping sound, and just as quickly splashed a jug of chocolate sauce over her great round breasts.

Stunned for only a split-second, Bubastis responded in kind: it hardly took anything for the birds' handiwork to split down the seams, leaving Hymenea wearing only Bubastis's stockings and the little panties she had described to Shaghorn (and boy, were they little; that hadn't been a lie).

Again the girls went at it, as Bubastis threw Hymenea on to the very table, where they wrestled among the creamy, gooey desserts; in no time, even their friends weren't able to recognize them as they were covered head to toe in motley colors of fruit, custard, chocolate and cream. Hymenea started to tire; Bubastis must have built her stamina dancing at the club while Hymenea read by the fire sipping tea and dunking madeleines. By the time Bubastis was repeatedly dunking Hymenea's face into a bowl of pudding, she started to suspect that she had lost this fight--but maybe she could still win the war.

Bubastis got in her last licks by hefting pies from the table and slamming them into Hymenea's ass, effectively spanking her with each one. Splat! Splat! Splat! Each time, a new pie appeared in the same place; from within her encasement of cream, Hymenea thought to herself that the house imps really had a strong work ethic.

Finally, after Hymenea no longer had the energy to fight back, Bubastis tired of abusing her: she had made her point. As she left with Venerea, taking spiteful pleasure in Hymenea's comeuppance, she said, "You know what? You can keep the stockings." The house imps continued to refresh the table, the plates now stacking up on Hymenea's prone body, adding insult to injury.

After lifting herself up, Hymenea silently gathered up the scraps of her dress and made sure to grab her clutch; the other students made a show of pretending not to watch this walk of shame.

It was actually a good thing she hadn't gotten her wand out, she realized, because just before she made it out the door, Shaghorn handed her a slip of wizard paper: the password to the Slipperin common room. "Come by tomorrow morning," he said quietly, "and we'll see if we can't get that wand fixed. You clearly aren't equipped to defend yourself without it."

TO BE CONTINUED . . .