2.

Penelope's house sat right on the border between Faerie and "reality." It could manifest in either realm or both, and within its walls, its occupants had access to all the powers they possessed in Faerie Proper. But their magic was limited in the mortal world, and that was why Jeeves, a thrall who'd been in Penelope's family for centuries, drove them to the store in her mother's pink Rolls Royce. He let them out at the entrance and sat patiently as they went inside. Jeeves never left the car.

At Penelope's direction, cherie led her to the most expensive wall of computers and tried to explain how they worked. "Well," she said in her childlike voice, "you can write things in them, play games-"

"Can you do magic on them?"

"Not exactly. But you can surf the internet, and that's lots of fun."

"It can't be as much fun as doing magic."

"Oh no, Penelope, of course not. But-"

"Why's that man staring at us?"

cherie was never bothered by Penelope's interruptions. She was just impressed that her Mistress could hold so many thoughts in her head at once. But of course, fairies were superior beings. Following Penelope's finger, she saw a young man with a red Computer World T-shirt, goggling like he'd seen a ghost. "Oh, that's Casey," cherie shrugged. "He works here. He knew me when I was a person."

"No wonder he's staring, then," Penelope snickered. "He thinks you're dead!"

"Should I wave at him?"

"Nah, it's okay. He's turning away from us now, see? Oh wait, why's he running?"

cherie had a rare moment of insight. "Maybe he's going to get Matt," she offered.

"Matt who?"

"Matt my fiancée. He works here, too, in the repair department."

Penelope's eyes grew wide. "You took us to the store where your boyfriend works?!"

"Was that bad?" cherie chewed her lip, then burst into tears. "Ohh, it was bad, wasn't it? I'm sorry, Penelope. I just didn't think."

Penelope hated to see her dolly cry. "Shhh," she soothed, "of course you didn't think. I made you not to think, didn't I?" Her face screwed up as she worked her way through the problem. "Okay, this is what we'll do. Take my hand, and we'll just run out of here real quick, okay?"

"Okay," sniffed the thrall.

She grabbed Penelope's hand just as a voice rose behind her. "Cherie? Cherie baby, is that you?"

"That's Matt," she whispered.

"Let's go, then!"

The two took off, laughing and dodging between the sales racks. Jeeves already had the car door open for them, and they jumped in and swung it closed just as Matt barreled up beside them. "Cherie! Cherie!" he screamed, and threw himself against the car. But the door was locked and he had no way to reach her. "Cherie, dammit, that is you! What's wrong with you?"

Penelope pretended she was a spy on the run. "Step on it, Jeeves," she snarled, and the car took off. Then she and cherie collapsed against one another and laughed themselves to tears.

3.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" Matt stood dazed in the parking lot, arms limp at his sides. "That was her! That was Cherie - and she laughed at me!"

Casey screeched to a stop beside him. "No way, man," he panted. "Cherie wouldn't do that. It must not have been her after all."

"It was her." Matt plunged a fist into his pocket, closing his fingers around the car keys. "And I'm going after her. Take my shift, Casey."

The pink Rolls stood out like a wad of gum on the dull city streets. Matt found them easily, but hung back a little to be sure they didn't notice him. The last thing he wanted was another chase. Besides, he needed time to figure out what the hell was going on. The last time he'd seen Cherie, they'd been picking out china patterns together, laughing and tonguing one another right in front of the store clerk. Not a hint of trouble between them, no sir. But even if Cherie had wanted out of the relationship, there were plenty of easier ways than faking her death.

That death. She'd wrapped her car around a telephone pole and died at the scene...or at least that was what the paramedics told him. Massive internal injuries. Her face had been untouched, though; Matt had identified the body. But if Cherie was dead, then who the hell was this - and if she wasn't dead, then how the hell had she pulled it off? And why? He thought of her holding hands with that blonde, running from him, leaning in toward the stranger and laughing like they'd pulled the world's biggest joke. It was almost like they were-

Oh no. Ohhh no. They couldn't be! Cherie would never cheat on him, not with a man and certainly not with a woman, unless, unless....that was it! Cherie had survived the accident, but with brain damage. Amnesia. She must have stumbled out of the morgue - no, wait, he'd seen her buried - she must have woken up in her coffin, dug her way to the surface, and wandered off into the night. Then this blonde chick had found her, just like in that movie.

It sounded ridiculous even to him, but what other explanation could there be? That was Cherie; he knew her face as well as he knew his own. Matt's knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. Poor girl, lost and trapped with no memory of her former life. No memory of him! But he'd rescue her. Now that he knew she was alive, nothing would stop him from getting her back.

The Rolls turned into a cul-de-sac and Matt drove slowly past. No need to turn in yet; the street was a dead end, so he knew the blonde lived in one of these houses. He'd give them time to park, then back up and find the house that had the Rolls. Then he could nose around outside, peek in through the windows, and decide what to do next.

Now the Rolls had reached the end of the road, just a vacant lot with thick woods behind. But what the hell? They were driving up over the sidewalk, onto the empty grass! Something flickered around the car, but then his view was blocked by the next row of house.

Cursing, Matt threw the car into reverse and backed up until he could see all the way down the street. The vacant lot was empty. "No way," he muttered. They couldn't have gone into the woods, not with a car that size; and they couldn't have hidden in a garage because there wasn't time. Furious with himself and Cherie and that damned blonde, he roared into the cul-de-sac....

...and found himself pointing toward the cross street again. Matt slammed on the brakes just a few meters short of the stop sign. Pull yourself together, man, he told himself. You're so worked up, you can't even think straight. Slowly, deliberately, he turned the car around and headed back toward the vacant lot...and back out again. What the fuck? Matt shook his head. It was no good trying to drive in this condition. He parked the car and got out, and stomped back down the street...and back toward the stop sign again.

Matt stopped dead in his tracks. If he'd missed the end of the road once or even twice, he could have written it off to nerves. But three times? This was some seriously weird shit. And Matt watched The X-Files; he knew how weird shit could get. Still, Cherie was somewhere in the middle of it all, and he was determined to rescue her. Slowly he turned back to the dead end. Cherie, he thought, clenching his fists. Cherie needs me. He fixed his eyes on one tree at the back of the lot and took a careful step. Then he took another. By the time he reached the last house, his head was swimming. Cherie, he told himself again, and ground his teeth together. Cherie. His pulse was pounding, his brow sweating, his stomach roiling. But he was up onto the grass now. He hadn't turned around. Cherie, he thought, one last time; and then the house appeared. It looked like something out of "Hansel and Gretel." Whoa, this was too weird even for The X-Files.

But it wasn't weird enough to stop him from rescuing his beloved. Matt trotted around the side and swung himself up over a balcony railing, then cautiously peered into a window. This must be the living room, decked in velvet, with torches on the walls and nude statues everywhere. But nothing moved, so it should be safe to enter - if the damn window was unlocked. It was! Wincing at the sound, Matt pushed it up and peered inside. Nothing but statues on either side of the frame. He crawled in, dropped to the floor, and cautiously stood up.

Cold hands pinned his arms and slammed him against the wall. His head spun for a moment, and when he could focus again Matt found himself staring into two pairs of stony eyes, featureless as marbles. It was the statues. He screamed at the top of his lungs.

And the statues screamed back. Their faces were dreamily calm, but their mouths hung so far open he could see their uvulas (What use did a statue have for a uvula, anyway?), and their voices sounded like twin avalanches. For a moment Matt wondered if he'd scared them as much as they'd scared him. Then he realized the truth: they were calling their Mistress.

4.

It was the blonde from Super Computers, of course. He saw her feet first, pale and bare, skipping down the stairs on the far side of the room. Next came a sheer pink gown, then a sunny smile and blonde hair wound with flowers. "Hello," said the girl, skipping lightly across the carpet. "My name's Penelope. What's yours?" Stunned by that smile - and the fact that girl wore no undergarments - Matt found himself muttering his name.

Uh uh, this wasn't right. He shook his head and tried to reclaim his fury. "Where's Cherie?" he snarled. "What have you done to her?"

"Cherie?" Penelope giggled. "Was that her name? I'd forgotten. But of course it doesn't matter; she's Raggedy Anne now."

He twisted uselessly in the statues' grip. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Bad boy," Penelope scolded. "Someone needs to wash your mouth out with soap." She sang a snippet of nonsense, and Matt doubled over, gagging around a mouthful of foam.

"Fuck!" he screamed again, and choked as the suds doubled. Then something slapped his back, a hand like stone, and he vomited pink all onto the carpet. The mess disappeared when Penelope sang again.

"There," she said, "that'll teach you not to be so rude. Now sit down and tell me how you got in here."

The statues jerked into motion, their joints grinding like stone against stone. Matt couldn't imagine what they were really made of. They forced him into a chair and held him down, one hand each on his upper arms and shoulders; and he knew he might just as well have been shackled.

Penelope plopped down opposite, dangling one leg over the couch and swinging her foot. Weird how she looked about twenty but acted much younger. "Now tell me," she demanded, "how you got past the wards. You must've wanted to get in here pretty bad."

"I did," he answered cautiously. The hands on his shoulders felt like concrete blocks. He hated to think what would happen if Penelope told the statues to attack. "You've got Cherie in here."

The girl crossed her legs and bounced with glee. "No I don't! I've got Raggedy Anne! Look!" She turned to the stairs and called in a sweet, high, voice, "Oh, dollllly! Come down and play with us!"

There was a clumping sound overhead. Soon blocky black shoes appeared on the stairs, topped by candy-striped legs that flexed like stuffed socks. Another step and he could see her bloomers, then a short, blousy skirt dotted with pink and blue flowers. Next came the hands: swollen and fingerless with flattened thumbs. But Matt knew whose body this was, and he was groaning long before he saw at her face.

There was nothing left of the real Cherie except her hair, russet curls bouncing around a pale, flattened head. Her face was round and smooth; with a huge, artificial scoop of a smile and wide, black, blank button eyes. "Hi, Penelope," she chirped, in a voice like a Kewpie doll. "Hi, Matt."

5.

"Wake up, silly boy," said Penelope. Matt groaned and blinked, then shook his head. For a moment he thought he'd been dreaming. Then he felt the weight on his shoulders and saw Penelope sitting across from him, with his fiancée beside her. Cherie was propped at an angle, head resting against Penelope's shoulder and hands lying limp in her lap. Her legs were spread wide, like any doll's, and he could smell her arousal.

Matt retched, but Penelope sang his stomach to stillness. "I didn't know boys could faint, did you, Raggedy Anne?"

"No, Penelope," giggled the doll. "He sure is silly."

"Cherie," Matt rasped, "don't you know who I am?"

Her head lolled back as she turned to her Mistress. "Go ahead," Penelope nodded. "You can talk to him. It'll be fun."

"Okay." The doll face swung back toward Matt, its eyes expressionless. Her smile was impossibly wide, but only the rosebud lips moved when she spoke. "Of course I know who you are, Matt. You were my boyfriend." Penelope nudged her, and they both giggled again.

It was like being stabbed - no, it was worse. If she'd stabbed him, at least he could have hoped to die. "Cherie, no," he moaned. "This isn't you talking. You love me, I know you do."

"Of course it's me talking," chirped the doll. "But don't call me Cherie; my name's Raggedy Anne now. And don't tell me I love you; the only person I love is Penelope."

Matt forgot himself and struggled again, but it was useless. He sagged back against the chair and sighed. "What's she done to you? How did she turn you into this - thing?"

"She did it by being a fairy," said Raggedy Anne, and broke into a childish singsong. "Now I'm her doll and I'm her thrall and I love her forever and ever and ever."

By now Matt was close to cracking up, but he wouldn't allow himself the luxury. Here was the woman he loved, the woman he'd thought was dead, sitting right here in front of him. She might be mindless and mutilated, but at least she was alive. And that meant he might have a chance at restoring her. "No, Cherie," he said, slowly and carefully, "you're not her doll. You're my fiancée. We love each other. Don't you remember? Those nights on the beach, the day I proposed-"

"Silly boy," she said, and Matt thought that if she giggled again he'd scream. "Of course I remember. But I belong to Penelope now, and she's a fairy, and it's sooooo much nicer to be with a fairy than with a man. She takes care of me and teaches me and makes me better than I could ever have been on my own."

"She hasn't taught you anything!" Matt groaned. "Can't you see she's brainwashed you?" His mouth snapped closed and he gagged automatically, expecting another mouthful of suds. But Penelope didn't seem nearly as offended by the brainwashing charge as she'd been by his cursing.

"It's okay, Raggedy Anne," she cooed, stroking her doll's soft hair. "He doesn't know any better. He's just a weak little human with no one to guide him. You really ought to feel sorry for him."

"Okay, Penelope, I will." She thought for a moment. "Can you make him better, then? Can you magic him like you did me?"

Matt jerked, but Penelope only sighed and shook her head. "Not unless he lets me," she said. "You know the rules." Rules? You mean a being this powerful needed his permission to mess with his mind? Matt couldn't believe it, not until the fairy turned back to him, her eyes wide and pitying. "Will you let me?" she asked. "I can make you so better."

His eyes bugged and he shook his head - giggling now, himself. If this got any weirder he really would go crazy.

As if on cue, Cherie turned her bright, flat eyes to him. "Come on," she wheedled. "It'll be so much fun. You'll never have to be sad or scared or angry again. You'll be so happy, Matty. Just like I am."

Matt made a noise somewhere between a choke and a scream. "Uh uh," he muttered. "Fuck that." Then the soap was back, and when he could speak again, so was the rage. "Wait a minute!" he screamed, his words punctuated by flecks of foam. "I didn't let you do that!"

Penelope rolled her eyes. "Of course not, silly," she said. "If fairies had to get permission for everything, we'd never get anything done! You only have to let me do the big stuff; the rest I can do on my own."

"'Big stuff' like what you did to Cherie? Am I supposed to believe she let you do that?!"

"Uh huh," the fairy grinned. "I tricked her. That's allowed."

Matt banged his head back against the chair back; it was all he could do without risking another mouthful of soap.

Penelope eyed him thoughtfully in the silence. "I think I'm going to have to let Mommy deal with you."

6.

He woke in a nest woven from the low-lying branches of two trees. The sky rippled like a lake seen from below. But that was just the way it had looked hours ago, when he fell asleep. At least, he thought it had been hours. His watch didn't work in this place, so there was no way to be sure.

And there was nothing to do, either. He'd already paced the bounds of his cage, a line in the dirt drawn by Penelope. There were no walls that he could see, but the air above her mark was as solid as brick. His jailers, were pretty solid, too. At each corner of his cell stood a statue, a nude male with expressionless face and unblinking eyes. Matt had had plenty of time to study them, and he'd reached the unfortunate conclusion that they were human. The men's faces were handsome, but not classically so, and looking closely he could see the tiny imperfections: a mole here, a scar there. No one ever carved a statue like that. Not on purpose, anyway.

Matt wondered if that was how he'd end up...how they wanted him to end up, he corrected himself. If they couldn't brainwash him unless he let them, then they damn well couldn't brainwash him. But poor Cherie. Penelope had told him all about the game, how she'd tricked Cherie into giving up her will. Then she'd proved her control by having the thrall eat her out, right there in front of him. Matt could still see that huge, horrible tongue, whipping like a fire hose. He closed his eyes, but that only made the image clearer.

"Wake up, human," said a voice from above.

Matt opened his eyes. At first he thought Penelope was standing over him, but then he took in the angular features and pale, icy gaze. No, this was someone new. "You will call me Lady Daphne," said the woman, and Matt knew that he would. "I understand you broke through the wards on our home to reach Penelope's thrall. You must be unusually devoted to her."

"Yes Ma'am, I am." Something in her glance made Matt feel like an errant schoolboy. He resisted the urge to squirm, and instead held her gaze until his eyes watered. "I love her. I want her back."

"But you can't have her back. Surely you know this by now." Matt swallowed, not trusting himself to speak, and Daphne went on. "You pose a problem for us, human. We cannot enthrall you and we cannot kill you-"

"Why not? Is that another of your crazy rules?"

"Yes, it is. And for that you should be grateful. After all, you insulted my daughter. If I were free to do so, I'd stretch your death over ten thousand years. Unfortunately, the worst I can offer you now is your freedom."

Matt wasn't going to be fooled this easily. "What's the catch?"

"Ah," the Lady smiled, "you are a credit to your species. The catch is that you must allow us to erase this episode from your mind. You will be returned to your workplace with no memory of Penelope or myself, and with the belief that the woman you saw in the store was not your fiancée, but a stranger who looked amazingly like her."

Matt laughed bitterly. "Oh, I get it. I let you into my mind to remove a memory, and then you take me over completely, the way you've done Cherie. No thanks. I'll rot here instead."

Daphne shook her head. "You judge us unfairly, human. We have our scruples, just as you do, and fairies never lie-"

"You just trick."

"Or disguise, yes. But in this case I do neither. You have my word as a Fey that we will alter nothing but your memories of this place, and of your lover's fate. Is this acceptable; or would you really prefer, as you say, to rot?"

It was a tempting offer. He couldn't do anything for Cherie or himself if he stayed here, and finding her had brought him nothing but pain. Wouldn't it be better to go back to his old life, to thinking his fiancée was dead?

But she wasn't dead; that was the problem. Matt prided himself on his sense of honor; and even if they'd taken away Cherie's love for him, he still loved her. How could he abandon her now? He closed his eyes and shook his head. "No. I can't."

"Very well, then," said the Lady. And she left him.

7.

"Would you like something to eat?"

Matt turned and gaped. Oh no, this was just too cruel. There stood Cherie in all her former beauty, wearing the halter top and cutoffs he'd always loved her in. She was carrying a tray laden with beer and pizza.

Matt hugged his arms to his chest and looked away. "Leave me alone. I know you're not real."

"Define 'real,'" laughed Cherie. "If you mean I'm not really here, you're wrong. If you mean I'm not really Cherie, you're mostly wrong. Lady Daphne put me back almost the way I was before."

"'Almost' isn't good enough." But she was closer now; he could smell the food she carried. And her perfume. Damn them for thinking even of that. Despite himself, Matt turned to face her. "You're not free, are you, Cherie? You can't leave with me."

"No," she shrugged, seemingly unconcerned. "I can't. But I can love you again, and do my best to make you happy. And you know what? They're not even spying on us; they swore they'd leave us alone together." She hunkered down beside him, setting down the tray and lifting a slice of pizza. "Come on, honey. Have something to eat. I know you must be starving."

"Fuck that!" He winced, then relaxed when his mouth didn't fill with soap. Fuck Penelope, too, for making him afraid to curse. "What have they got in it, Cherie? Poison? A sedative? Some kind of drug or spell that'll make me give in to them?"

She didn't laugh. He couldn't have borne it if she'd laughed. Instead she just sighed and gave him that half smile he loved so much. "Nothing, Matt. It's just beer and pizza, I swear."

"How do I know you're not lying?"

"Fairies don't lie, Matt; and now I can't, either. It's just food, your favorite. And I can guarantee you it'll be the best you've ever tasted."

Matt was hungry. Starving, in fact. He squatted down beside her and took the slice, raising it halfway to his face. They don't lie but they do trick, he told himself. "What'll happen to me if I eat this?"

Cherie snorted. "You won't be hungry anymore. But by all means, stay that way if you want. Here, I'll eat it!" She snatched the pizza from him and bit in, trailing long streamers of cheese from her hand to her mouth.

That was too much for Matt. He jammed a slice into his own mouth, keeping his eyes pinned on Cherie as he did so. She was pulling another of his favorite tricks, winding cheese strands around her tongue and making them wiggle. But all he could think about, seeing that tongue, was how it had looked in Penelope's cunt. He downed the beer in three swallows, but it did nothing to ease his pain.

Matt tossed the bottle aside and wiped his mouth. "What are you doing here, Cherie?"

"I don't know," she shrugged. "Lady Daphne just put me back the way I was and told me to go to you. She didn't say why."

"And you can't guess?" Her lack of concern infuriated him almost as much as Penelope's had. "Come on, Cherie. She's not going to take away her daughter's toy for no reason. You're here as a trap, and I'm not going to fall for it."

Now she did look hurt, just a little. "Damn you, Matt. I still love you, you know."

"Because they let you! What kind of love is that?"

"The same love I had for you before. The exact same." And to his horror, tears sprang up in her eyes. "You're right, Matt. I'm Cherie right now because they let me be Cherie. And you know what? It won't last. Penelope wants her doll back, and Lady Daphne's going to give me to her. But right now I'm me, and you're hurting me."

He shifted uncomfortably, but how could he stay mad at the woman he loved? "I'm sorry, hon. But if you really are you, then you've got to realize why they sent you here. You're bait. They want to use you to rope me in; and if they succeed, you'll go back to being Raggedy Anne, and I'll be, I'll be-" he choked but spat out the words anyway - "Raggedy Andy." Matt thought of himself as limp and witless as Cherie had been, splayed on a sofa while some fairy bitch played with his hair.... Hell no, don't even think that way! But the images wouldn't leave him. Doll clothes, doll voice, unblinking eyes as blank as his emptied mind....

...and Cherie smiling and stroking his cheek. "Would it really be so bad?" she murmured. "At least we'd be together. And I'm happier than I've ever been in my life, Matt. You can't imagine how fulfilling it is, to give in to your destiny. Fairies really are the superior race. Surely you can see that now."

Matt jerked back as if he'd been scalded. He'd known better than to give in to her. "You want to know what I see?" he growled. "Okay, I'll tell you. I see my fiancée's corpse being used like a puppet - and not a very good one, either! Get away from me, you zombie freak!"

He kicked over the pizza plate and crawled away from her, right up to the edge of the force field. For a moment he felt her touch on his shoulder, feather-light and achingly familiar, and he almost turned around. But then the touch was gone and so was she.

8.

"Hey."

The sky was the same as ever, but he'd been asleep again, so Matt decided he might as well call it the next morning. Here was Cherie, back to torture him some more. Today she had on the dress she'd worn when he proposed: red silk and spaghetti straps, a slit up the side and plenty of cleavage. She was leaning over him, her breasts just brushing his chest.

The last thing Matt wanted to do was speak to her, but he couldn't get up with her in the way. Cautiously he laid a hand on her shoulder (warm, soft skin just like he remembered) and pushed her back. She went willingly, flashing a sad, shy smile as she did so.

"Hey, baby," she said. "I'm sorry about yesterday. I know I shouldn't have said what I did about giving in to the fairies."

"Why not?" he sighed. He'd burned out all his anger yesterday, and all he had left was a profound bitterness. "It's what you thought, isn't it? Or maybe 'thought' is too strong a word."

"Don't be like that," she shuddered. "They've given me more freedom now, enough to make me sick at what they've done to me. I want out of here, Matt right now."

He leapt half out of the bed, then sagged again as he caught the look on her face. "You want out. But you can't go, can you?"

"No." She wrapped her arms around her shoulders and pulled in on herself. "I can't. Penelope wants her doll back, and Lady Daphne's going to give me to her. Besides, they're still holding onto my will. I can use it for a little while, as long as they allow it, but it's not really mine." She looked up, and he saw that her eyes were dry. "I know I should be more upset," she said apologetically.

"But they won't let you, will they?" She shook her head, and his bitterness gave way to pity. "Poor baby," he murmured. Hating himself a little for his weakness, he got up and pulled her close. Cherie's arms slipped easily around his back, and she laid her head onto his shoulder. It was almost like old times. Almost.

Despite himself, Matt began to relax. He hadn't forgotten how good it felt to hold her, but he'd never expected to feel it again, either. "Cherie," he said slowly, "what would happen if I kissed you?"

Her breathing quickened. "I'd kiss you back."

"Anything else? Any spells or potions? Is this some kind of trap?"

"No, Matt." She met his eyes quite seriously. "It's safe to kiss me." Her eyelids fluttered and her face tilted up. Sweet dark lips parting slightly, a flash of teeth...

...and he leaned down, relishing the feel of his stubble against her softness. His lips brushed hers and then he pushed on through, winding his tongue around hers and reveling in her tangy-sweet taste. For a moment he even managed to forget what it had looked like when....No. Not now. He'd missed her too much to go into that again.

Her fingers curled up into his hair, nails lightly raking his scalp. One leg slid around his thigh, and her crotch nestled warm and soft against his own. Matt stiffened, but in more ways than one. "Cherie," he said cautiously, "they aren't making you do this, are they?"

"No, Matt," she murmured, "I swear they aren't. This is what I want."

He cupped her ass and bent toward her breasts, then checked himself again. As much as he loved her, he knew he couldn't be too careful. "Cherie, what will happen if I make love to you? Have they put anything inside you?"

"Matt," she sighed, "there's nothing in my cunt but me; and before you ask, there's nothing up my ass, either. But I know exactly what I want inside me. You." She pulled herself tight against him, riding his thigh until the dress rucked up around her waist and he saw the thong. Yes, that had been there the night he proposed, too.

He slid a finger under the band and drew it down, then paused one final time. "Are you sure this is safe?"

"Baby," she moaned, "I'm not sure of anything, but I think it's safe. And it's been so long. Help me, Matt." Her voice broke. "I want to feel human again."

And that was that. Matt grabbed the spaghetti straps and ripped them wide, tearing the dress nearly to Cherie's waist. Then he plunged his head between her breasts, squeezing one in each hand and lavishing them alternately with kisses. Cherie pulled back, but only enough to get her hands between them. Then she thumbed open his fly and lowered his zipper, laying her hand on his still-hidden cock. It bulged behind his boxers, and she palmed it through the fabric, running her fingers lightly across his balls.

He almost came right then, but somehow he managed to pull down his pants and thrust into her. Cherie shrieked and pulled him close; and they orgasmed together, grunting in the silver light of Faerie with the statues stiff behind them.

Later they lay in the bower, still twining their fingers through one another's hair. Matt felt the same as he had before, but he had the nagging feeling that he'd missed something.

9.

She stayed with him all day, telling him her whole sad story and listening to his. Sometimes they asked questions and a few times they even laughed, but mostly they just held one another.

Around lunchtime a new thrall appeared, a man literally as thin and brown as a bundle of sticks. His head was covered with spines and he had no mouth, but Matt felt no threat from him, only a pitiful dull subservience. The thrall bowed deeply to them both, then deposited a picnic basket at their feet and vanished.

"That was Robert," Cherie shuddered. "He was human once, too, but he's been a slave for hundreds of years."

"You mean they don't even let you die around here?" That could be him, Matt thought. Hell, that was Cherie.

She sighed and shook her head. "Baby, there's no escape when you're a thrall. Not ever." And after a pause, "I'm so sorry I got you into this."

"Shh, honey," he soothed. "It's okay. At least we're together again. And I'm going to get you out of this. I promise."

Very quietly, Cherie began to cry.

10.

The next morning, she came to him dressed in a shirt Matt would have sworn came from his own closet. In her hands was a tray of bacon, eggs, toast, coffee, and two huge goblets of orange juice.

He stopped her just before her lips brushed his. "Is it safe?" he asked.

"Absolutely."

"The food, too?"

"Absolutely."

Sometime later, when they'd finished breakfast and balled until they left bite marks, Matt came up with an idea so frightening he knew it had to work. He pulled her close and whispered, "Cherie, you told me before that the fairies wouldn't spy on us when we were together. Is that still true?"

"Of course it is. Why?"

"Because I have an idea." She nodded carefully, and he went on. "I'm about to tell you something really, really weird. But you have to promise you'll take it seriously, okay?"

"Okay."

"Great. Here goes, then....Um....We're in a fairy tale world, and things here work in a fairy tale kind of way, right?"

"Right."

"So maybe I can do something in a fairy tale kind of way, to save you. Does that make sense?"

"I think so." She sat up, too, but he could still feel her heart hammering in her chest. Yes! He was going to save her after all!

Matt took a deep breath, steeling himself for the bravest act of his life. But after all, this was the woman he loved. He'd do anything for her. "Cherie," he said, so quietly even he could hardly hear himself, "I want to give you my will."

Her face fell and she blinked, twice. "Matt, what the hell are you talking about?"

"You said Lady Daphne holds your will now, right? So technically you don't really have a will - or if you do, it's not a free one. " He was babbling now, desperate to get it all out before he changed his mind. "But mine is free and I can do whatever I want with it. So if I give it to you, you'll be free, and then you can get out of here."

"But where would that leave you?"

If she'd said he was crazy he would have dropped the subject just like that. But damned if she wasn't taking him seriously. And that probably meant it would work. Oh shit. Matt swallowed hard and forced himself on. "Part of me would be with you, forever. And the rest of me, I guess, would stay here."

"You mean, you'd become the thrall so I could go free."

Oh hell, the expression on her face - he couldn't bear to look at her. And his stomach was falling further by the second. "Yeah," he sighed, "that's it. I think. But you know how this stuff works better than I do."

"You're right; I do. You've seen that thing Penelope calls a doll. Is that what you want to become?"

"Of course not, babe, but what's the alternative? You're the only one of us who has a chance to escape. And if you do, maybe you can even find some way to come back and rescue me." He laughed sickly. "You know, kind of return the favor."

Cherie didn't answer, so he pulled her close and rocked her gently. "Come on, honey. You know this would work; I can see it in your face. And it's the only thing that will work, so we'd better do it now, before they catch on to us."

Still she didn't speak, so he turned her face to his and kissed her again. "I love you, Cherie. I want you to live."

For a long moment she only kissed him back. Then at last she nodded. "Okay, Matt," she whispered. "If it's the only way."

That was it, then. His stomach hit rock bottom. Black, unblinking eyes. Baby clothes. "Yes, Mistress." Forever and ever and ever.... But at least my last free thought will be that Cherie has escaped.

She was trembling now, or maybe they both were. She took his face in her hands and smiled at him, her eyes brimming with tears. "You're an amazing man, Matt. I'm so lucky to have you."

"And I'm lucky to have you." He blushed. "Now let's get this thing over with before I lose my nerve. How do we do it, Cherie?"

She leaned over and picked up one of the goblets. Empty now, it sparkled in the fairy light. "Pour your will into this, and I'll drink it."

"As easy as that, huh?"

"As hard as that." Her face was haggard, but her eyes were shining.

"Okay, so I pour out my will - but how?"

"Like you said, Matt, we're in a fairy tale. Just open your mouth and let it happen. It will."

Yes, it would. Matt looked into the empty goblet and thought, that'll be me soon. And suddenly doubt struck. "Cherie," he rasped. His mouth was so dry he could hardly speak. "You really will drink this yourself, won't you? I mean, you won't give it to Lady Daphne or Penelope?"

"I swear I'll drink it and not give it to anyone else," she said, and flashed a quick, sly smile. "But I am glad you thought to ask. You can't be too careful with the Fey."

And that, more than anything, convinced Matt he'd beaten them. The fairies had given Cherie too much freedom; they hadn't considered the consequences. "I love you, Cherie," he said. And he laid his hands over hers and opened his mouth.

It happened instantly. One moment his head felt like it always did, and then next it was a bathtub with the plug pulled. He could feel the water swirling out of it, down through his cranium, over his palate and tongue, across his parted lips. It foamed into Cherie's goblet, and he saw that it was the color of champagne - with bubbles, no less. Matt blinked. "Um, is that my will?" Because if it is, then why am I still thinking? His head did feel lighter, though. And his vision must be blurring, because Cherie didn't look quite like Cherie anymore.

"Yes," she said, "this is your will. But I'm not ready to drink it just yet. So use it while you can, human, and think: what have you done to yourself?" Her face sharpened and her hair turned from red to gold.

Oh no. Ohhhhh no! Matt leapt up screaming. "You're supposed to be Cherie, you fucking fairy cunt! Cherie!"

"Ah," smiled Daphne, "but I'm not."

He threw himself at her, but she flicked a finger and dropped him to his knees.

"Fairies don't lie," he gasped. "You said so yourself. And you said you were Cherie!"

"No," she answered calmly, "Cherie said she was Cherie, when she visited you - which she did twice, by the way. I've only come to you once in this guise."

"Well - but - you swore you wouldn't spy on us while we were together!"

"I didn't. You weren't together with Cherie just now, were you? You were with me. Though oddly enough, you were safer in my presence than in hers. It was she, not I, who brought about your downfall."

"What do you mean?" Matt's limbs trembled as though he were in the grip of a seizure. And of course, in a way, he was. All he could do now was argue. "I asked her every step of the way if it was safe, and she said it was! She said she couldn't lie!"

"She can't," purred Daphne. "But she can be deceived at least as easily as you can. And no, you didn't ask her about every step. If you had, you would have discovered the spell I placed between her breasts. She didn't know it was there, of course; and I'd conditioned her not to talk about that part of her body. But rules are rules. If you'd asked her outright about her cleavage, she would have told you the truth." Daphne shrugged. "But you didn't ask. You just breathed in the spell and it lodged in your brain. Then, when the time was right, it formed an idea which you took to be your own. And why shouldn't you? It came from your own 'free' mind." Matt curled in on himself, but he couldn't shut out the fairy's words. "The idea, of course, was that you should give your will to Cherie. I'm sure you see the ridiculousness of it now."

Oh yes, he saw it, all right. Matt's eyelids fluttered, but he didn't pass out. Maybe it was Daphne's will that kept him upright. "Cherie," he moaned. "Where is she?"

"As a matter of fact," she smiled, "Penelope is bringing her to you now. Sit up, human, and say hello to your fiancée."

He tried to resist, knowing what he would see if he obeyed. But Daphne owned him now, and she jerked him upright as easily as she would a puppet. His eyes flew open and he saw the woman he loved, hand in hand with her Mistress. Cherie had the same black button eyes and idiot grin he'd seen before, and her legs wobbled bonelessly beneath her short doll's skirt.

They stopped beside Daphne, hands swinging gaily. "Raggedy Anne," said Penelope, "say hi to Mommy's new thrall."

"Hi, thrall," burbled Raggedy Anne, and Matt burst into tears.

Penelope grinned, then leaned in toward the doll and stage-whispered, "Mommy really did good, didn't she, Raggedy Anne?"

"She sure did, Penelope!"

"And you did good, too. I'm so proud of you!"

"Ooooh, thank you, Penelope! I'm so proud of you, too!"

Something broke inside him, shards of pride and hope tumbling downward, stabbing, killing. No more Cherie, just Raggedy Anne. And no more Matt, just- "Oh shit," he moaned, "it's really going to happen. I'm going to be Raggedy Andy."

For the first time, Daphne laughed. "Whatever makes you think that?" she asked. "You're going to be my thrall, not my daughter's. I like my toys a bit more...anatomically correct. So how would you like to be a Ken doll, human? My own special model."

Matt was beyond caring. "Fuck it," he groaned. "Whatever you want. Just take me now and get it over with."

"All right," said Daphne, "if you insist."

Matt watched her raise the goblet and drink. He tried hard to feel it, his will slipping away down that long, cool throat. But Daphne had only taken a sip, so his anguish was lessened, not ended. Yet. He closed his eyes and sighed, willing her to swallow it all and turn him into whatever kind of doll would make her happiest. Then he'd be happy too.

Daphne drank again, halving Matt's pain - and his hope. But he didn't really miss it. He'd feel whatever they wanted him to feel, when the time came. And he'd be satisfied with that.

Another sip, and all Matt's muscles grew slack - face, arms, legs, everything. Only Daphne's will held him upright now. He felt the first trickle of drool on his chin, and it didn't bother him at all. Nothing bothered Matt anymore.

Daphne raised the cup a final time, and Matt's last free thought wasn't that Cherie had escaped, but rather that he had.