Three: forty-one.

Karen rolled over in bed, wincing at the static pain that wracked her. The clock shone like daggers in her eyes. Her stomach gnawed with hunger. Hadn’t she already raided the fridge tonight?

Another surge of buzzing agony made her curl up foetal, praying yet another change in position would fix things. Instead her skin itched like sandpaper, dark needles of hair drilling through to rub irritably off pyjamas. A clawing hunger pulled at her organs, as if demanding her own flesh to fill the void within.

Nothing felt right. Not since she woke up at three forty, and it was only getting worse. Her every muscle sought to both expand and contract, jerking the girl around like a puppet. Clicks and cracks escaped her fingers as they spasmed, arms bending, and head rolling, seeking some kind of release. Too far, her vertebrae grated and arched in a long wave down her spine, farther than it should have. Beyond her tailbone, the pressure continued in all defiance of mass and physics.

Three: forty-two.

Karen’s eyes burned with the clock's light. Nameless colours flickered like stars, dying her vision in violet and beyond. Every thread of her curtain stood out, stark and clear. Every grain of wood on the dresser, every dark hair tangled past her vision, familiar and yet alien. Just like when she’d become a hawk- was that why? Was this another magical change?

Her pained mind strained, blearily fighting through the pain as she writhed. She’d not had any Veil potion- had she? No, that was ridiculous. Karen squirmed, reaching back and felt a slender cord of spine and muscle growing from her back, pushing against her pants. The tails nerves burnt their way into her system, feeling the scaly hand- long, sinuous, nothing like a birds. What was it then?

Her teeth were running together as she grimaced, molars and incisors forming two solid mandibles that clicked as she struggled. Karen slammed her head down, headbutting into the bed, trying to find a mote of clarity. She’d not had Veil since saturday, four days ago!

Her teeth escaped her mouth in two spikes and punctured the pillow. Feathers scattered and tickled everything as she flinched, feeling nose, lips and teeth merge into a predatory beak.

Three: forty-three.

Karen gasped. She ought to scream. Yet her lungs refused to exhale, only begging for more air in vast wheezing gasps that pushed against her ribs. Unsatisfied with that space, they forced her body outwards, swelling like when she’d become a mermaid. Her chest rounded into a barrel stretching the blue fabric of her pyjamas, and her tail wriggled, coiled and lashed until it split her pants.

More lightning-static surges rippled down her limbs too, muscles creaked and bones popped in her limbs. She felt her pinkies and smallest toes wither away. The other digits stretched and curled, long nails forming claws that kicked and bucked. Yet every motion tangled her in her blankets, pulling tight like a trap, a cage, a noose! Too close, too tight!

A disgusted growl preceded a clumsy lurch, before Karen managed to topple off the bed. She landed on her back, and felt tears blossom as volts of pain stabbed her shoulder-blades, claiming the hotly contested title of most agonising sensation so far!

Her fingers cut through the duvet as she discovered them, armoured in black scales and inch long talons. Yet above the wrist, dark fur shrouded her body, weaving through the tears and rips of her night clothes. Like a wolf?

Logan had mentioned wolves. He’d- what was it!? He’d pitied her. No? He’d talked about Halloween ideas earlier. Was this him? Had he spiked her? Could magic do that? Most mystics were pranksters, it made sense! She hissed and clawed her way out of her torn blankets, lashing tail painfully against the wall, kicking the bed, and headbutting the cabinet. The clock fell on her skull.

Three: forty-four. The screen cracked as it struck the floor, the display flickered and went out.

Karen struggled on all fours, pyjamas ripping apart as her body exceeded the fabrics limits. Dark quills burst through the tears, unfurling into thick feathers. Her hair was no longer lashing in her vision and she hesitated against crying for help. What if her parents saw this thing?

Bad.

Thinking was a losing battle. Her shoulders were bubbling with new flesh, the space was too small, too close, too tight, threatening to crush her like an egg, a cage, a noose. But screaming was bad and she bit her hooked beak down on the pillow, hissing at feathers like needles on her tongue.

The next surge threw her hard against the floor as her back split and punched the ceiling. Vast fans of flesh recoiled from the touch. Karen pulled them down tearfully, only to slam against wall and window when she turned, the motion scattering pens and paper, tearing down curtains, clothes and posters, as her body hit angles everywhere.

It was too tight. Across her new limbs, feathers stabbed outwards like grass after winter, a vast canopy that was still growing. She was still growing. It was too tight. Too close. A trap. A prison. A vice. A crush.

Karen leapt for the opening in the wall before it was too late.

Phantom colour stars flashed in her vision as she rediscovered glass and toppled painfully backwards.

Her head thrummed. Noises came from the house.

Bad.

She gathered her limbs, lunged up and rammed full force into the window.

The noise of shattering glass stung her ears.

The reality of broken glass slashed her hide. What vestiges of torn clothing had survived her change were sliced free as she tumbled out into the night, and down onto the grass outside in an undignified heap.

For a moment that was enough. Karen felt her wings spread, this strange body screaming from cuts and broken glass in her, trickling blood across the lawn. It was ridiculous and obscene- she’d been behaving! She’d seen how small she was, how pointless it all was in the face of magic, stayed quiet and reclusive all week ever since the massive dragon Scevola’s gaze had landed on her. And still, and still, and still, magic sought her out and shook her inside out like a chew toy! Damn mystic pranks!

She planted her hands? No, talons, avian, scaled and strong on the ground, and repeated the motion with her hindlegs. They were not the same, but with a motion she stood, stretched and felt a hundred clicks and cracks sting her body. Not all pain vanished, her headache still rumbled and cuts wailed, but the magical change pain vanished like clouds after a storm. It was done.

A light clicked on from the shattered window and her Pa’s voice broke in a shout, “Karen!?”

No. She had to lift this! Before she knew what she was doing, Karen walked- no, loped- across the garden, noticed the fence ahead of her and gathered her legs. Powerful feline hindquarters shot her clean over the barrier by several feet, and she landed on the other side in motion, building speed as another fence came.

Another leap carried her over, out of Mr Jenson’s garden, and directly towards thick thorny rose bushes. With a gasp, her wings lashed out, cracking to their full length and slammed down.

BOOM.

The pressure bent and ruffled the bushes, and lift gave her another six feet to clear the hedges, stumble, and topple over on softer grass. That was on her back and she hated it, so Karen rolled, daring another glance around.

She definitely wasn’t a wolf.

She was a big monster, reflected in the windows by the light of the street-lamps. Maybe as large as a bear or tiger? The latter fit better, she was four legged and rather feline. But her front was avian on a scale normally reserved for dinosaurs, with fierce avian eyes and wings like sails.

More noises came from further down the street. Shouts. Humans. Parents.

She had to get this lifted- either Logan had done it to her as a prank, another demonstration of magic, or he could fix it. And the fastest route was a direct line- not tracking around obstacles but over them!

Her lungs surged, deep breaths gathering cycles through her air sacs, and she bent, gathered her limbs, and ran.

She had to jump early to clear the next fence with its additional roses, but another beat of her wings brought her clear onto Caleb’s lawn. She was ready to land this time, charged across it, and took another jump before she was out of the gardens, crossing a road. Yet, another bound, another lope, then her muscles coiled like springs, her wings rose, and she threw herself upwards.

For an instant Karen felt the threat of gravity far more than she had as a hawk. This was a big creature, a heavy body. Could something like this really fly? But Scevola had wings, and she was nowhere near his monstrous size so she hurriedly flapped again, and again and again and again and again, shedding blood and glass shards as she ascended.

Roof tiles slipped underneath her. She tucked her legs, aware of how close she had been to slamming into a building. It seemed to help, and more massive strokes of the wings lifted her above the lights, and into the dark heavens.

The roads stretched beneath her like a web of embers, lit by street-lights and a couple of trundling vehicles. The lake was a vast shadow, but a couple of distant pinpricks showed the camp to her, and Logan lived near it.

The thermal was a pleasant surprise as her muscles began to scream about broken glass and wounds. Even with her size, it let her slow flapping for a moment with instinctive ease, cycling out old breaths for new rich ones. Plus the lake would be a softer landing than any stone if it came to it.

The work resumed when she found the shore and almost met a tree. She had to throw her talons up and snap the top branch off to make it over- as good as her eyes were, they did not possess night vision. She breathed and flapped, flapped and breathed, powering up into she spotted the handful of electric lights in the camp, and wearily spun around.

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If those were there, then the road ran parallel to the trail, and the trail had to lead… there!

With an eager screech that was definitely not a wince of pain and exhaustion and hunger and desperation and fear, Karen swooped down. Trees rose like knives, branches called out like stakes, and she flinched before spotting a gap in the branches!

With a ripple of feathers she banked, dove, only to spot a familiar stump in the small gap. No lodge, no house, this was where she’d seen the Bad Egg thing! With a scream she tried to throw herself backwards, cut off momentum, but even so she slammed into branches, toppled and tumbled, before hitting the forest floor hard.

She lay for a second before some pigeon cooed and she bounded upright, and scampered away up the slope before any spectre could show. It was harder on all fours, the trees kept snagging at her wings with jagged limbs, but she soon stumbled onto the road and then up towards the looming triangle of the lodge.

The lights were off so she screamed at the building. She was already in a screaming mood, missing clothes and warmth and bed and sleep and humanity, so she screamed again even when a light flickered on. That got a downstairs light on, and she was midway through her third scream when the door opened and Logan’s gangly figure stumbled forth.

“Heya? Sorry it’s late, what do...” He yawned, rubbed bleary eyes, then blinked as he saw her, “Oh. Oooooh no, those are nasty. You alright?”

Alright? What a stupid question! She was trapped in a beast's body, bleeding and wounded in the night! She screeched, short and sharp, reared and stamped, shaking her head and wings in a vain attempt to dislodge glass and grass.

“Wow, okay, not alright!” He raised his hands and approached barefoot, clad in just t-shirt and shorts, “Deep breaths, sit down. We’ll get you help. You’re gonna be okay- Uncle, get the phone!”

“Kid, what’s u-” Another, even ganglier dishevelled shape came to the door as Matt limped over, a red light blinking on his ankle. “Young griffin. Female? Yeah. Oh shit that’s bloody. One of your Dad’s clients?”

Female, yes. Griffin was new- that had to be this species he’d chosen for the prank. Bird brain, scaredy cat, she could already imagine the puns.

Except Logan gave her a long look, standing overhead even more than usual, then shook his head. “No, no, never seen her before. She’s been through hell though. I’m Logan by the way.”

Stupid troll! He knew her! She growled and shoved him, it was time to give up the joke.

Logan fell like a sack of bricks.

Karen froze and stared. He was always so dramatic. She hadn’t pushed him that hard. Had he even made fake blood? It coated her talons, warm in the night, copper tang in the air. Talons?

“LOGAN!” Mat thundered, threw his arms wide in an intricate motion. From somewhere, a coil of blood streamed around him like a serpent, phantom lights cracked at his spidery fingers. Grey eyes bored into her murderously as he gathered magic, and an icy pang of terror stabbed into her heart.

“Phobos.”

She lunged sidelong to dodge the spell.

Then things went black.

* * * * *

She splashed with a platinum haired shadow in the stream. They were young and small, stones tickled her soles and sunlight dappled off the water.

“Sooooo,” Her friend purred with a sharp toothed smile, “Here’s a riddle. Do you know why you’re like Cleopatra?”

“My grace?” Karen guessed, dodging a splash from her long tail.

“Noooope. Because you’re the queen of de nial!” She broke into giggles and coughing stuttering static.

* * * * *

She lunged through the forest away from a predator. Trees whipped and scuppered her. They were almost perfect, geometric rungs hanging out that she could easily climb and weave through. If she wasn’t so big. If she had fingers and toes.

Sunrise flickered behind her. Bright orange lights shaped the world. Heat and ash licked at her tail. Titanic wingbeats echoed overhead. Then the air flowed backwards, her hunter breathed in, and the world ended when he breathed out.

* * * * *

Her talons broke the creatures back. It never woke from its sleep, the white wool was stained by the perfect kill, but the scent was rousing others. Her hunger screamed for absolution, for satisfaction, but why have one when she could have more?

She dove for the nearest one as the flock awoke in a panic. In managed to get to its legs, but her talons tug deep hooks into its hide the little herbivore couldn't shake. She was dragged for an instant, then threw down her wings and paws and wrenched it off the ground. When it came back down, her beak was at its neck, ripping and tearing. She dragged it beside the other triumphantly and feasted.

Then came a sound like thunder and a monstrous hammer crushing her wing.

* * * * *

“If you feel overwhelmed, go away somewhere and calm down and take it all in.” Pa had said, bent on one knee so that his big face was level with her small one.

Karen had chewed her lip nervously and wrung her hands, glancing over his shoulder towards the building, with its high windows and crowds of big noisy children around it. So many, talking and walking and playing, all so much bigger than her like she was to the baby Ollie. She had asked if she could go back home now and take it all in, and he had laughed and shook his head and told her she’d be fine.

* * * * *

She floundered against a current. Chains of double helixes, pulled her towards the bottom, towards that thing. But the surface was close enough to see with naked her, her hands outlined against the light. The water was draining.

Her wings pulsed and she broke the surface with a gasp.

The world was grey and violet and sideways. A gigantic avian loomed over her, golden eyes glaring down. Needles wove through her flesh.

“Shush, shush, there’s a good girl.” Came a reedy voice.

Then waterfalls of blood hammered down and the flood overtook her. The helix chains pulled her down into the deepest deep, towards shattered fragments of a rotten sickly egg.

* * * * *

The floor jolted her as if she had fallen out of the sky. Karen gasped and curled tighter, hugging her aching limbs close as visions flashed behind her eyes. Blood. Shadows. Sheep. Feathers and fur. A spiderweb of streets far below. Broken glass. Broken eggs. A metal pipe in moonlight. Bronze scales. Logan toppling.

No.

She twisted and rolled onto her other side, feeling feathers tickle off themselves, cuts groan and twitched a tail she shouldn’t have.

No.

She tried to relax. Her tail wriggled sceptically, and she trapped it under a paw she shouldn’t have.

No.

Flickering light throbbed through her eyelids, and Karen covered herself with wings she shouldn't have, instinctively unsheathing claws she shouldn't have.

Queen of Denial indeed. The dream shadows words echoed, luring her back towards introspection. Towards sheep and eggs and bangs and blood. That was even less appealing to deal with than the world outside herself so she opened her eyes and surveyed her territory.

It was duller than she’d expected. A big concrete room, with a ramp up towards a second shelf tier. Nameless colours flickered from fluorescent bulbs on the high ceiling, and a musty scent lingered over old odours of oil and smoke. More centrally, on this lower tier was herself, still a griffin, her messy coat grey and other patches of other colours, talons free of blood. Just a dream.

Behind her was an exit of sorts, a wall of entirely solid metal shutters that must have been how vans accessed this loading bay. Then a smaller set of double doors was in one corner of the high tier, and something shifted up there. Karen tried to rise, rearing only to come to a sharp clanging halt.

Something was tight around her neck. A metal collar that itched and her talons found the chain leading into a slot in the floor. Karen tried to move, but it ran taut after barely three feet. She was chained down like a beast.

Perhaps not unfairly, a small voice considered.

She drowned that out with a scream of rage and yanked, winced and tried to claw at it. Her forelegs weren’t flexible enough to get close, and within an instant she squirmed onto her back, hind paws clawing clumsily at her neck in a ball of fury. If she could just get the right angle, the right leverage, then maybe the close-tight-heavy-trap would come fr-

A louder imperious hiss interrupted her rage. With a gasp, Karen twisted upside down to see a massive second griffin glowering down from the upper tier. It had to be half again her size, a deep shiny chestnut with stripes of spicy loud colour like a tiger, and an arrogant gleam to its eyes. It wasn’t even chained, while she looked like a ragged bloody prisoner!

With a snarl she twisted upright, planted her hindpaws and reared up, flaring her wings out to scream back spitefully. The chain rather scuppered her defiance, yanking her back down, and the other griffin cocked its head. Then it spontaneously tripled in size. It reared up smoothly, cracked its tail off the stone like a whip, threw open enormous clean wings wall to wall and unleashed a shriek like a knife through her ears.

Karen averted her gaze and turned away, pulling her wing close. Not subservient, no, but it would be… immature and beneath her to get into screaming matches. There were better things to do, like… straighten herself out a bit, she was a bit messy and her coat stung. Her left wing throbbed with dozens of tiny wounds, and she recalled a thunderous gunshot and heavy impact. Had she been shot?

Then that bit hadn’t been a dream. But she probably hadn’t been incinerated or drowned. As for the part about waking up, changing and jumping a window, that seemed to match up with her body's experiences. Yet as painful as it all was, the wounds were clean- some scabbed over, some stitched closed, or held by subtle band aids. So what had happened in-between?

A metallic groan announced the door atop the shelf opening, she glanced up as a man in full body armour, a reflective riot helmet and a shield looked in. The motion only snagged her collar, and she winced, before clawing at the chain again- this had to be her kidnapper, and she wasn’t going to stay put for them like some pathetic griffins were!

“Oh fan-bloody-tastic, she’s awake.” A coarse, but feminine voice came as the figure stomped close. They were big for a woman, taller than Caleb, but griffins were bigger still. “Still chained, ma’am.”

“Aha, I told you it was two cries!”A reedy, chipper voice called as an older woman doddered in behind the guard. She was an eccentric sight- dressed in a yellow hazmat suit under a colourful cardigan, grey-black hair tied into a messy bun, eyes wide but distant.

Small and frail, if only this damn chain would break, Karen hissed, planted her claws and heaved, flapping her wings for greater force.

“Oh, no, no, nononoo! May! She’ll hurt herself!” The old woman squealed, flailing her arms.

“Griffin. Stop that.” The guard woman warned, then flicked her visor up and gave a stern glare. She wasn’t human, her skin was cracked and scaly, olive moving towards green in places and thick scaled locks slithered within the confines of the helmet around colourless hideous orbs. Instantly, Karen’s momentum died, her muscles seized completely immobile, wings half spread and shuddering with rage. Was she dead?

“May! Honestly, was that necessary?” The madwoman threw her arms out and tapped her temples. “She just woke up!”

“She’s damn feral. And you told me to.” The guard-thing clicked her reflective visor back down, “But that’ll hold long enough to finish your work Ma’am.”

“My work? Look at her- not a straight bone in her body! Tch tch,” The madwoman blustered, then scampered down the ramp too close, within a wingspan, right at Karen’s frozen furious face. “Can you understand me? Blink thrice if you can, there’s a good girl now.”

Those muscles still worked, Karen noticed as she blinked. Little else bit, but she settled for growling deep in her chest, a leonine snarl bubbling up.

“Ah, good girl. Now, I need you to be a good girl once May ends the paralysis, she’s in a bad mood today, so best behaviour.” Gnarled old fingers slithered over her pelt and Karen hissed at the touch. “Understand?”

“You’d better,” the guard-thing stepped closer, her eyes faintly shining even through the visor, venom in her voice, “Make a single move out of line, and I’ll make you pay for what you did to those children.”