"Look at them. They're actually giggling." Stanton had his bottom lip between his teeth as he tried to get Cassandra to watch Frederick and Tiffany talk. "If they're not kissing by the end of tonight, there is no justice in the world."

"'Justice'? Stanton, I drank wine from a gold-etched wine glass that was worth more than my stipend gives me in a year." She looked at the tray of canapes being offered. "And I see even more gold on that tray. What am I doing here?"

Leaning over, Stanton kissed Cassandra's cheek. "Looking fabulous."

It was hard to remain angry and annoyed when she was blushing and feeling giddy. "You're being so lovey-dovey because no one here expects you'll be with me in ten years time."

"At the rate some of my peers dispose of mistresses, they probably don't expect you to be seen again at all. And, before you go on a tirade about that, I don't mean what you're thinking. They will jump in the hay with any pretty young thing, usually several times, and when she's with child she will be given a regular payment and the promise that her child will never have to worry about being hungry." Stanton plucked two glasses of wine from a waiter walking past. Giving one to Cassandra, he held up his own. "The really smart ones are gay."

Becoming privy to all the nightmares that nobles had to deal with—or at least more of them than she was aware existed—Cassandra had to admit that Stanton could really work the crowd. He'd approached every single woman in the room, shown off his own dress and hers, and then complimented everything about each of them except for their clothing. "How much lon—?" She halted when Stanton's finger rested across her lips.

"No-no. You don't ask when it will be over but how much expensive food we can pilfer before it's over." Looking at Cassandra's disbelieving stare, Stanton sighed. "Look, I'll pay you for each of those little lamb tartare filled pastries you smuggle onto the train with us."

Something struck Cassandra right in the gut—metaphorically. Hunger almost overwhelmed her. "A gold per?"

"You have learned to be rather cut-throat. Very well, one gold per two of them. They are small." Stanton held out a hand and shook with Cassandra. He was surprised when she turned and all-but ran away. Then he realized there was a shadow behind him. Inhaling slowly, he counted to five and let the breath out. "Hello, Mom."

"We need to talk, Stanton. Now would be ideal." When her son looked evasive, Clarissa narrowed her eyes. "We will adjourn to a sitting room, then—but this is happening, Louise Silverclaw."

Stanton realized he had nowhere to run or hide. "Alright, but you're going to feel silly." Looking around, Stanton wasn't given the option to choose his own preference of rooms because his mother hooked his arm and dragged him off—showing off the strength of an adult werewolf.

Securing her son in a sitting room, Clarissa found a chair and arranged herself on it. "Everything. If you leave one morsel out, I will absolutely cut you off from your pension for a year."

"Mom, first, I'm not a girl."

"Really? Because if you're not, you're doing a lousy impression of it. Stanton, you ask your handler for a female alias, you turn up here fully transformed into a woman, and if your makeup isn't at least as good as mine I'll call you a liar." When Stanton went to open his mouth, she continued. "I don't mind if you are, it would actually prove easier to find you a fiancee of your own were that the case. So—honestly—if you aren't transitioning, what is going on?"

"Wand, could you—Thank you wand." Stanton held the wand that had appeared before him in one hand. "Now, can you get Angel here too?"

"—then I said to him, 'What was with all the cod liver oil?!'" Angel froze and looked around. She had a bathing cap on and was holding a small device that absolutely shouldn't exist in this world. "Stanton, you promised me I had the night off. This had better be important!" Snapping the digits of one paw, Angel produced a suitably cute dress for herself.

"Mom, this is Princess Angel von Snuggles, the fourth. My familiar. Angel, this is my mom, Lady Clarissa Sharptooth-Raveel-Brightfang."

"I had heard you found yourself a familiar. This is a good step forward, and given her obvious intelligence you should make a good pairing. This doesn't—"

"It does, Mom. Angel, tell her. Tell my mother what the crazy deal is and what's going on—because she won't believe it from me."

"I," Angel began, "have tried literally everything. I've treated him to a spa—that I had to create out of thin air. I spent a whole night doing girly things with him. I even, and this one should have worked, did him up tonight so that he would find a cute guy and they would fall instantly in love and he'd forget about being a guy so they could marry and have lots of kids and live happily ever after—But, Stanton is a guy! There's nothing, no power in this world or the next, that will make him respect the fact he will be a girl now. If you can persuade him, Mrs. Raveel-Sharptooth-Shootingstar, then I will grant you ultimate cosmic power."

Clarissa raised one finger, her mind finding the perfect angle to pursue—then she changed her mind and turned to look at Stanton. "You summoned her, she turned you into a woman, gave you some kind of wild powers, and now you have to deal with that?" She jumped conclusions and connected dots that others would have missed by a wide margin. Holding out her hand, she ticked off the facts behind her reasoning. "You wouldn't have remained a woman if you could have retained the power as a man, or you literally can't become male again." She waited for Stanton to hold up one finger. "So this power has to be significant. I believe you will be requested by house Sharptooth-Raveel to partake in some pointless ceremony."

"You don't get a say in that?" Angel asked, looking at Stanton.

"She's my mom, Angel. No, I don't get a say in it. In fact, you'll be coming too. Besides, it'll be easier to test this new predictive system if I have." Turning to look back at his mother, Stanton nodded. "Just arrange it through the school so I don't get in trouble for skipping."

"Of course. I look forward to seeing what this is all about, but until then, I have an invitation for another ball for you to attend." It was simple magic, but it was nonetheless not the easiest for Clarissa to perform. She produced a small piece of card from thin air and passed it to Stanton. "And you will wear a dress again. I will have several other young ladies wearing them, and they'll need someone to chaperone them—shielding them from disbelieving stares and even more disapproving looks. Once you start a movement, dear, you aren't going to be done with it until it has succeeded."

Watching her son walk back out, Clarissa let out a slight sigh. Once the door was closed, she let out a bigger one. "This wasn't precisely what I had planned for him, but part of his schooling is to become more powerful. I wonder if I should buy him a dress for his birthday?"

"He seemed rather well-balanced, all things considered," Rufus Raveel-Shaprtooth-Shootingstar said as he stepped out from behind a well-placed hanging drape. "You should go easier on the lad."

Clarissa's first instinct was to get angry—that was purely a werewolf thing and she'd spent a long time training herself not to follow said instinct. "I am going easy on him, dear. I'll support Stanton no matter his choices in life. He is my son, after all, even if he decides he's my daughter instead."

"You're smiling." Walking up and putting himself in the personal space of a werewolf of Clarissa's power would have been suicide if she'd been upset with him, but Rufus tilted his head up at the right angle to meet her lips as they were offered. "Which means you're loving every second of this."

"Mmm." Clarissa had been surprised to find herself in love with Rufus after all these years, but didn't regret the revelation at all. Stealing another kiss, she replied, "Perhaps, but publicly I will have to be at least a little conservative in my opinions."

"Do you really, though? Perhaps this is a chance for the Sharptooths to be the change they want in the world?"

Letting out a little gasp at the indiscretion of what her husband's hands were doing, Clarissa plastered herself against Rufus. "Perhaps. I will speak with my mother."

"You know how that will go," Rufus said, his attention slowly shifting away from the conversation to more immediate events. "Your mother would rip the nation in half for you if you pouted at her."

"Perhaps. Perhaps—" Freezing and stepping back from Rufus, Clarissa salved his surprised look with a wink. "Come, we should return to the party."

Flicking out his magical senses, Rufus was eternally thankful for a vigilant wife as he felt the presence of a watcher. "Of course, my darling. We can't have anyone talking about a married couple having an indiscretion at a ball in a private room. Why, if we were to find someone eavesdropping, there's no limit to the lengths we'd each go to—to ensure they could never speak again." His last words were appropriately dark and full of promise.

"Don't be silly, dear. I'm sure no one would be that stupid."

----------------------------------------

"So, what happened?" Cassandra asked, once they were on the train home. She was done with Stanton's excuses about why he couldn't tell her about the talk with his mother. When he looked evasive, she focused her power and put up the strongest privacy shield around them she could—one that would actually zap anyone who attempted to spy on them. "Now tell me."

Sighing dramatically, Stanton didn't bother to test Cassandra's magic—not with how much power she'd put into it. "Nice spell. Familiar really juicing you up with anything electricity related, huh?" At her continued glare, he held up both hands placatingly. "Sorry. Okay, so Mom is not angry with me, but she was surprised. She doesn't like surprises. I didn't find Dad, but everyone's commenting on how they've become closer."

"Weird."

Stanton almost jumped at the single word response. "What?!"

"All of you. Your parents, your relatives, even your servants, but especially you—you're all weird." When she'd finished saying what she'd gotten a little carried away with, Cassandra realized how judgmental she'd been. "I don't—"

"No. No I get it, Cass." Standing up, Stanton wished he'd had the foresight to bring more masculine clothes—or at least some that weren't quite aristocratic ball ready in a feminine cut. "I'm going to cool my head a little. You might want to do the same." Sliding the door open, Stanton stepped out of the two room suite that he'd arranged for their trip back and then closed it again behind him. He turned toward the front of the train and started walking.

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Slumping back in her seat, Cassandra snarled and almost lost her form she was so angry. "It's not fair! Why does he have to be a noble? This would be so much easier if we could both just—" She had to squeeze down on her anger and draw it back before she shredded the dress she was in.

Cassandra had never had a temper before. She'd gotten upset at the usual array of idiocy, but a quick zap with a little electricity had always solved such problems. No, this was new. With Stanton out of the room, though, she only had her own distractions to decrease her anger. Closing her eyes, Cassandra tried to count backwards from a thousand.

When she got to nine hundred and seventy-six, she gave up and opened the door. "Where would Stanton be?"

Walking to the other suite in the carriage, she paused at the footman waiting at the door. "Did a young m—woman go in?"

The footman shook his head. "No, ma'am. I saw the other young woman walk to the other end of the car."

Retracing her steps, Cassandra followed the directions of the footman and used the doors to swap from the carriage she was in with the next one forward. There were two doors to keep the noise of the wheels on the rails from interrupting conversations, but the moment she'd opened the inner one she was barraged with children's laughter.

Moments before Cassandra walked in, Stanton was working through a magic trick. He was cheating, of course, by using real magic. He had pulled ten gold coins from behind one child's ear, he'd loaded dozens of peas under a single cup for a cup and balls game, and at that exact moment he was turning every card in a deck of cards into the same thing for his latest trick. "Is this your card?" he asked, revealing what was the little girl's card—and dropping several that were the same as it.

"How'd you do that?!" When Stanton passed her the deck of cards, the girl looked at them and squealed another laugh. "They're all my card!"

Taking back the cards, picking a few up, Stanton shuffled them and passed the whole deck back to the girl. "Well, of course they are. Your card was special, remember?" It was such a simple bit of fun to make children laugh, but it was perfect for distracting him from his anger at Cassandra.

Even better, Stanton was only getting started and, while starting to patter and keep the young ladies focused on his words, he was able to work the magic needed to complement the sleight of hand he was familiar with to good effect. Hearing the door behind him open and close almost made him stumble.

It was Cassandra, Stanton knew. He didn't give her time to interrupt his little show, though, and kept talking about how it was important to keep your eyes on the cards, showing the cards off only when he needed a distraction from doing something else to prepare for the final work of the trick.

"St—I'm sorry."

It was the two words that could distract him from his work. Pausing a moment and looking back at Cassandra, Stanton could see that her makeup has been ruined, but not from crying. There were smudges here and there and cracks in her foundation. "A second, please, Cass?"

The words rekindled Cassandra's anger, but she clamped down hard on it before it got worse. She nodded and stepped back to the doorway to watch him instead.

Doing two more tricks, Stanton had to beg them to let him leave. "Please, please, I need to go talk to my friend." A glance at the girls' parents revealed twinkling eyes and looks of appreciation for providing the distraction. He tried to beg them with his own eyes, pleading and promising anything if they would—

"Come now, you need to let the nice lady get back to her cabin. We'll be getting off the train soon, anyway." Sparing a wink for Stanton, the mother quickly drew her complaining daughters (and their friends) away to give the "nice lady" some room.

Slipping into the rear wagon again, behind Cassandra, Stanton waited until they walked all the way back to their cabin before he was willing to discuss anything. There was a difference between being in public and being able to be overheard, but he wasn't willing to risk anything. "Well?"

"I'm sorry. I went too far."

"'Too far'? Cass, sometimes you don't stop talking about the evils of social privilege. I don't mind you making a few, warranted, jokes. But, Cass, you were getting nasty for no other reason than being nasty."

It was a challenge, and a direct one, and Cassandra couldn't contain her urge to get angry. The suppressed fury from early rushed up and she could feel the air around herself start to crackle with static. Stanton, though, didn't back down. She would kill him, she knew. She would turn into her dragon form and rip him into little, stupid noble pieces and then hate herself for the rest of whatever insane life she had. Balling her hands into fists to hide her growing talons. Turning, she slammed the door open and ran to the back of the train, cycled the doors and stepped out into the night air.

After a moment's hesitation, she jumped off the back of the train, ripping free of her dress as she let herself change back into a dragon, and set about finding something to beat up.

"Is this a me thing?" Stanton closed the door and reached up to knock on the hat box his mother had given him. "Angel?"

Yawning, poking her head up and out of the hat box, Angel looked down at Stanton. "What?"

"I might have screwed up with Cass." Slumping back on a chair artlessly, Stanton felt when Angel alighted on his lap and slid a brush into his hand. He would be lying if he said he minded brushing her, though, so he started doing exactly that. "You know how she likes to get annoyed at nobles doing stupid stuff?"

"Yeah. Mostly they deserve it."

"She called me and my family 'weird'," Stanton said.

"Aren't you? I mean, you're a cute girl pretending to be a stinky boy—most of the time."

Not expecting that particular reply, Stanton's mental processes stumbled. "Y-Yeah. But it was the way she—She's never really targeted me with it like that." He paused for a moment, listening to himself again in his head. "Am I an idiot?"

"Finally. Finally! Stanton, do you know how long I've waited for you to ask this question?" Jumping to her feet, Angel spun around and looked up at Stanton. "Yes. You're an idiot! Say it out loud with me!"

"I won't brush you if you don't tone-down the sarcasm." Holding the brush away from her and delivering a single raised eyebrow, Stanton waited for Angel to close her mouth. "Right. So, am I being an idiot—in this one specific case?"

"Hrmm. Yes." Angel waited until she was sure Stanton was about to demand she continue, and continued anyway. "First, you should have told her if this bothers you. Then, when it did, you should have asked her to stop and talk to her about your feelings?"

"But I—She should have known I—" Stanton's hand stopped and he almost dropped the brush. "You're right, Angel. What should I do?"

"My best advice, Stanton, is to shut your trap and brush me. Cass will calm down and she might, one day, talk to you again. If or when that happens, then you apologize for not telling her how far your limit is." Giving a firm nod, as if she were the smartest little wolf in the world (which she actually was), Angel waited for the brushing to start again. When it did start, she smirked where Stanton couldn't see.

Running through Stanton's head, now, was the scenario and how he'd acted. All his life he'd been trained, tested, and trained some more to handle every social situation. He'd let his tolerance of what Cassandra saw as the usual ribbing about his nobility get in the way of being honest, when he should have told her how he felt. Wrapping an arm around Angel, he ignored her little gasp as she woke up and carried her into the other room where a pair of wide bunks were.

"What are—? Oh. Yeah, I'm a bit tired too." Angel completely ignored the fact that she'd already slept a little already and yawned to show her willingness to sleep on something more comfortable.

Stanton set Angel on the bed and started the arduous task of removing enough of his dress that he could lay down. The outer skirts, of course, could be slipped off. He stuck with the petticoats, though, since they wouldn't show and were marginally compressible. Undoing the bindings on his hair, he let it cascade down his back and hang freely before jumping up to the large, top bunk and falling asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow.

----------------------------------------

The train was slowing down. Stanton turned on the bed and sat on the edge, his legs hanging over the side as the locomotive drew to a stop. He was about to slip off the bunk when he heard the door of the suite bang open.

"Cass? Is that—?" Stanton's question died in his throat when he heard the distinctive chime of armor in the other room. He faced a uniquely female situation that he was about to be seen by someone in a state of undress that, though it didn't show anything, he would need to play up as though it did. He could try to find a weapon, or…

When the man opened the door to the sleeping room, he saw a young noblewoman who had finished pulling her dress into place. She looked, to his untrained eye, beautiful. Her hair was long, her cheeks flushed, and she stared at him for nearly five seconds before she started screaming.

Stanton wasn't exactly trained for the situation, but he'd read enough raunchy stories to know what the average person would expect a noblewoman to do if her bedroom was invaded. He screamed and screamed until the man threatened her—which is when he closed his mouth with an audible snap and made his eyes as wide as possible. "If—If you hurt me, Daddy will—"

"I'm not going to hurt you unless you start screeching again, but we are going to keep you in our rustic tavern for a few days, until your daddy pays us for your lodgings." Grabbing the woman's arm, the brigand looked around the room. "Where are your things?"

"I was traveling light. Daddy said the train would be arriving before full dark, but we got delayed, then I had to attend a ball, and then the carriage was leaving, and then Daddy said we should use the teleporter, and then it was being worked on, and then—" Stanton stopped rambling when the man had finally had enough and open-palm slapped him. His urge was to catch the man's hand and use his magic to knock him out, then a disguise spell to look like him. It would work until someone asked something only the brigand would know. "Y-You hit me…"

"Shut up. Shut up. I won't hit you again if you keep your mouth closed. I—"

Stanton, steeling himself mentally for another slap, broke into tears. Not merely a little crying, big, whooping gales of tears that he resisted the urge to augment with some water magic. He knew that anyone could pick up a little magic, and even if the little girl hadn't sensed him using his—the brigand might. The hit, when it came, caused Stanton's cheek to sting.

Of course Stanton could have dealt with the brigand. Even if the man had far more magic in his repertoire than Stanton suspected, he could deal with him. But, he didn't know if there were other hostages. He needed information and the best way to get it was to play along and pretend to be exactly what he appeared to be.

He wasn't surprised when, faced with his stunned self, the brigand grabbed him, threw him over one shoulder, and started marching out of the suite. It suited him, though, because it meant he could go limp and pretend he'd fainted.

Carried out into the hall, he could hear the sounds of shouting coming from further forward on the train. In the back of his head, Stanton made a promise with himself to punish these people for each and every person harmed.

"What you got there?"

The shout came from the back of the train. Stanton didn't risk moving and looking up, not when it would give his game away.

"Some noble girl. Can't be more'n sixteen. Figure someone'll pay us to get her back."

The brigand carrying Stanton jostled him a little. Seeing it as his chance, he jerked a little and started kicking his legs. "Let me go this instant!"

"Danyrn, what in the eleven hells have you got?"

The female voice, speaking with authority, made Stanton lift his head and look at her. She wore a sword on her hip and had a long knife on the other accompanied by two wands. Wands meant, at the very least, that she could use a magic device. "Put me down right now or I'll—"

Laughing, the woman walked down the hall toward Stanton. She had an air of danger about her. The light studded skirt she wore over leather leggings didn't do much to hide the curves of her hips, nor did the light cotton shirt restrained by a leather corset hide much of her other assets. When close enough, she reached out a hand toward Stanton and gripped his jaw.

"What's your name? Don't lie, I can sense it."

That was a problem for Stanton. There absolutely was magic, both innate and castable, that could detect lies. The only way to bypass such was to not lie. "My mother called me Louise Silverclaw." He said this, of course, slightly muffled by her grip.

"And is there a name you'd prefer we call you?" the woman asked, tilting Stanton's jaw a little before releasing it.

"Lupin." It was the truth. All the absolute truth, and for that Stanton was relieved. His mother had called him that earlier in the evening. He would prefer anything but that name. "Who are you?" he added.

"Your kidnapper. Put her down, Danyrn, I think she's over whatever fit of the vapors she was having. If my guess is right, Lupin, your parents would pay money for you?"

Gulping and trying to straighten his dress, as if it was the most important thing to look good, Stanton pretended he couldn't get the words out, stuttering the words—before finally nodding.

"Then my name is Lorissa, and you're now my guest," Lorissa said, putting an arm around Stanton, grabbing his rear on the opposite side, and drawing him to her side.

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This story is released under the Creative Commons BY-NC-SA license. If you are paying money to see this or the original creator, Damaged, is not credited, you are viewing a plagiarized copy of the story.