Paparazzi Burning
Part 6. Melisante's Story
Melisante Erewan deftly attempted to extricate herself from the beefy Aalbanese wizard, who—despite having been knocked out by the sleeping potion Melisante slipped in his drink—still clung to her like a kraken to a sinking ship. The gossamer gown she was wearing as a disguise threatened to tear in the wizard’s lecherous grip and reveal more of the already exposed flesh it had so futilely covered. Melisante stopped to deftly pry the grubby fingers clinging onto the last few inches. She was tempted to use another spell, but she knew she would need the magic when the trouble starts—and she knew it would—at Herr Rolf Löwenroth’s hunting lodge and den of animalistic pleasures.
Melisante left Der Groß Thaumaturg and went to find Noussoir.
If it weren’t for the locating spell she had cast earlier, so that the two agents of the Paparazzi Glantri could track each other once the trouble started—which would begin any moment now—she might not have found him. (For one thing, Noussoir du Marais was disguised as a purebred Alphatian, magically bleached pale white—not unlike his albino “brother” Prince Malachie du Marais. In fact, if it weren’t for the hair, dyed black with blue highlight in typical Alphatian fashion, Noussoir would have been a spitting image of the White Wolf of Morlay.)
Melisante located Noussoir in the next chamber, his flamboyant turquoise-blue kihara strewn carelessly on the floor. Indeed, if it weren’t for the medallion of location, she would not have recognized that this pale skinned young man whose face was buried in the ample breasts of this buxom blonde lady.
For a moment, Melisante stopped to admire Noussoir’s naked back, its lean musculature clearly defined despite the bleaching spell, before she decided to interrupt the carnal scene.
“Alfons von Ebstein!” she hollered, shocking the entwined couple.
“Me-me-meli—”
Noussoir’s stammering was interrupted by a loud slap that knocked him out of bed and knocked the memory of remaining incognito in his head.
“Alfons!” screamed Melisante in mock hysteria, “Alfons! You promised your love to me!”
The blonde lady of decidedly genteel breeding decided to leave the scandalous scene in as decorous a manner as a naked gentlewoman could be.
When the two were alone, and Noussoir had regained his bearings and his dress, Noussoir cursed out, “Rad damn it! Why did you have to slap me?”
Melisante smiled brightly and innocently.
“Tee-hee-hee! We’re supposed to be working undercov—”
“Never mind! I know…” grunted Noussoir disgruntled.
“So,” Melisante inquired sweetly, “What have you found out? I hope you learned…”
“Oui! Monsieur Rolf is terribly frustrated in matters of the bed chamber with Madame Viktoria.”
“No, I mean…”
“Viktoria von Drachenfels has the flesh of a golem and her marriage with Monsieur Rolf has yet to be consummated!”
“But, Noussoir, what this have to do with the Paparazzi burning?”
Noussoir looked at Melisante blankly.
“Bon, nothing. It’s just what I found out from—”
All at once, the lodge was filled the sounds of screaming, panicked footsteps, the falling objects, breaking of furniture, as well as chirping, screeching, flapping, scratching, clattering of animals, birds, hooves, wings, paws and claws. Melisante sensed the magical reverberations of wizardry at work (She had cast the landscape of spell lore to monitor the spellcasting in the vicinity.)—transmutation magic, as she expected. But all this was disrupted by the blood-curdling roar of a lion.
“It has begun.”
The entrance of a scampering gazelle into the room confirmed it.
No sooner had Melisante and Noussoir seen the terrified creature that the poor thing was pounced upon by a large beast, its front paws grasping its flanks, digging into the soft pelt. The creature stood semi-erect, its hind legs draped with taters of what were once pants, its torso covered in tawny fur. And its regal, though thoroughly bestial, head was crowned in a full mane around its face, whose features were recognizable as the suspected lycanthrope, Herr Rolf Löwenroth.
The noble werelion turned its head, distracted by the presence of his two guests who had apparently escaped the polymorphing spell.
With one claw still dug deep in the flank of the gazelle, Herr Rolf drew a wand from the belt he still wore with his other hand. Herr Rolf pointed it threateningly at Melisante and Noussoir.
As planned, Melisante called upon a secret ability of hers, one she learned from the Secret Craft that others say betray her Erewan heritage. Before the shapechanging sorcery of the legendary Wand of Kersy struck her, Melisante’s form burst into ten white turtledoves, flying in all directions, some directly into Rolf’s face, providing Noussoir an escape.
When Rolf regained his bearings, all he could find of his prey were a few white feathers and an Alphatian silk kihara of turquoise and blue.
