An eldritch monster gifts a magic artifact to a young waitress. It turns out better than you would think.
Tags: commission, demon, nsfw, transformation, transgender
“Welcome to Dave’s Diner!” Daphne said. “My name’s ■■■■■■.”
“And my name,” the patron said, not looking up from her menu, “is Mrs. van Brunt.”
“That’s a very nice name,” Daphne replied, hiding her uncertainty. Customers that introduced themselves were always, always a handful. “Can I get you a coffee, or a—”
Mrs. van Brunt glanced up from her menu, and Daphne felt her words catch in her throat.
The woman was older, somewhere in that timeless period between thirty and sixty, when the blush of youth gives way to the cold, hard beauty of experience. Her angular face framed the iciest blue eyes Daphne had ever seen, a touch of crow’s feet and a pair of pursed lips completing the image of a woman who had total mastery over her world.
She was, in truth, the most beautiful and terrifying woman Daphne had ever seen.
And she was smiling.
“I’ll let you in on a little secret,” Mrs. Van Brunt said conspiratorially. “You’re as much a ■■■■■■ as I am a Mrs. van Brunt.”
Daphne’s heart seized with a flash of panic. “I… I don’t know what you mean, ma’am. I—”
Mrs. van Brunt rolled her eyes and then waved her hand. Immediately, the diner noises just… stopped. Daphne turned to see the world frozen in time, mouths half open and eyes unblinking, silent and unmoving.
Behind her, the older woman had pulled out a silver cigarette case. “I empathize with your desire for privacy. But you’d be surprised; Dave’s a far better man than you might think. If he learned the truth, you wouldn’t lose your job.”
Daphne turned to face the clearly-not-actually-a-woman. There had always been rumors of monsters and demihumans, powerful beings that made mortals their playthings. Supposedly, they once walked the earth, until they broke themselves and retreated into the darkness. Dave swore up and down that he had cooked a meal for a vampire once, and sometimes—sometimes, when the sky was wrong and the taste of blood in the air, when the night dark and the winds strong, Daphne wouldn’t make eye contact with the diner patrons that walked through the door. It was too risky.
But this was a pleasant summer evening, and Daphne had already seen too much.
“You… did this?” she croaked.
“Like I said, I’m not actually a Mrs. van Brunt.” To accentuate the point, the cigarette in her lips flared to life all on its own. “The name is a convenient lie. It helps me pass. But you understand. That’s why we’re talking.”
The waitress kept trying to process what was happening, kept failing. So instead, she latched onto the most obvious detail that she could find: “There’s no smoking permitted in this establishment.”
Mrs. van Brunt flashed another look of annoyance, which was just as quickly replaced with a disarming smile. “Look, honey. Why don’t you sit down, and I’ll get you a cup of coffee.”
Suggestions from beings capable of controlling time weren’t really suggestions, so Daphne sat down at the booth while Mrs. van Brunt got up and nipped a coffee pot out of Dave’s unmoving hand and two mugs from behind the counter. Suddenly being served coffee, at her place of work, by a patron—by this patron, no less—were just more things Daphne tried to mutely process.
Mrs. van Brunt sat back down, the smoke from her still-lit cigarette mixing with the steam coming off the coffee; the gossamer strands flowed together, rising slower and slower until they, too, froze in place.
“My husband always said that I was terrible at making new friends. I… apologize for coming on as strong as I did.”
For the briefest of moments, the warm evening light caught Mrs. van Brunt’s eyes, and they seemed to glow with an inner blue fire, a contrast to the single yellow ember at her lips.
The waitress swallowed, her mouth dry.
“My name’s Daphne,” she admitted. “Daphne Wilson.”
“Daphne,” the older woman said, as if trying the name on for size. “That’s a beautiful name for a beautiful girl.”
This was the first time Daphne had ever talked to a stranger about herself, and the sense of vertigo almost bordered on panic. But here she was, sharing a moment of frozen time with some sort of eldritch being masquerading as a middle-aged woman; put in perspective, being honest wasn’t too bad.
“A lot of people wouldn’t agree with you.”
Mrs. van Brunt’s eyes flashed an intense ice-blue, a moment of wrath directed outward, past Daphne and toward an unjust world. An indictment. “A lot of people are wrong.”
She took a deep drag from her cigarette, collecting herself. “My husband would have liked you, I think. He could always see the good in people. That’s why he gave me this, before he passed.”
Mrs. van Brunt rolled her hand, and suddenly it wasn’t a cigarette between her fingers, but a ring: a band of onyx black, inlaid with a series of small, blood-red accent stones that ran the entire ring’s circumference. They were irregularly shaped, but set in such a way that it was clear they had once fit together.
“The stones are the tiniest shards of a much larger jewel, one that wielded immense power in its day,” Mrs. van Brunt explained. “People claimed the stone could topple empires.” She smiled a cold and predatory grin. “They’re lying, of course. No single stone can do anything. But the stone’s power lay in its ability to see into a person’s heart, to show them the world as it could be, and to help make that vision a reality.”
As with Mrs. van Brunt, the ring was the most beautiful, captivating thing Daphne had ever seen. And as with Mrs. van Brunt, Daphne knew it contained terrible, fell power.
“Daphne,” the monster across the table said, “I’d very much like to see what’s in your heart.”
Normal people didn’t accept gifts like this from things like her. “That’s very nice, ma’am,” the waitress stammered. “But if… if the ring can give you whatever you want, then… what… what do you need with me, ma’am?”
“But you don’t understand, Daphne. The ring has given me what I want. It led me to you.”
The noise of the diner came flooding back, and Daphne jerked around to see time righted, people eating and moving and talking again. She turned back to find Mrs. van Brunt gone, vanished into the smoke slowly dissipating in the orange evening light.
“■■■■■■, what the hells!” Dave shouted from across the diner. “Get off your butt and get that coffee pot back over here!”
“Yes, sir!” she said, blinking away the after-image of a vision that must not have existed.
Except it must have, she realized.
The ring of black and red was now on her finger.
All evening, Daphne kept forgetting about the ring on her finger. But every little bit, she would glance down and be startled anew, the encounter with Mrs. van Brunt a nightmare suddenly and vividly remembered in the light of day. Then it would slip away, a vague impression lost in rays of fading orange, until the current customer was satisfied and Daphne once again saw her hands.
Dusk became dark, and the customers slowly dwindled, until Daphne was alone with her thoughts.
It never occurred to her to try and remove the ring. She simply stared, sometimes rolling it around her finger, but always equal parts enthralled and afraid. It was beautiful in its own way, like an approaching storm or a poisonous tropical plant, all colors and death.
Like Mrs. van Brunt, Daphne reflected.
But the more the waitress thought about it, the less the fear seemed to connect. In the wrong context, sure, a storm or a plant could be bad. But they weren’t malicious. They had their place in the world, too. Maybe this ring and Mrs. van Brunt were similar—after all, one felt dread in the face of both the awful and the awesome.
Daphne scrunched her face, debating with herself. Where was this waffling coming from? It wasn’t like her to second-guess first impressions. Mrs. van Brunt and the ring were dangerous, and…
But…
The way her eyes had glowed, and the way she had looked at Daphne. Like she could see Daphne for who she was, truly and completely.
A rustle came from the kitchen, bringing the waitress back to reality. Dave! Him and his vampire stories, and his generally occult-inclined mind. Maybe he could shed some light on all of this.
Daphne stepped into the kitchen, but not before smoothing the front of her slacks and re-tucking her polo shirt. Dave kept his kitchen meticulously clean, and he demanded the same level of detail from his employees. And true to form, Dave was in the process of removing one of the stove’s heating coils to get at the pan-burner beneath, hunting a final piece of grime.
“Hey Dave, I’ve got a question for you.”
Dave continued scrubbing, but bobbed his head in acknowledgment. “Watcha wanna know, boss?”
Daphne opened her mouth with every intention of asking about magic jewelry and weird ladies and freezing time, but she glanced down at the ring and changed her mind:
“I’m actually a woman.”
Dave kept scrubbing away. “So what’s your question?”
“I, uh,” Daphne stammered. “That wasn’t…”
Dave slowed his cleaning. “Did you know I’m not actually the Dave?”
“I… what?”
The cook finally decided the stove was clean enough and turned around, flipping the rag over his shoulder. “The Dave of ‘Dave’s Diner.’ That was my dad. I’m Dave Junior.”
Daphne narrowed her eyes, trying to parse what her boss was getting at. Was he making fun of her?
He looked out, over the kitchen serving window and toward the dining area beyond. “People come in here, they think they’re getting the original Dave experience. But that’s not really who I am. The truth is, I didn’t even want to run this place. I just didn’t know how to tell my father ‘no.’” He turned to face Daphne. “I think I’m trying to say that I’m happy you’re figuring out who you want to be. You’re brave for acting on that, and I support you.”
Then he looked surprisingly serious. “But I guess I don’t really know what that means. Do you want me to keep calling you ■■■■■■? Should I order you a different cut of shirt or, I don’t know, a skirt?”
Daphne didn’t expect this outcome—she had thought that she would be the one on the back foot, asking questions about accommodation and nervously carving out some modicum of respect. “No, it’s good. I, uh, I’m still figuring some stuff out, and I don’t want to cause any problems here at work. I don’t really want to tell anyone else about… me, yet, if that’s alright.”
Of course, that wasn’t the truth. She did want to tell people. Or, more accurately, she wanted to never have to tell people anything ever again. She was tired of the secrecy and tired of the lies and tired of the constant negotiation between this or that identity. Even this fleeting moment of triumph, with a boss that was being half-way decent, felt like a pyrrhic victory. She just wanted to be. Was that too much to hope for?
On her hand, the ring pulsed, a flash of warmth that drew attention to her spoken lie.
The ring.
She looked down at it again, marveling at how its jewels still twinkled in the kitchen’s poor fluorescent lighting. Mrs. van Brunt had said something about the ring looking into someone’s heart and helping make their dreams a reality. Could it be that simple?
Hells, it was worth a shot.
“Dave. Dave.” It took a moment for the cook’s flustered question-asking to wind down. “It’s alright. I’ll let you know what I need. But I want to ask, about what you were saying earlier: if you could do anything, what would it be?” Daphne swore the ring was vibrating with anticipation.
“Oh, right.” He smiled sheepishly. “Don’t get me wrong, I really like being a cook. But that’s really all I like, ya know? I like making food and I like making people happy, and I think I do both well. But I don’t like being… in charge.”
Daphne felt the ring’s power reach out, and she could see Dave’s heart: large and grand and beautiful, but crushed under the weight of unwelcome obligations and preempted dreams. All this incredible potential and love, squandered and smothered and dying.
And so she willed those choking tendrils away, and with their loosening Dave became more and more animated, his words increasingly energetic and certain.
“There’s payroll to deal with, and employees to supervise, and supply orders to arrange. It’s so much, all the time. I just wish that… I just worked here, you know? That it wasn’t some profession that was integral to my identity. That I wasn’t the Dave of Dave’s Diner, that it wasn’t even my diner. That the success or failure of this business didn’t consume every one of my waking thoughts. Do you know I have a dog? I feel so guilty leaving him at home alone as much as I do. I wish I worked here less and spent more time with him. Just… being happy. Being me.”
He stopped to catch his breath, and in the silence the ring’s warmth slowly ebbed, its work apparently done.
“Thanks for letting me get that off my chest, boss.”
“Yeah, don’t mention it,” Daphne said, distracted and confused. Nothing seemed to have changed. Was the ring’s great power the ability to… make people talk about their fears? She sighed, disappointed. “Just… try to make more time for yourself, okay? This place will keep standing, even if you take a day off now and again.”
“You got it, Daphne.”
“Wait,” she froze, a trickle of fear running down her back. “I never told you my name.”
Dave looked at her like she was crazy. “Boss, of course you have. Hells, everyone knows your name. It’s on the sign outside. I mean, this is Daphne’s Diner.”
Sure enough, the neon sign out front did say Daphne’s Diner. The interior decorations had subtly changed, too, reflecting the “new” owner’s aesthetic sensibilities. A few photos were mounted on the walls, apparently cataloging Daphne’s culinary career, and newspaper clippings from several years back shared a story about how she had returned home from traveling abroad intent on opening her new restaurant, head filled with recipes and—in her words—a “burning desire to feed her hometown the best food a girl can make!”
So the ring could change reality. Maybe.
At first, Daphne just accepted that it had done some light interior decorating—impressive, but nothing that a person couldn’t do, given enough time. Then came the dawning realization that the new reality she was looking at was exactly that: a new present, built on changes that seemed to go back years. She had gone to a school she had never applied to, met people she had never seen, knew recipes she had never cooked.
Memories of all those happenings were slowly creeping into her mind, ghostly dreams walking out of the fog and given form, made real. And with them came a new awareness—that the pictures and the articles and the memories were talking about her, about her as her. Daphne panned down to look at herself, then gasped as her head shot up and she saw her full height in the reflection of a diner window.
The woman she saw was Daphne, the version of herself she had always wanted to be, the one she had envisioned in her mind’s eye when she had begun to transition. This Daphne was a little taller and a little older than she remembered, but her femininity was self-evident. Her blouse and skirt were slightly conservative, appropriate for the owner of a wholesome family diner, yet even they couldn’t hide the subtle curves of her breasts and hips. Long, beautiful legs ended in a pair of dainty pumps, while the blood-red ring contrasted nicely with her painted nails and a light dusting of make-up. She ran thin fingers across her throat and chin, unable to contain a little squeal of joy when she found no trace of stubble or Adam’s apple.
Daphne shifted her thighs enough to confirm that she did, in fact, still have a dick. But the discovery bothered her far less than she thought it would; if the photos and articles were to be believed, this version of the world didn’t care about what was between her legs, and that brought her a great deal of comfort.
The tinkling of the opened front door brought Daphne out of her revery, and the waitress-cum-restaurateur turned to greet the customer, as if for the very first time.
Her smile turned fragile, and a tightness clutched her heart. It was Nessa.
When he had been the owner, Dave made it clear that any of the local homeless were welcome to come into the diner for a bowl of hot soup or a cup of coffee, a tradition that Daphne now remembered continuing in this new world. In both realities, Nessa was their favorite—which is to say, Nessa made their hearts hurt the worst.
She never spoke and never met their eye. In truth, Daphne didn’t know what the woman looked like under her rags. The way she carried herself, with a defiantly straight back; how she carefully reorganized the jelly packets at her table, the largest show of appreciation she was able to muster; how she kept her face too close to her steaming cup of coffee, the better to hide her silent tears—it struck a chord with Dave and Daphne.
So Ness got her soup and her coffee and a short, quiet moment of privacy in a booth all her own. In truth, the food and drink were an afterthought; the true succor was the momentary, fleeting restoration of Nessa’s dignity—which, in its own odd way, came from just letting the women sit and eat in silence, unharassed. And what else could either Dave or Daphne do? It wasn’t as if they could heal the ailments that plagued Nessa, or restore her youth, or build her a home, or…
Or…
… except Daphne could do precisely all of that.
She stared at Nessa’s back, thinking.
It had been one thing when she had inadvertently changed her and Dave’s lives; her actions had been motivated by ignorance and doubt, not intent. But if she did this, where would it end—a hundred billion new photos, each recording a life never lived?
Daphne closed her eyes, visualizing Nessa’s heart. Maybe what she found inside would—
—she hesitated, uncertain of what she was seeing. And then she gasped in horror when she finally did.
Dave’s heart had been caged but strong, beauty slowly giving away under the pressure of crushing tendrils. But Nessa, all she was was tendrils—a mass of writhing coils, pain and illness and suffering in the shape of a human. They squirmed and bled, wounds like cavernous maws, consuming the life that had fallen into them. Etched on each was a different tale of woe, interwoven tragedies compounding upon the next. A happy life, upset by unexpected illness. The growing strain of the wasting disease, physically and emotionally. The financial cost of treatment. The maliciously oblivious family, the shrinking pool of friends. The lost job, the choice between food and medicine and housing. And then finally it wasn’t a choice anymore: just food, taken from trash cans and given by well-meaning strangers.
A spark lit within Daphne’s chest, a dagger of anger stabbing deep. That this was what a life would come to—the injustice of it moved her from sadness, to anger, and then determination. She could fix this. She should fix this. She visualized taking hold of a tentacle and crushing it in her hands, the ring’s power searing away the coils and freeing the true Nessa, buried somewhere below. Just a few moments, and—
“Alright, get on up.”
The distraction snapped Daphne back to the world of matter and substance, and she felt the ring’s power flare out, momentarily free of her guidance. Then her eyes focused on what was unfolding before her.
Someone else had come into the diner unnoticed—by the looks of it, a policeman. He was short and round, nothing more than a soft pastry with a gun, but damned if he wasn’t using every ounce of his height and weight to lord over a homeless woman.
“Lady, you heard me. I’m going to need you to stand up and—”
Daphne frowned, trying to understand what was happening. “Officer, is there a problem here?” she asked crisply.
The pudgy man turned slightly, his girth inviting Daphne into the conversation. He looped his thumbs into his belt in an attempt at a disarming gesture, but the move only accentuated the holstered pistol at his side. “Evening, ma’am. Got a complaint about a suspicious person here at the diner. Just checking in, asking this lady here to move on along, out of your place of business.”
“That’s a pretty remarkable claim there, officer, considering there’s been no one here to place a phone call in hours.”
The officer shifted again, hands moving off the belt. “Just what the dispatcher told me, ma’am. Now if you’ll help—”
The anger that had taken root in Daphne’s heart was still there, growing hotter and brighter. “No. No I will not. This woman is a guest of my establishment. No one here called the police on her. No one here wants her gone. The only person who needs to leave is you. Am I clear?”
The policeman sighed, the splitting image of reason and justice confronted with irrational emotion. “Look, ma’am. I’m just trying to do my job. Keep people safe. I think there’s been a misunderstanding.”
Daphne felt as if her whole chest was alight with fury, and from the way the policeman blanched, she knew the anger had reached her eyes, too. “A misunderstanding.” She didn’t need the ring’s power to see this man for what he was. She had known men like him all her life. “A misunderstanding.” A veneer of civility, even kindness—but underneath, a gnawing hunger, an endless lust for “respect” and “order” and pure, unadulterated power. “You came into my business, confronted my guest, on a fabricated pretense, so that you could—”
“Ms. Daphne.” A soft-spoken voice interrupted her anger, and both Daphne and the police officer turned, surprised, to see Nessa slowly step out of the booth she had been sitting in.
The woman stood tall, her back straightening to its full height for the first time in years. But then she kept growing, and as she did, her rags sloughed away, revealing a fashionable one-piece dress beneath. Her dark skin began to glow with the flush of health, and it was clear that her head was now shaven from personal preference, not illness. Her jawline was strong and her bearing resolute, but her eyes were soft and her voice kind. “Ms. Daphne,” she repeated, and the world hung on her quiet words. “I’m very sorry for this inconvenience.”
Daphne was agog at the woman before her. She doubted Nessa had been hiding this body under her homeless wraps. The restaurateur thought back to the jolt of power that had escaped from her grasp when she was interrupted, and then how her own anger had burned high, unrestrained. Free from her influence, responding to her unspoken desires—whatever the case, the ring had transformed a sick and homeless Nessa into a striking woman who radiated a calm power.
“Vanessa,” Daphne answered, flustered in the face of such strength and beauty. “Ma’am. There’s not been any inconvenience.”
Vanessa smiled, and Daphne flushed from the sight. “You’re too kind. But it was still imprudent of me to bring my pet along. My apologies. I had thought it better trained than this.”
She trailed off as she turned to look at the policeman. Under her gaze, he stumbled back, confused and terrified. “Stay where you are,” he stammered, one hand up, the other reaching for his sidearm. “I’m warning you—”
“Hush,” Vanessa whispered. “You have nothing to say that’s worth hearing, pet.” The line was spoken without malice, with genuine warmth, a statement of self-evident fact.
Daphne watched in amazement as black ichor, the bile that had filled the man’s heart, burst forth across his flesh, eating away his clothes and coating him in a second skin of latex. His equipment, his badge, any marker of his individuality dissolved away. By the time the latex reached his face—filling his mouth, plugging his ears, covering his eyes—he was clearly an it, devoid of individuality, mute and deaf and blind.
It teetered, and then sunk to all fours beside its mistress’ side.
Vanessa stooped to pick up the leash running to her pet’s throat, a slight look of annoyance clouding her features. “I had very much hoped to stay longer, but it seems that I need to take Pet back home.” She leaned down to give Daphne a parting kiss on both cheeks. “Do say hello Dave for me, love. He owes me a phone call.”
The door tinkled on her way out, and Daphne stared after the pair, bewildered.
Suddenly, Dave burst out of the kitchen. “Gods dammit Daphne, I told you to let me know if Vanessa came in! I, uh—”
“—owe her a phone call?” his boss replied, playfully ribbing him.
His certainty and energy immediately evaporated, and he looked around sheepishly. “Did I tell you I met her in the park, when I was walking Daisy?”
“Your dog. Your damn dog, Dave. That’s all you ever talk about!” But Daphne was smiling, and even she had to admit that Dave was looking happier and more fit, now that he had reduced his hours and started to focus on his personal health.
The cook just smiled back, a touch of admonishment in his voice. “Yes, and dogs are a great way to meet new people. You’d know that if you had one. Anyways, I was walking Daisy and ran into Vanessa. She’s a really great person, and we hit it off. She even gave me her number. I’ve been a little intimidated to call, though. I mean, at the time I didn’t even realize I was talking to the owner of The Police Station, she was just so friendly and—”
“The Police Station?” Daphne asked, suspicious of what her ignorance meant.
Dave cocked his head to one side, confused. “You doing okay? You keep spacing out on me. Yeah, The Police Station. ‘Greatest burlesque club in the world?’” He waved at a photo on the wall. “You even broke your ‘no catering’ rule for their grand opening.” He shook his head, retreating back into the kitchen. “Sheesh, boss. It’s like you can’t remember anything today.”
Reality was changing again. Or had changed again. Tense was weird when the past was in flux.
The lighting took on a reddish hue, and the food names became double entendres, Route 69s and Route 666s, double stuffed and creamed. The newspaper clippings were joined with playful pin-up illustrations—tasteful, but a straight-laced family would find plenty to disapprove of. Grime built at the edges of things and the faintest hint of old cigarette smoke hung in the murk—it was still a diner, but only just this side of a dive.
Daphne loved it.
Now that she understood what she was experiencing, she could appreciate the ring warping reality. She ran her hands along her blouse, delighting as it shimmered into a more provocative mini skirt and crop top. Her hands reached higher, appreciating the heft of her breasts, and she fantasized about changing her body further—taller, stronger, longer hair, morphing her dick into a clit.
And then she realized that she didn’t actually want any of that.
Daphne paused, returning to the thoughts that had begun to bud before Vanessa had walked in. It was an alien experience, feeling that the person she was and the person she wanted to be where one and the same—that the body she inhabited was as it ought, a hand in a perfectly fitting glove. It was making her feel new things, strange things.
Her animating rage was still there, of a sort. The target of her ire had crawled out of the diner on all fours, and it took with it her burning anger. But the gentle warmth left in wrath’s place was filling her with a dizzying delight. She thought back to how magnificent Vanessa had looked, and she felt a tingle in her chest, one that hardened her nipples and got a rise out of her dick.
Daphne furrowed her brow. She was… horny?
Years of misunderstood desire and repressed feelings suddenly snapped into place. Attractions and interests that she had ignored for years, impossible and painful to process, now made sense. She liked what her body had become, and now… now, she wanted to do things with that body.
The doorbell tinkled again, and Daphne shot up, startled out of her revery. “Welcome to… the Devil’s Diner?” she said, only now realizing the restaurant’s name had changed again, too.
It was a trio of young adults, probably university students—a tall, well-built man, flanked by two smaller women. “See,” he was saying, “it’s fine.” He flashed Daphne what he thought was a disarming smile. “We’re not going to lose our immortal souls eating here.”
The two women looked around uncomfortably, and the one on his right—a darker skinned girl, the tips of her neck-length hair dyed a vibrant purple—crossed her arms in clear dissatisfaction. “Chad, it’s not that, it’s just… could we get the food to go?”
“Awww, you gals are no fun. Alright, look at the menu while I take a piss. Spoilsports.” Chad gave Daphne’s outfit an approving wink, then whistled his way to the bathroom, grinning lewdly at each and every pin-up on the way.
The two women scooted into a booth, unhappily looking around. Daphne felt for them. This was her establishment, but she knew her tastes weren’t for everyone. She didn’t like to see people get dragged into situations that made them uncomfortable. “Hey,” she said, forgoing her usual introductions. “We’ll get your food out and you on your way in no time.”
The woman with the dyed purple tips turned to her friend, a mousey girl who hadn’t looked up. “I knew he’d do this,” she snarled. “I’m sorry, Kristy.” Then she finally acknowledged Daphne, paring back some of her emotion. “It’s not your fault. I don’t like this place’s whole… thing, but you’re very honest about it. But not my boyfriend! He wanted to stop here, and I told him and told him that we wouldn’t, but…”
“We’re on our way back from a church camp,” Kristy murmured, still looking down. Her brown hair appeared a rich black in the diner’s odd light, and her skin seemed unusually pale.
Daphne’s lips turned downward. “Gods, it happens more often than you’d think.” Purple hair stared, and Kristy was intrigued enough to finally look up. “Like, I made this place with a very particular atmosphere and clientele in mind and, no offense, it wasn’t for girls like you.” They amiably shrugged. “But fathers and husbands—it’s almost always men—keep dragging their so-called loved ones along to eat here, as if embarking on some sort of self-gratifying trip of sexual discovery at the sex-lite diner. It’s really frustrating!”
The two women sitting in the booth smiled, feeling an unexpected kindred with their fetish-y waitress. “Men,” the first woman said, with an affected eye roll. “I’m Violet, by the way. You know, with the purple hair.”
Daphne laughed. “Violet and Kristy. Nice to meet you both. Order something, and we’ll get it out to you as quick as we can. You might disagree with the atmosphere, but Dave’s cooking is world class.”
She turned to go, but then thought better of it. There was something about these two women—some core of longing, or absence, or unhappiness that seemed to cling to them. And maybe that was true about everyone who came into her diner, but not everyone was currently sitting in front of her.
So Daphne turned back toward the two girls. “You know what. You both look down and out-of-sort, so here’s the house special tonight: whatever you two wish for, you get.”
Violet smirked. “Within reason, right? Like, ‘don’t spend over 15 bucks’?”
“Or outside of reason! I don’t care. Anything you want. But there’s a catch—”
“I wish I knew if you were telling the truth,” Violet interrupted, still thinking Daphne’s offer was operating at the level of food and jokes. Instead, her eyes immediately went wide in surprise, as knowledge of the ring and its power entered her mind.
And then her eyes turned an incredible shade of gold; in the dimness of the diner, they glowed with an eerie, almost malevolent light.
“But there’s a catch,” Daphne continued. “Every time you wish for something, you change a little bit.”
“How?” Kristy asked, oblivious to her friend’s confusion or changes.
“Well, you did enter a devil’s den, honey. Some golden eyes here, a pair of horns there. If you’re not careful, you’ll end the night with a job at this diner.”
“Kristy, wait!” Violet finally blurted out, recovering from her stupor. “She’s not joking.”
“What do you—oh crap, your eyes!”
“She’s not joking,” Violet repeated. “She has some sort of ring. It can change reality. I wished to know if she was telling the truth, and I learned all about it. Did my eyes change?”
“Yeah, they’re… all glow-y and golden. A little sinister, a little sweet. Pretty sweet, actually,” Kristy replied. She looked contemplative for a moment, then faced Daphne. “Alright. I wish for more confidence. Like, Chad-levels of confidence. You know, that sort of absurd belief in yourself that only a guy like him can pull off. I want that, without turning into an asshole.”
The restaurateur nodded approvingly. “Simple enough. And now your eyes match!”
“What the hells, Kristy? Why would you do something like that?”
“First, like I said: your eyes look amazing. I mean, they’ve always looked amazing, but now they look even better. Two: now I have amazing golden eyes! And three: getting amazing golden eyes is a small price to pay for having the courage to tell you that I love you.”
For the second time in quick succession, Violet was completely shocked.
“I mean, at least I think I love you. You’re cool and smart and funny and you care about people and you’re cute and… and… and… I just wanted to be able to say that do you. Chad is a complete loser, and even if you don’t like me, you deserve someone better. I just wish you could see yourself the way I see you—oh shit.”
Both girls clutched at their heads: Violet, as even more alien knowledge flooded her mind, and Kristy, as two cute horns pushed out of her head. The end result was that they were both left dazed.
“Hey Kristy?” Violet said, slowly recovering.
“Yeah?”
“I think I love you, too. I mean. Maybe. But I want to give it a shot—”
Violet was interrupted by Kristy suddenly pulling her into a kiss. In response, Violet ran her hands through Kristy’s hair, brushing a thumb along one of her new horns. Kristy broke the kiss with a surprisingly lewd moan, leaning into Violet’s touch.
“Oh damn,” Kristy panted. “My horns… they’re a lot more sensitive than… they look. That feels really nice. Wow.”
Chad took this moment to return. “Dang, what’s going on here? Are those new contacts? Did you get a horn-y headband, Kristy?” He laughed at his own joke, completely oblivious to what was actually transpiring.
Violet narrowed her eyes at her ostensible boyfriend. “Chad, I have a question for you. If you could wish for anything in the world, what would it be?”
“Oh, that’s easy. I’d want to watch you two make out!” he leered. “I kid, I kid!” he added, convincing no one but himself of that claim.
“You know what?” Kristy huffed. “You’re a complete slimeball. Gods, I wish… I wish that you looked like the pile of slime you are on the inside!”
For a moment, Chad kept lewdly smiling at the two women. But then his features began to soften and flow, melting like wax. Evidently, Kristy thought that slime should be green and slightly transparent, as that’s precisely what Chad’s body and even clothing began to melt into. Within a few moments, all that was left of the former asshole was a pile of burbling, semi-sentient goo, piled up on the diner floor.
“Oh, I… well, I guess I meant to do exactly that,” Kristy murmured.
“And nothing of value was lost,” Violet added breezily. “We can always wish him back, if we want. And the ring’s new changes look really good on you.”
Kristy looked down at her hands and lower arms, watching as the ends of her fingers changed to bestial claw tips, the skin darkening and reddened. They were very obviously the kind of hands a demoness might have. She looked into her new girlfriend’s eyes. “So… what happens now?”
Violet’s lips curled into a mischievous grin. “I wish I had horns like yours.”
“Alright girls, I’m headed out—GIRLS!”
Violet and Kristy started out of their kiss. “Yes, ma’am!” they said in unison, hurriedly straightening their uniforms.
Daphne put her hands on her hips, a look of annoyance marring her face. The two adorable devil waitresses bashfully avoided eye contact, their red skin blushing even darker from having been caught making out by their boss.
“Girls, when I hired you… fifteen minutes ago… you said that you’d at least keep the kissing to a minimum.”
“In our defense, boss, we weren’t succubi fifteen minutes ago,” Violet retorted.
“And we’re really hot,” Kristy pleaded. “I mean, have you seen Violet? How am I supposed to keep my hands and tongue off that?”
Daphne turned a withering glare at the impudent devils. “I’m trying to run a business here, and—dammit, you’re doing the thing with your tails again!”
The tails of the two succubi were wrapped around each other, teasing and playing even as the devils they were connected to looked downcast and chagrined.
“We’re sorry! It’s just really hard to control these new bodies! It’s like these tails have minds of their own!” As if to accentuate Violet’s point, her tail slipped over and slapped Kristy’s ass. The other girl gasped and giggled, then tried put back on a sullen face.
Dave emerged from the kitchen, pulling on a leather jacket over his white t-shirt. “Alright Daphne, did you tell the new hires that we’re closing up—”
“Aaaaaarrrgghhhhh,” Daphne groaned. “I was trying to put the screws into them one last time before leaving.” Daphne still looked annoyed, but it was now clear to her employees that was more an act than legitimate consternation. “Alright, fine! We’re closing early! Take rest of the morning off! But be back here for the evening shift! And clean all the tables first, you two! And remember to lock up when you’re—”
She was interrupted by Violet and Kristy crushing her in a hug. “Thanks, boss.” “We love you, boss.” “We’ll be back at 5pm on the dot.” “We’ll work all this out before we show back up, boss.” “Minimum one make-out break per hour.” “She means maximum.” “Maximum, maximum!”
Daphne and Dave made their final well-wishes and finally stepped into the dark, crisp air of the night. Through the glass, they watched the two young waitresses hurriedly clean, then stop to smile and bat their eyelashes at each other, then go back to cleaning.
“They’re absolutely going to forget to lock up,” Dave said in deadpan.
“Well, it’s not like I can fire the two succubi I just made,” Daphne replied, exasperated.
“Before we open in the evening, I’ll talk to them about appropriate work ethic, and FIFO, and all those good restaurant things that—aaaahhh!”
All 300 pounds of Dave’s muscle bowled over as a huge hellhound crashed into him, sending both to the ground.
“Daisy!” he shouted in surprise and happiness, as the large beast left steaming licks on his face. “How’d you—”
“Well, I was on my way to give you a lift,” another voice said, somewhere from the dark parking lot. “Thought I’d pick up Daisy on the way here. I think that’s why you gave me a key.”
“Nessa!” Dave cried, all smiles. He was almost wagging as much as the dog.
“You’ve not worked my devil of a boyfriend too hard tonight, have you?”
“Just the regular amount, ma’am.” It was Daphne’s turn to feel like a giddy demon waitress; gods damn it Vanessa wasn’t absolute beauty and class. Affable Dave was a very lucky man. But Daphne maintained her professional demeanor. “He did a great job showing two new employees the ropes. One of them might even have a cook’s touch.”
“Well, no one better be touching my cook—” Vanessa’s faux displeasure was interrupted as Dave picked her up in a big bear hug, laughing. Beside them, Daisy let out a blood-curdling howl of joy.
“If you need a ride, the offer stands!” Dave shouted over his shoulder, carrying his wife toward the car.
“No, that’s fine!” Daphne shouted back. “I need to… check in on an old friend.” She waved as they drove off, laughing and howling in the night.
The stars were still out, bright and clear, but the horizon was just beginning to lighten to a deep purple. In another world, she’d be clocking out right about now, clearing out for the morning shift. She could remember other hers standing just like she was now, breathing in the chilly air, appreciating the last hurrah of the dark. Behind her, she heard Violet and Kristy giggling out the front door; a moment later, one rushed back to actually lock it. “See you girls later!”
“Bye, ma’am! Thank you for the new job!”
Daphne looked up at the sign, its neon gleefully announcing
DEVILS’ DINER
OPEN: WHENEVER THE HELL WE WANT
She smiled. Brash and grammatically correct: perfect.
So apparently Daphne was now the proprietor of a restaurant. The former owner of the restaurant worked for her, owned a hellhound—how, she couldn’t explain—and was dating a burlesque domme. Said domme was the mistress of “The Police Station”—a club that Daphne maybe frequented?—and also her home town maybe didn’t have a centralized police force any longer. All of this came to pass because Daphne had been gifted a magic ring that liked to warp reality.
Oh, and she had two new employees, who were succubi and in love with each other. One of them had a former boyfriend—
Oh shit, Chad! Not that the man deserved any special treatment, but Daphne muttered a wish that he awake in his bed, restored to human form and deeply reflective of just how bad a person he was.
She rubbed her temples. She didn’t even know what her other employees were going to look like when she showed back up. She also didn’t know why she even ran a restaurant, not when she had this sort of power.
But those were thoughts for another day. Right now, she needed to thank the almost-certainly-an-eldritch-horror that gifted her the ring in the first place.
So with a thought, she opened a door to another place and, escorted by a sea of smoke and fog, stepped through.
She emerged onto the patio of a palatial estate. The sun was over the horizon now, an eye of bleeding red. An unfamiliar mountain range soared in the distance, and the air had an exotic, almost alien bite to it. Wherever she was, it was a far way from her old home.
On the patio was a long table set with coffee and morning pastries, and at its head, a black silhouette framed by the rising sun, sat Mrs. van Brunt. She fixed her glowing icy blue eyes on the interloper and frowned—a look, not of surprise, but of disappointment.
“You’re still human.”
Daphne threw her head back and laughed, humored by the older woman’s petulance. “I was just thinking about that,” she replied, her laughter dying out. “Or rather, I’ve been trying to understand exactly what you wanted to get out of this.” She sat at the far end of the table, unperturbed by looking into the rising sun. “I’d like a cup of coffee, please.”
“You could easily—”
Suddenly, Daphne’s eyes blazed brighter, a deep, rich orange that put the brilliance of the sun to shame. In the face of this spectacle, Mrs. van Brunt trailed off.
“I am trying to give you what you want,” Daphne said, her voice sharp. Her eyes slowly returned to normal. “A coffee, please.”
Mrs. van Brunt stood and ferried the coffee and sugar down to the end of the table. She carefully poured it, then moved to return to her seat.
“No, please. Sit here.” Daphne motioned to a seat beside her. Mrs. van Brunt did as she was told, an unreadable expression on her face.
“You shouldn’t look so out of sorts, Mrs. van Brunt.” She smacked her lips, dissatisfied by the taste of the name on her tongue. “No, that isn’t going to work anymore. What’s your given name?”
“Emelie,” the older woman said, an edge of anger to her voice. Anger… and something else.
“Emelie,” Daphne smiled. “What was it you said? ‘That’s a beautiful name for a beautiful girl’? It suits you.”
The woman who wasn’t Mrs. van Brunt glowered at Daphne. “I’m not some girl for you to mock.”
Daphne laughed again, and then, very softly and gently, she brought a hand up to Emelie’s cheek. “You’re scared. You want something, desperately, so much that it’s a pain lancing through your heart. You’re missing something, and you’re afraid of what you are without it. But you’re also afraid of who you’ll be with it, and of what you’ll become.”
She retracted her hand and motioned toward herself. “I get that. I lived that truth for far too long, and you gave me the power to set myself free. And now I’m here to help you. But you have to accept that.”
Very, very slowly, Emelie unclenched her jaw. She quietly took in the estate, her eyes eventually locking on to those far-off mountains, bright in the morning sun. “I’m… not a good person. And by that, I mean I am neither good nor a person. I am ancient and terrible, a thing that walked the earth before your kind had fire. And I have hurt people. I have destroyed things, good things, beautiful things. Simply because I could.” For a moment, Daphne could see an afterimage of a vast and eldritch monster, impossibly old and impossibly hungry, teeth and fang and pride and hatred.
And then it was back to being Emelie. She let out a ragged sigh, closing her eyes in thought. “I changed without knowing. My proximity to humans, generations of it… rubbed off on me. And then I met my the man who became my husband. He… he believed in me. He fought me, at first, and then he fought for me. He showed me I could be better.”
She nodded at those golden hills in the far distance. “Everything is worn down, everything will become dust. Even my rage and anger. But not overnight. My power is vast, and my anger deep, and both outlived the kindness and goodness of my husband. But my resolve? My self-certainty? Those passed all too quickly. Now that he has left me, I am unmoored.”
A sad, wry smile flashed across her face, and she looked into Daphne’s eyes. “It was much easier when I just leveled villages and demanded blood sacrifices. Things were simple.”
After that, she was quiet for a long, long time. Finally, she straightened her back and collected her thoughts. “I asked the ring he gave me to find me someone who could help me. I need someone who can keep me in check. I need someone who doesn’t put up with my bullshit. I need someone who is better than me. Someone stronger than me.”
Daphne smiled. “What you need is a friend.”
Emelie let out a mocking teeter.
The former waitress gave the woman beside her a hard, long look, as if probing for something. And then she sighed, steeling herself. “I think I’m going about this all wrong. I thought we could speak as equals, but you don’t want that, do you?” She stood, and her eyes began to again glow orange, brighter and brighter as she continued to speak. “You wanted the ring to twist me into something inhuman because that’s all you respect. Because that’s all you fear. You wanted the ring to make me into something that you could respect, and fear, and follow—someone who could control you completely, absolve you of your own ill-contained power. I was wrong; you don’t want a friend, you want a mistress.”
Her skin began to darken, and the teeth in her wicked smile were sharper now. Her voice deepened, rough and terrifying, the sound of a gale crashing on an unwelcoming shore. “I was content with the body the ring gave me. But not you. You wanted something more. Well, it looks like it granted your wish, Emelie.”
The ring’s fell magics fully took hold, warping Daphne into something stronger, taller, crueler. A claw, flesh red and talons black, clasped around Emelie’s throat. “Look at what your pride has wrought,” she growled, and Emelie lifted her eyes, starring up at her new goddess. The demoness’ eyes were incandescent, ethereal flame that burned with the fury of a star. Two short horns had grown from her head, spikes of impossible stygian black that swallowed the light of the rising sun. Equally black lips framed predatory teeth, wicked and white.
It was, in truth, the most beautiful and terrifying thing Emelie had ever seen.
Emelie lifted her eyes, and she smiled.
Daphne inhaled, savoring the smell of Emelie’s fear and joy and subservience. “How naughty,” the demon queen leered down at the sitting woman. “You’re getting off on this, aren’t you?” With the hand wrapped around the woman’s throat she exerted the smallest amount of pressure, guiding her out of the chair and to the ground. Emelie’s knees bent with no resistance; whatever anger and pride the not-human once possessed was melting in the heat of her lust, and Daphne was eager to see those traits reforged into bonds of servitude. “I asked you a question, girl.”
“Yes, Daphne. Mistress.”
“Yes, you’re what, girl?”
“I’m—ahhh!” Emelie gasped as Daphne snaked her spade tail between the kneeling woman’s legs, pressing against her mound, wet with need. “Yes, I’m enjoying this.”
Daphne smiled approvingly. “All I’ve heard from you is pathetic mewling, going on and on about your needs and your wants. Hells, I even came here, under the mistaken belief that what you wanted was important.” The demoness knelt, her hand slipping into Emelie’s hair, pulling her head to the side, forcefully baring her servant’s neck. “You have lived your entire existence, certain you were the strongest and scariest monster in the room,” she purred into Emelie’s ear. “I’m here to relieve you of that burden. I don’t care how old you are or how prideful you think yourself to be, Emelie. I don’t care about the good or the bad you have done. None of that matters now. From now on, for as long as the stars burn and longer yet, you are my pet, my girl, my plaything.”
“Yeessssssss,” Emelie moaned.
“Do you understand?” the demoness demanded, her hand slipping into Emelie’s pants. “Swear it to me, and cum.”
“Ah!” Emelie awoke with a start, consciousness bursting forth from the depths of a black stupor.
It took a long moment for her to process what she was feeling: she hurt. Her body was sore and groaned with pain from the slightest exertion. Her flesh was raked with claw marks. And her mouth was coated in ichor, or maybe—
—cum.
It all came rushing back to Emelie: how she had licked her mistress’ pussy, then sucked her dick. How they had fucked and fucked, the grounds of her estate echoing with her screams of pleasure and submission. How she had fallen asleep in her mistress’ arms, cooing words of devotion.
For an eldritch being as old as time, it had been a very unbecoming way to behave. But she was also old enough to give precisely zero fucks. There was one being alive that could judge her, and Emelie was laying at her feet.
“Good morning, Mrs. van Brunt,” that very being said.
Daphne was back to appearing human, mostly. Her clothes had morphed into a black latex number, and she now wore a pair of skintight shoulder-length gloves; Emelie knew from experience that their clawed tips were very real. In one of her gloved hands she held Emelie’s silver cigarette case, which she opened to remove a cigarette for each of them, tips flaring to life under her touch.
“Smoking will kill you, you know,” Daphne said, taking a drag.
“More nights like that one will kill me sooner,” Emelie replied groggily, trying to get her bearings.
Truth be told, Emelie was… disappointed. Not in the sex, nor in the very idiosyncratic relationship that had bloomed between herself and Daphne. Both were everything she had wanted. But… but if she were being honest with herself, she had hoped to wake up at the heel of a powerful demoness, not this… waitress. Why wasn’t Daphne basking in her new power? Was she too weak? Maybe Daphne didn’t have what it took to be her mistress. Maybe she couldn’t—
“I know what you’re thinking,” Daphne said matter-of-factly.
“I’m sorry, I—”
“First, I take whatever form I gods damned please,” Daphne airily continued, Emelie’s protests completely unacknowledged. “I like my body. I’ll wear it whenever I want to. I’m not beholden to your preferences for me. But maybe, if you’re really good, I’ll reward you with my more… demonic side.”
Daphne’s eyes blazed for a moment, and Emelie thrilled at the sight.
“Second, you still have your doubts about my power. There’s this gnawing sensation in your gut—a buyer’s remorse, if you will. ‘Have I chained myself to the wrong mistress?’ ‘Can she really control me?’ So I want to set your mind at ease by doing something you were never capable of.”
Daphne stood and took off her ring, the band of onyx black, inlaid with a series of small, blood-red accent stones. She dropped it to the floor and, with one swift motion, crushed it under her booted heel.
“Wha—?” Emelie cried out.
“I don’t need a ring to make me strong, pet,” Daphne explained. “I don’t live in fear of my power, nor am I yoked to something I can’t control. That is the difference between us, and that is why I am your mistress.”
Emelie was in shock. What kind of monster just threw away power like that? How could any thing have the stupidity, the willpower, the strength to just—
With a dawning horror, Emelie realized she knew the answer.
The demoness’ mouth split into a wicked and terrible grin. “I told you, pet. You are no longer the scariest monster in the room.”
And then it was simply a warm smile, and Daphne was extending a hand down to help Emelie to her feet.
“I’m famished. I know a place that makes some absolutely heavenly waffles. I mean, you ate there last night, but you only drank the coffee, so you don’t get a vote.”
Emelie blinked, still at a loss.
Daphne clasped her shoulders. “Emelie, dear. There will be plenty of time to teach you your place, and make you lick my boots, or eat me out, or blow me off, or any of the thousand million ways you can please me. We literally have an eternity to figure that stuff out. But right fucking now, I’m starving. And I can hear your stomach growling, too. So I’m making the executive decision that we’re going to eat some dope-ass waffles. Breakfast for dinner, at my diner.”
“Well, it seems only fair that the mistress gets to pick where we eat,” Emelie replied.
The demoness cupped her pet’s chin and tilted it up, forcing them to look at each other. “I told you that this relationship was not about your needs or wants. But that’s only true to the extent that you need to hear that, and maybe even believe it.” Daphne smiled, and for the first time in her very long life, Emelie blushed. “Me being the mistress means I’ve taken on a certain responsibility to you, and for you. I’ll only hurt you when you want me to, Emelie. But I also expect you to start taking better care of yourself. And that begins right now, with a full meal.”
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