Accept the offer

You don't feel as though you've much choice, of course. Still, you can't really bring yourself to speak, or even to nod, so you just duck your head a bit and look around desperately. Van Ark seems to think this good enough, though, and smiles.

"Excellent. Of course, the arrangement we have is not the sort that can be contractually enforced, so there is no point in putting our names on anything. You're a boy of your word, I'm sure, and that is good enough for me. Eh, Laurence?"

"He hasn't got a choice," says Laurence with soft malice.

"Oh, but he always has a choice," says van Ark as he takes out a cell phone and presses a few buttons. "Our job is to see to it that he is so contented that he is never tempted by the alternative." Van Ark turns back to you. "Now, as I say, you will be carrying on much as before, but as one of our employees rather than as a freelance spirit." He smiles abruptly, and you realize he thinks he has just made a joke. But you don't feel like laughing. "In return, you will be compensated." He takes a folded sheaf of paper from his jacket pocket, glances at it, and returns it. "It will be deferred compensation, and it will be invested on your behalf. You will receive an allowance that will keep you in ... oh, Gameboys or DVDs or sports bikes, or whatever the fancy of your generation is. And you will have time to enjoy them, during those hours you are not otherwise occupied in, well, occupying other people." Again, he smiles. "At the completion of your employment—a period covering five years—you will be offered a new position with enhanced compensation and responsibilities. If you decline, we will part amicably, and you will receive your deferred compensation. It will not be enough that you can live on the interest and dividends of those investments—unless you are very frugal—but it will provide you a sturdy cushion.

"But you must do exactly as you are ordered." Van Ark holds up an admonishing finger. "In time, you may be given a say in your assignments. But for the time being you are in a probationary period."

"What are these jobs?" Concrete talk has finally given you enough confidence to voice some of your doubts.

Van Ark smiles brightly. "You are intelligent enough to ask questions. Good! As I say, your job will require you to carry on just as you have been carrying on already. We run, Laurence and I, let us say, an escort service." His eyebrows shoot up in mock surprise. "You didn't think we were spies, did you? What kind of spies would employ fourteen-year-old American boys?"

"You like sex," says Laurence. "You'd better. You're going to get a lot of it."

As he's speaking, the door opens and a girl, no more than eighteen enters. Her glance briefly flickers over your face, showing no interest; she doesn't even look at the two men. Instead, she walks to the middle of the room, where she stands disconsolately, her eyes bent sadly toward the floor.

"This is Denise," says van Ark. "She's going to be giving you a ride out of here. It will cause much less notice than if you went out like—" he gestures at your pajamas "—like that."

Laurence takes a bottle from his pocket and holds it out; it contains a pill like the one you took many months ago. "Remember, we know exactly where you are," he says in a tone whose softness can't hide the iron underneath. "You've agreed to our proposal. Breach of contract in this case carries severe penalties."

You look at Laurence and van Ark and Denise. The two men look back at you patiently and evenly. The girl continues to stare at the floor. You feel like you're going to throw up.

You don't. Instead, with a ragged sigh, you shake the pill into your hand, close your eyes, and pop it into your mouth. You nearly **** as it goes down—the menace of what's to come is so different from the promise the pill seemed to hold those many months ago—but it's soon down.

And then you feel your body fade away.

Laurence and van Ark turn away; the latter crosses his legs and stubs out his cigarette in the arm of his chair. "Pray do not linger. It unnerves the girl."

You've taken may girls, most of them younger than Denise. But this feels like a violation, because she is expecting it. It is with vast **** that you step up to and then into her. As you feel your senses merging with hers, a deep shudder runs through her body. And then you're in a body again, clad in a simple skirt and sweater, with long, curly brown hair pulled back from your face. Usually you take a moment in these situations to run your new hands over your new chest and neck and arms. But this time you just stand mutely. Then you look up and nod curtly at van Ark.

"He's very good," murmurs van Ark approvingly. "One would have to know what to look for to see the act."

"He's had lots of practice," says Laurence. Van Ark ignores him, and stands. He's not a tall man, but he is taller than Denise, and you feel the difference in your heights as he looms over you.

"I must give you some friendly advice, Jay," he says. "Whatever her manner, Denise is a good girl, and I'm very protective of her. She is a mule, but that is no reason to take advantage of her. Stay out of her mind. Don't go snooping. And when you are inside her, don't do anything that would make her ashamed of you." He looks at you very seriously. "You will find her a good friend, if you treat her right. You will want friends."

* * * * *

Silence fills the air as you and your new employers take the elevator down into the lobby, and as you leave the hotel, and as you ride in a very new Mercedes through the winding streets of Paris into the fading, cloud-softened dusk. The car eventually pulls up to an ornate gate, which swings open to reveal a modest but very impressive looking metropolitan chateau. The door is opened by a plump, middle-aged woman in a starched uniform. She takes van Ark's coat and scarf without speaking.

"Jay, this is Brian," says van Ark pleasantly. "Brian, this is Jay, our newest employee." The woman avoids your gaze. Van Ark smiles. "You might be interested to know, Jay, that Brian is being punished." A shadow briefly crosses the woman's face as she turns to walk off with van Ark's things. You notice that she has a pronounced limp.

Van Ark gestures and leads you up a wide flight of stairs to the second floor, then down a brightly lit hallway. He opens one of the doors and ushers you into a small but ornately furnished bedroom: queen-sized bed (with canopy); vanity table; and a chair and writing desk. The tall window looks out over the small courtyard where the car is parked.

"This is Denise's bedroom; yours is still being prepared," he says. "You'll spend the night here, inside Denise. Please remember my caution from earlier." He runs his finger absent-mindedly along a bedpost and wipes away the film of dust from his fingertips. "I'll have to speak to Brian," he murmurs before looking back up at you. "Tomorrow we will discuss your new situation in earnest. Have a pleasant night."

You try the door handle after he leaves; you're not surprised to find that it is locked. The other doors lead only to a small private bath and a closet. The only way out is through the window.

You raise it and look out. The drop isn't far; the courtyard is small; and the gate is still open. If you made a quick and sudden dash you could probably be out of it before they could react. Once out, you could exit Denise—that might cause some confusion—and then you could float and run and hop from one body into another until you were far away. It would be a hunted existence; but maybe they would give up on you as a bad bet if you showed them at the start that you weren't going to be cowed and dominated.