Three's Company

The hallway had been quiet for several minutes now. Stacy remained where she was, arms folded tightly across her chest, one heel tapping an increasingly impatient rhythm against the floor. The red paisley minidress felt shorter than it had when she'd put it on, although that was probably because she'd spent the last hour standing around in it while waiting for Evan and Debbie to finally finish doing... well... each other... on the other side of the bedroom door.

Honestly.

Young men were supposed to have energy, but this was ridiculous.

And Debbie should have been embarrassed. She was eight years older than Evan, for heaven's sake. Eight years! What kind of grown woman looked at a nineteen-year-old university student and thought, "Yes, that's exactly what I want"?

Stacy's mouth tightened.

"Not that Evan is anything special," she muttered.

A sharp little pinch went through her chest. Stacy winced and immediately glared at the ceiling.

"Fine. He's... not horribly unattractive."

Another faint sting.

"Oh, come on."

The Master Manual had apparently decided that insulting Evan, even privately, was now one of the things that required correction.

Your Master deserves respect. Do not demean him, even in jest.

Stacy rubbed her chest and scowled. This was becoming absurd. She couldn't even complain about the man who had basically enslaved her without the universe reaching into her body and correcting her like a disobedient child. And yet, as much as she hated admitting it, the insult would have been easier to make before she remembered what came with the first round of changes in her life.

Before he'd taken the second potion.

Before she'd become this version of herself.

After Evan had drunk the first potion, there had been a time when Stacy had looked at Evan and wanted him. Really wanted him. The memories were still there, even though the feelings attached to them had become something complicated and difficult to recognize as her own. She remembered the way she'd chased after him. The things she'd said. The embarrassing enthusiasm with which she'd thrown herself into a relationship that was very similar to that of Evan and Debbie's. A relationship that she probably would have sworn that she, herself, would never have pursued.

Her face warmed.

"Okay," she whispered, admitting her own vulnerability to the magic. "Maybe 'never' is the wrong word."

That was not an admission she intended to make twice.

A glance at the small clock on the hallway table made her stomach tighten.

It was getting late.

Stacy knew exactly what happened if she and Evan tried to sleep apart now. The potion had already made that lesson painfully clear. Whatever bizarre logic governed this new reality, it apparently considered the two of them being separated at night to be some sort of problem that required immediate correction. And with nobody else making a move to resolve the situation, she decided to act.

Putting her ear to the door, she listened. She could hear no movement in the bedroom. With a sigh, Stacy raised her hand, hovering over the wood, getting ready to knock.

This was going to be awkward.

She had no idea how this was supposed to work. Debbie was in there now. Debbie, of all people. Her best friend, except Stacy wasn't entirely sure whether that description still meant anything anymore. Debbie had become Evan's girlfriend without the slightest indication that anything unusual had happened. As far as Debbie was concerned, this was perfectly normal.

And apparently Stacy was expected to fit into it.

The thought made something twist unpleasantly inside her. Not jealousy. Absolutely not. It was irritation. That was all.

This entire situation had been between Stacy and Evan for days. They had been the only two people who understood that something was wrong. The only two people who knew that the world had changed around them. The only two people forced to deal with the humiliating consequences of the magic.

Now Debbie was here, mixed into the situation in ways that made Stacy feel more than uncomfortable. Somehow, having to make space for Debbie, remembering that Stacy wasn't the only woman entangled with Evan, made it feel so much worse.

Stacy moved her hand and gave the bedroom door a soft knock.

Nothing.

She waited.

Then she knocked again, slightly louder. Not too loud, though. There was no reason to be rude.

Your Master should never be kept waiting, but your haste should never cause you to offend him.

Stacy lowered her hand.

"Yes, I know," she said through gritted teeth.

She waited another moment. Then Evan's voice came from the other side.

"Come in."

Stacy's hand was already turning the handle before she'd consciously decided to obey. That was the part that terrified her the most. Her body simply moved. Her mind was still intact, her personality, but she was completely unable to resist a direct command from Evan.

The door opened, and Stacy stopped inside. The bedroom looked as though a small storm had passed through it. Sheets and blankets had been kicked onto the floor, pillows were scattered in different directions, and Evan and Debbie were sprawled across the bed in the aftermath of their evening together. Completely naked.

Debbie looked utterly content. Her hair was wild, her makeup had been thoroughly ruined, and one arm rested comfortably across Evan's stomach as though she'd been sleeping there for years.

Evan looked considerably less comfortable. That changed when he locked eyes with Stacy, at which point a look of relief washed over his face.

Stacy immediately looked away. She had seen Evan naked before, thanks to the first potion and everything it had done to her life. That wasn't the problem.

Debbie was the problem.

Seeing her friend like this made the entire situation feel much too real. Too intimate.

Too crowded.

"Oh, good," Debbie murmured sleepily. "I was hoping you'd be here soon."

Stacy glanced back. Debbie smiled at her, apparently without a trace of embarrassment.

"I'm getting tired, and I'm sure my man wants some sleep, too."

My man.

The words landed strangely, almost like an insult. And they stung to hear. Stacy wasn't sure why.

"Right," she said.

Debbie stretched lazily before settling back against the pillows. "Be a dear and tidy up the bed before you get in. And don't take forever getting changed. We're not doing anything special tonight. I think we'll just sleep."

Stacy blinked.

"Changed?"

"Of course." Debbie gestured vaguely towards the closet. "Tomorrow you can have your fun. Tonight just wear something to sleep in."

Stacy stared at her. Have her fun? What exactly did Debbie think was happening here?

A quick glance at Evan revealed that he looked about as confused as Stacy felt. At least she wasn't the only one.

Then a new sensation began. It wasn't quite an urge. It wasn't quite an instruction. It was more like the sudden certainty that there was something she was supposed to do, and that if she stopped resisting long enough, she'd know what it was.

Stacy turned towards the closet.

The last time she'd opened that door, the universe had apparently decided that she needed to become Evan's maid. The memory alone made her jaw tighten. This time, however, the closet was completely different.

Neat.

Organized.

And enormous.

Stacy stared.

"Holy..."

The closet seemed to stretch farther than the bedroom itself should have allowed. Rows upon rows of clothing filled the space, carefully arranged and separated into sections. There were men's clothes, although Evan's selection appeared surprisingly small compared with everything else.

The rest looked like hers. Why hers? Why wasn't this Debbie's closet? Stacy stepped inside, curiosity briefly overpowering her irritation. Then she saw the first row, which made it obvious whose clothes these were.

Maids' outfits.

She stopped. There were dozens of them. Different colours, different styles, different levels of modesty, although "modesty" was clearly not a priority for whoever had stocked the place. Some were dresses. Others were little skirt-and-top combinations. Some looked like variations on uniforms while others seemed designed by someone who had started with the concept of "maid" and then immediately decided that the outfit needed considerably less fabric.

Stacy's eyebrows rose higher with every step.

"What the hell?"

What followed the maid outfits were a series of sexually themed costumes. Cheerleaders. Superheroines. Librarians. Then, apparently, the closet's magical designer had run out of sensible ideas.

Sexy hand sanitizer.

Sexy crayons.

Something that appeared to be an attempt at a sexy SpongeBob costume.

Stacy stared at it for several seconds, unable to stop herself from imagining each costume on her as she passed.

"No."

The urge returned, gently pushing her onwards. There wasn't time to investigate the rest. She followed the sensation to another section, where the clothing became much more appropriate for bedtime. Nighties, bras, panties and a selection of more elaborate lingerie filled the shelves. Some of the pieces reminded Stacy uncomfortably of things she might once have worn for David. She pushed that thought aside.

Not tonight.

Whatever Debbie had meant by "have your fun", Stacy knew one thing with absolute certainty. She was not climbing into bed beside Evan and Debbie dressed like they were, wearing nothing at all. She would find something in this closet to wear if it was the last thing she did.

Her hand settled on the most conservative nightie she could find. That turned out to be a green one, with delicate floral needlework worked into the lace. It was still far more revealing than anything Stacy would have chosen for an ordinary night's sleep, but compared with the rest of the closet, it practically qualified as a winter parka.

"Good enough."

She changed quickly, dropping the red paisley dress into a hamper beside the closet. Something that she would have to take care of later, thanks to her new role in the house. But that was for tomorrow. Tonight she needed to get some sleep.

With that, she returned to the bedroom. First came the bed. Stacy picked up the sheet from the floor and carefully spread it across Evan and Debbie. The blanket followed. At least having something covering them made the situation marginally less awkward. Debbie rolled onto her side, then shifted towards the edge of the mattress.

"There," she murmured. "Room for you."

Stacy stood beside the bed. Evan looked at her. She looked at him. Neither seemed to know what to say. Finally, Evan gave a helpless little shrug. That almost made Stacy laugh.

Almost.

"Get the light before you climb in," Debbie said.

The instruction wasn't magically binding in the way Evan's commands were. Stacy could tell the difference now. Still, it was a clue. A reminder of the role everyone expected her to play.

Observe the needs of the household. Anticipate what is required. Do not wait to be instructed unnecessarily.

Stacy sighed.

"Fine."

She crossed the room and switched off the light. Darkness settled over the bedroom. For a moment, Stacy simply stood there, listening. The house was quiet. The bed creaked softly as someone shifted beneath the covers. She could feel Evan's presence even without seeing him, an awareness that seemed to have become permanently lodged somewhere beneath her thoughts.

Suddenly, Stacy realized how strange it all was. Not because she was about to get in bed with two naked people who had just finished having sex. But because for all the humiliation, anger and resentment, there had been something almost private about her struggle with Evan. They had been trapped in this together. Every bizarre command, every impossible change, every argument and every moment where the magic had forced them closer had belonged to the two of them.

Now there was another person in the middle of it.

Or perhaps, more accurately, another person had been added to it.

Stacy didn't like that. She also didn't like how much she didn't like it.

Slowly, she climbed onto the mattress and settled between them. Debbie's warmth was at her back. Evan's was in front of her. Stacy lay on her side, facing him, and pulled the blanket up to her shoulder. Nobody spoke. For several minutes, she remained rigid, waiting for the awkwardness to become unbearable.

Instead, something unexpected happened.

The tension began to drain away. Her muscles loosened. The knot in her stomach softened. The room felt strangely secure, as though the three of them had fallen into precisely the arrangement the magic had intended all along.

Stacy hated that feeling. She hated the comfort of it. Most of all, she hated the quiet certainty that settled over her as her eyes grew heavy.

She was safe.

She was complete.

She was at peace.

Nestled between Evan and Debbie, surrounded by the warmth of the two people the potion had somehow woven into her life, Stacy finally allowed her eyes to close. The last thought she had before sleep claimed her was bitter and deeply resentful.

She hated her life.

She hated the potion.

And she hated how hard she had to work to remind herself of those facts.