his metamorphism, of course; and B.J. was blood of his blood. She would have all that was due to her in the fullness of time ... even if it took another two centuries for full development. But for now -
- She was a beguiler. That was her art: hypnotism. Aided by the wine, her eyes and mind would exercise such power even over this awkward subject, this Harry Keogh, that he would become as a toy in her hands: hers to command, to do with as she willed. And because she had never failed, B.J. never once considered the idea of failure.
In this she was surely fortunate, for Harry Keogh's metaphysical mind wasn't at its best. It resisted the Necroscope's contours; echoes of Alec Kyle's precognitive talents continued to shape it; its defences had been undermined by previous tampering. But Bonnie Jean knew none of this.
Now, drawing the small table to one side, she positioned her chair so that the chandelier hung just to the right of her head, where its scintillant pendant crystals continued to turn to and fro but on a level with her eyes. And in this position she faced the man on the lounger across eighteen inches to two feet of space, and said, 'Harry, now we'll do something else. When I tell you to, I want you to look into my eyes. Not now, but when I tell you. Is that understood?'
'Sure,' he said. 'But it's still your turn.'
Oh, he had willpower, this man! But so did B.J., and she also had the wine - and powers other than will - to subvert the will of others. 'But that game is over now,' she insisted. 'And at my command you will look into my eyes.' And before he could answer, if he'd intended to:
'Harry, this is no longer a "normal" conversation. Your mind isn't yours to control. You feel the effects of the wine. You feel ill as never before. Your brain is swimming. The room is spinning. Only I can stop it. Only my eyes can stop it!'
Harry's head began to loll on the cushions, to and fro, backwards and forwards. More beads of sweat stood out on his brow, forming damp spots in the permanent creases of forgoten frowns. But his pin-prick pupils never once left the pendants, even though his eyes roled to the motion of his face and head.
'You do believe me, don't you?' she went on. 'You do feel those effects I've described?' In combination with her purring, persuasive voice, the action of the delusion-inducing, suggestion-enhancing wine worked on Harry's mind to the desired effect. He was pale as death, panting now and beginning to convulse. As rapidly as that, he displayed al the symptoms of physical illness; in a little while he might even be sick!
And: Now! thought Bonnie Jean, reaching behind her back to the top of her sheath dress, finding the zipper, drawing it down, down, and shrugging the garment off her shoulders. Let it be now! For a moment the dress clung to her breasts, then fel forward and exposed her to the waist. She stood up, stepped out of the dress as it fel, and pushed down her panties. And once again: Now! Let it be now!
This would take some effort; it wasn't her time; the ful moon was B.J.'s time. But she needed more than her own strength now, more than the strength of her human eyes. Oh, Harry Keogh would listen to her as a woman, and obey her to a point. But as the Other she would be more powerful yet and have complete control over him, or so nearly complete that it wouldn't mater.
And seating herself naked before him, she turned her gaze on the chandelier and let its light fill her brain. It formed a softly glowing moon floating right there in her room, a gloriously full moon. A moon of strange powers, and one of change. And Bonnie Jean ... changed!
It was as if her flesh rippled; it was as if her colours flowed, especialy the colour of her hair, out of her head and into her body. The grey highlights were highlights no more but solid colour; she was grey, almost white. Her coat, pelt, fur, was white! And her eyes: their shape was angular now, triangular, or at least framed in triangles of white fur. And their size was huge, and their colour - was blood!
And Bonnie Jean's lips ... her mouth ... her teeth!
It