Stolen Alchemy

Catherine stepped back, and looked at the makeshift dress she had managed to put together. She had been forced to shorten the dress to gain extra fabric for the adjustments of the top. This wasn't exactly ideal as it left her legs bare from the knee down, but it would at least allow her to go outside without being indecent. And it was definitely preferable to wearing nothing but a shawl to cover herself.

After a little struggle with the unfamiliar clothes, she managed to get dressed. The stitching wasn't perfect, and it was still quite tight around her chest, but as long as she didn't lift anything heavy it should be able to withstand her straining cleavage. She wondered what Peter would think when he saw her. She had intentionally made sure the outfit wouldn't be too hard to shrug out of, as every time she thought of her husband she could feel her arousal rising again. She suspected that when she next saw Peter, she wouldn't be keeping her clothes on for very long at all. However he wouldn't be home for a while yet, and she wasn't sure what to do until he arrived.

Normally, she would be preparing dinner around this time, but right now the cupboards were mostly bare (mainly due to her somewhat uncontrolled binge earlier). When she had awoken that morning she hadn't wanted to go outside for fear that she might hurt someone accidentally with her newfound strength, but she was starting to reconsider that decision. When stitching together her new outfit, a task that required a lot of finesse and care, she hadn't had any problems. She could feel the strength was there if she needed it, but she had not broken anything or accidentally applied too much strength to a task all day. Experimentally, she picked up a scrap piece of fabric from her earlier work. The cloth wasn't exactly the best, but it was strong enough. She grasped the scrap with both hands, and started to pull it in different directions. The cloth resisted and stretched, just as one might expect. But when she decided to apply a little of her new strength, the fabric instantly ripped in half as her intent translated to an increased application of force.

Happy that she could control her strength and wouldn't accidentally hurt anyone, Catherine decided to go out to the market. It was late in the day for shopping, but there should still be a few traders about so that she could get some groceries for dinner. If she was quick she would be able to have a proper meal ready and waiting for when Peter came home. She grabbed her wicker basket and a cloak and then headed outside, eager to get some fresh air. It was a bright day, and she found herself nearly skipping on her way to the market.

About an hour later, Catherine was walking much slower, the exuberance faded. Her basket was full, but her trip had been somewhat unsettling. She hadn't actually considered how other people would react to her new appearance, and the experience had been extremely strange. Her first stop had been the baker's stall, but even though she had known the baker for years he hadn't recognised her at all and he had just treated her like a normal customer instead of a regular. Her experience with most of the other vendors was the same. Thankfully, there were some people who recognised her and greeted her by name, although it seemed to be mostly older people and children who recognised her without any problems.

As she chatted and caught up on local gossip she got a few comments about how she looked healthier, or compliments on her outfit and hair, but that was about it. Not a single person commented on the fact that she had gained a stupendous pair of breasts that now dominated her chest. The entire experience was disconcerting, as people either didn't recognise her at all or else just acted like her current appearance was normal and expected. She did catch a few of the men staring at her chest a little longer than was polite, but she had a feeling they did the same for any woman with a noticeable bust - she simply had never had obvious enough assets before to have caught their attention.

She walked home slowly, wondering about why people were not reacting to her changed body, and if Peter would even notice how much she had changed since he had left that morning.

*******

Peter whistled to himself as he walked home. It was strange that he hadn't seen Alexei at the shop, but he considered this a boon as he headed home earlier than expected. The sky was finally clear after yesterday's rainy weather, and the sun was shining. The cobbles were still damp in some places, but the rain had washed the worst of the dirt into the gutters and things were starting to dry out again. His bag was heavy with the weight of the books he had pilfered from Alexei's office, but Peter hardly noticed the additional weight in his eagerness to get home.

Unfortunately for Peter, not everyone on the streets was feeling as upbeat as he was. The apartment he shared with Catherine was in the poor part of town, and there were plenty of souls there who lived on the wrong side of the law. The shortest path to his home was through a maze of narrow alleyways, and Peter wasn't paying as much attention to his surroundings as he normally would have.

Engrossed in happy memories of Catherine's vigorous wakeup that morning (and wondering what additional delights he could look forward to when he got home), he didn't notice the shifty figures who started to follow him through the alleyways. He was on the final stretch home when a calloused hand grabbed his shoulder and spun him around. Startled, he found himself confronted by two rough-looking men dressed in clothes that were little better than rags. The one who had spun him around was short and pudgy, and held a wicked-looking knife in one hand. Peter froze, his eyes riveted on the blade. It was spotted with rust, but somehow that just made it look even more dangerous - he had a nasty suspicion that at least some of the stains on the blade were dried blood. The man holding the knife grinned, revealing a mouthful of broken yellow teeth. His companion was a wiry man with a ratlike face, with a huge boil on the end of his nose and a crude wooden cudgel in his hands.

The man with the cudgel slapped it into his hand threateningly as he spoke, "Oy fella, give us that sack ya got there. And any money ya got too. An' don't even think about trying to cause trouble or run. Ye make a funny move or try yellin fer help and we'll cut ya up good"

Peter glanced from one man to the other. He didn't recognise either of them from the area, and they looked desperate. Both men were thin from malnourishment, and he could see purple blotches on their nostrils that implied they were users of Fairy Bliss, a highly addictive hallucinogen which allowed users to escape reality while at the same time eroding their minds. It was popular amongst the desperate and hopeless, and these two definitely matched the stereotype of addicts.

Peter slowly raised his hands as he considered what to do. Despite the ruffians threats, running seemed like the only sensible option. He wasn't far from the end of the alleyway, and he was pretty certain he could outpace his assailants. He doubted they would continue to give chase once he got out of the alleyway and onto the street.

He spun to make a run for it, pivoting on his heel and leaping forwards, but before he could take a second step something hard and heavy smacked solidly into his stomach, knocking the breath from his lungs. The initial strike was followed up with another swift blow to his side that sent pain lancing through his body and caused him to fall to the ground, and he was sure that the impact must have broken a rib. As he fell to the ground he looked up and saw a third man had snuck up behind him. Unlike the other two, this man was well-fed and wearing decent clothes.

"Well done lads. Looks like you hooked a nice little morsel here, but you need to make sure you block both ends of the alley next time. This fella was about to make a run for it. If I wasn't here watching out for you, he might have gotten away." The man's voice was low and gravelly, and as he spoke Peter saw that he had two gold teeth. In one hand he casually held a 2-foot long unadorned metal bar (the weapon that had so painfully cut short his escape attempt), and Peter saw a brief flash of something on his wrist. He only caught a glimpse but Peter was pretty sure it was a gang tattoo of some kind. The man looked down to where Peter lay on the ground, and gestured at his bag. "So...what 'ave you got in that bag of yours little man? Looks pretty heavy."

Peter rolled against the wall, hugging the bag to his chest as he did so. "Just...just books. I don't have any money or anything." His stomach and ribs were aching, and it was painful to breathe. He kept nervously glancing back and forth between the two addicts and the big man with the metal bar, unsure which was the greater threat at the moment.

"Books? What's a fella like you doing with a bunch of books?" He shrugged. "Ah well, doesn't matter. I'll find a buyer whatever it is. Boys, get the bag and search him for a purse." The man levelled his metal bar at Peter, the tip hovering just in front of his nose. "Take a bit of advice here lad, don't resist. If you scream or anything I'll break your skull before any help could possibly get here."

*******

After dropping off her groceries, Catherine had decided to take a short walk to clear her head and ponder her experiences in the market. She was on the way home again when she heard a faint cry. She turned, wondering where it could have come from, but couldn't see anyone in distress. It was odd, because no-one else seemed to have heard it (or at least they weren't reacting), and somehow it had made her think of Peter. As she thought of her husband, something drew her towards a lane between the houses. She wasn't sure why, but she felt her pulse quicken and she picked up her pace. Entering the lane she saw it was mostly empty. There were several narrow footpaths and alleys that opened into the street, but there was no-one about. Yet, as she walked, her heart began to beat faster and she felt deep within her that something was wrong. She continued onwards, steadily increasing her pace until she was nearly running, and soon found herself standing at the end of an alleyway looking at three men looming over a fourth.

Catherine stopped dead as she struggled to make sense of the scene before her. Then the man on the ground turned his head, and she recognised Peter. Suddenly, everything snapped into focus. All three men standing around her husband were armed, and he was clearly in pain. She could feel her blood pounding, adrenaline surging through her, but instead of acting she froze, afraid she might startle the attackers and cause further harm to her beloved.

The first person to notice her was Peter, and as he looked towards her she could see him start to open his mouth. But before he could say anything the tallest man lashed out with a black metal bar, smashing it into his face with a wet crunch and sending a spray of blood and spittle across the alleyway. The man tutted to himself as Peter groaned in pain on the ground. "I told you not to try and scream. Think of that one as a warning. Try anything else, and that smack will seem like a gentle love tap compared to what I do next."

The man with the metal bar had his back to her, and the other two were intently focused on their victim. It didn't seem like any of them had seen Catherine yet. She could still feel her fear deep down inside of her, but seeing Peter get hurt spurred her to action. She had to do something to help him. Without consciously thinking about it, she found herself striding down the alleyway towards the group of men, her hands balled into fists.

She got to within a dozen paces of the men before any of them noticed her. The thin man with a wooden club glanced up and shouted something. She made it another two paces before the heavily-built man with the iron bar started to turn. By the time he finished turning she was only six paces away. He had a nasty sneer on his face, and when he saw her he began to raise the iron bar in his hand. Time seemed to slow as Catherine caught sight of his weapon properly. There were bright red spots of Peter's blood on the metal, and seeing them stirred a primal instinct within her.

Power surged through her limbs and she closed the final few paces with supernatural speed. The man's eyes widened as she rushed towards him and he began to swing his weapon to strike, but to Catherine he seemed to be moving in slow motion. She reached out and grabbed the metal bar, easily stopping its movement. She could see a look of surprise on the thug's face as she ripped the weapon out of his hands and threw it away. She wasn't exactly sure what she was trying to do - she had never truly tried to hurt somebody before - but she was filled with anger and she struck out with her other hand without any particular target in mind. Her clenched fist collided with his shoulder, and the impact was accompanied by a wet crunching sound. The man was thrown backwards, crying in pain. The other two men were standing nearby, their eyes wide as they struggled to process what was going on. Before they could act she stepped forwards and grabbed the taller one's arm and tried to push him away from her bleeding husband. Her overwhelming strength more than made up for her lack of bulk, and the man's arm audibly dislocated as he was bodily flung into a wall.

The last man could tell things were not going to go his way, and instead of trying to attack her he brandished his knife threateningly in front of him, while simultaneously grabbing Peter by the hair to try and use him as a shield. Catherine reacted on instinct once more and before the thug had fully dragged her husband upright she plowed into the man with her shoulder, violently dislodging his grip on Peter's body. Unfortunately the force of the blow caused the addict's legs to buckle and Catherine could only watch in horror as the man collapsed in slow motion with the blade of his knife pointing at Peter. With a desperate shove she tried to save her husband but she only succeeded in partially deflecting the blow. A sickening ripping noise could be heard in the alley as the knife slashed into Peter and he let out a strangled cry.

Blood started spurting from his wound, staining his shirt red, and Catherine froze at the sight. The sound of the thug's limp form crashing heavily into the ground jolted Catherine out of her shock and she fell to her knees next to Peter trying desperately to stop the bleeding. She applied pressure to the wound, but this just caused Peter to scream with pain before falling unconscious. From the amount of blood it seemed that the blade must have sliced through an artery, and with every heartbeat more and more of his lifeblood was escaping.

She began to sob, and tears were soon blurring her vision. She could feel herself beginning to shake as the adrenaline started to wear off. There had to be SOMETHING she could do...then an idea came to her. She didn't know if it would work but maybe, just maybe, she could use her magic to save him.

Catherine forced herself to put her hands over Peter's wound. Closing her eyes to concentrate, she reached for the power inside her, and felt it respond more readily now that she was getting accustomed to it. She imagined a stream of healing energy flowing out from her and into Peter, but the power seemed reluctant to obey her. Focusing her mind, she strained with effort and eventually she felt something happen. It was as if a strand of her consciousness broke through an invisible barrier, and suddenly she had a sense of Peter's body. In her mind's eye it was as if he was made out of light, a semi-transparent form full of scintillating and beautiful colours. It was hard to make sense of what she was seeing, but there was a huge angry red and black area where he had been wounded. Not really knowing how exactly she could help, she tried to send a tendril of power towards this obvious target.

The effort of trying to direct her magic to accomplish something outside of her own body was tremendous. She had thought that just getting an awareness of Peter's body had been hard, but forcing her magic into him was ten times harder. Sweat started beading on her brow and she could feel a headache start to pound, but eventually she forced a tiny thread of energy to bridge the gap between them. She wasn't really sure what to do next, so she simply directed it towards his wound. The thread of power reacted sluggishly, but eventually it connected with the angry area in her mental map. Slowly, painfully, the dark colours began to change to healthier looking yellows, blues and greens. Before the angry colours had fully faded however, Catherine lost hold of the connection. She had been struggling to hold on, and the effort of maintaining it simply became too much.

Catherine fell back onto the ground, completely exhausted. Her arms were shaking, and she had a splitting headache from the effort of trying to heal Peter. When she finally managed to sit up again and open her eyes she looked over at her husband, worried about what she might see. He was soaked in dark blood, but she sighed with relief when she saw his chest rise and fall and there was no more bleeding. Peter didn't seem to be in immediate danger anymore, but his face was still twisted with pain and he had not regained consciousness. She needed to get him home.

Catherine's legs felt like jelly when she stood up. Despite her tiredness, she was confident she could still carry Peter. Gingerly she picked up her husband, careful not to cause him any more injury. She was somewhat surprised when she found his hand still gripping his bag tightly. She was tempted to simply leave it, but after a moment of thought she carefully took it from him and slung it over her shoulder.

The three thugs were still unconscious nearby, and she had to resist giving any of them one last kick as she stepped over their prone forms. She hurried through the streets as fast as she could, trying to ignore the alarmed looks she got when people saw the blood stains on their clothing.

By the time they got home, Peter's breathing had gotten shallower and he was worryingly pale. Catherine carefully laid him down on their bed and stripped off his soiled clothes. She grabbed a wet cloth and cleaned the dried blood from his body to get a better look at his wounds. There was fresh puckered scar tissue where he had been stabbed, but the skin around it was red and puffy. When she placed her hand on his forehead it felt like he was running a fever and the injury from the metal bar was beginning to swell and bruise. She couldn't tell what was going on, but she doubted she would be able to help him any more with her poorly understood magic.

She sat down beside the bed, wondering what else she could do. Her eyes landed on the remaining potion where it sat on a shelf. Maybe...maybe it could help him. It had healed her illness after all.

She took the bottle down from the shelf, but was unsure of how much she should give him. Peter had told her that he had found it difficult to stop the flow when he had given it to her from the bottle, so instead she carefully poured out a measure into a spoon. The fluid was rich and dark as it emerged, and she found it hard to take her eyes off of it. It was like a liquid ruby. Nervously, she opened Peter's mouth with one hand and placed the spoon inside. As soon as the liquid touched his tongue a red glow started to shine and Catherine nearly dropped the spoon in surprise.

Then she felt a short, sharp pain in her chest and something happened to her vision. The rest of the world became blurry, but Peter snapped into focus. She could see a tiny golden thread linking her to him, emerging from her chest and anchoring itself in the new scar tissue where she had healed Peter. She could actually see how the thread continued inside his body...but felt a little sick when she followed it. His wound had been stitched together, but it looked like the work had been done by a blind person - while drunk. Stray golden fragments were tangled like knots throughout his body, and she could see dark patches of unhealthy colours building around them.