Sympathetic Magic

Sympathetic Magic - 1/5

I

My grandma always told me the first rule of Sympathy is never to use it to harm people. Like murder, assault, or harassment, we have a word for it: malefaction. It’s not illegal; because the existence of magic is a secret, but that doesn’t make it any less wrong. So when I decided to commit malefaction against my college rival, it’s only fitting that it blew up in my face. At the time, I called it a grey area, but it really wasn’t.

I’m getting ahead of myself. Let me back up. My name is Danielle Carter. My dad bailed when Mom told him she was pregnant, and because Mom worked so much, I was essentially raised by my grandma and “Aunt” Myra. When I got older, I found out Myra was actually Grandma’s partner, which maybe explains part of why I grew up with such a strong preference for women.

Anyway, Mom never had time for Grandma’s “superstitions,” but young Dani couldn’t have been more fascinated. I was about six years old when Aunt Myra first showed me some “magic tricks.” She made a coin float in the air and lit a candle without touching it. I begged her and Grandma to teach me, and they told me about Sympathy.

“Sympathy is like faith,” Grandma said, setting two candles on the table. “See the wicks on these candles?”

I nodded.

“They look the same, don’t they? They’re both made of cotton, the same color, and the same braided pattern.” She lit a match and held it to one wick. I stared at the bright yellow flame that sprouted.

“Now, if I touch the wicks together,” She held the unlit candle to the first, and the flame spread to make two flames. “They even burn the same.”

She blew out the second candle, and I was transfixed by the curling ribbon of smoke. “What’s different about the wicks now?”

“This one isn’t burning?” I asked.

“That’s right. But what about the wick itself?”

“I… I don’t understand.”

“It looks just like the other one, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah…”

“If I believe the two wicks are actually the same wick…” Her voice was strange, far away, “Then…”

The second candle flared back to life.

The trick to Sympathy is that it happens in your subconscious. In that latent, intuitive part of the brain that we use to walk, breathe, and throw a ball. It starts with a kind of meditation, but more intense. It can’t be forced, but there are mental exercises to help you get there. The one Grandma taught me is called “the Void.” What you do is imagine yourself, then all your active, conscious thoughts. Make a bubble between yourself and those thoughts, then expand it outward, pushing them away until all that’s left is you. Just your sense of self, floating in a black emptiness: the Void. Aunt Myra said I had a natural talent for it, and by age ten, I was able to copy her coin-floating trick. I knew the two coins were made of the same metal, so once my subconscious believed they were the same coin, I could make them Link, just like Grandma did with the candle wicks. Once the coins were Linked, all I had to do was pick one of them up, and the other followed.

I’ll never forget the day I learned that Sympathy could be used for more than fun magic “tricks.” I was eleven, and there was an awful heatwave. Most days during the summer, Grandma and Myra encouraged me to play outside. There were no other kids in her neighborhood, but I climbed trees and played make-believe like most kids do. That week, they let me stay inside and watch cartoons, which was fine with me. Then our A/C stopped working, and the repairmen were so backlogged they said it would be two days before they could get someone out.

The three of us sat in the parlor, guzzling iced tea and lemonade with every fan they owned blasting on us.

I asked, “Can’t we just fix the A/C with magic?”

“Do you know how an air conditioner works, Dani?” Myra asked.

I hung my head, pouting.

“There is one thing we could do…” Grandma said.

She got a bag of clay from a cabinet. When I was younger, I would play with it, thinking it was nothing more than old lady play-dough. She and Myra made three little people out of the clay, two bigger ones and a small one. I watched in surprise as they each poked their fingers with a pin and pushed a drop of blood onto their clay dolls. Myra took my hand, holding the smaller clay person in her other hand.

“Pay attention, Dani. What we’re doing is very dangerous. What’s the First Rule of Sympathy?”

“Don’t use it on people?”

“Close enough. We’re going to Link ourselves. That’s okay, as long as you’re very careful.”

She pricked my finger, and I winced. Then Grandma came back into the room with a bowl of water. I felt a soft pinch, like someone was hugging me, and they slowly lowered the clay dolls into the bowl. I expected it to be like jumping into a pool, but the cold seeped into me much slower. With a sigh, I leaned back into my chair. It wasn’t as nice as when the A/C was working, and even though I wasn’t as warm, the sweat on my skin started to feel gross again after a few minutes.

I was curious. I sat up and reached for the bowl, sticking one finger into the water. In the warm room, the water was lukewarm, like tap water when I brushed my teeth. I grabbed the smaller doll out of the bowl.

“Dani…”

“Leave her, Myra. She has to learn.”

Impatient to cool off faster, I dropped the doll into my lemonade. The ice cubes hadn’t melted yet, and within seconds I felt better. Then I started to feel cold. Like “going out in the winter without a coat,” cold. My fingers almost turned blue, and they hurt to move. My teeth started chattering.

Then in an instant, the cold stopped. Whichever of them was holding the Link released it, and I felt the hot air start seeping into me again. Grandma laid a blanket over my shoulders, and I wrapped it around me, shivering. “Do you understand now?” Myra asked.

I nodded.

I continued to learn and experiment with Sympathy in my younger years. I played with Grandma’s clay and only tried to Link something living once. I found shed hair from her cat, Cleo, and tried to make her float. When Myra caught me, Grandma sent me to my room without supper until Mom came to pick me up. It’s the only time I remember them ever punishing me, and I never tried to Link a person or animal again.

Once I started high school and had friends, I lost interest in Sympathy and stopped trying to find the Void. The second rule Grandma and Myra taught me was to keep magic a secret. That one was easy since I knew no one would believe me anyway. If I couldn’t use Sympathy to impress a girl I liked or show off to my friends, what was the point? Magic was kid’s stuff, a little game I played while stuck at Grandma’s house with no friends. But as a high schooler, I had friends. They called me Dani, and I forgot all about magic.

But that was high school. That magical, mythical, moronic time where some people peak, some people suffer, and the rest of us just tried to get through the whole ordeal. I was what some people might call an emo. Or a goth. Both labels are patently ridiculous and reductive, of course. Just because I wore a lot of fishnets, black skirts, black eyeliner, and lipstick… okay, to be fair, I didn’t do much to dissuade my peers of my “goth” status. In retrospect, I was very lucky to have high school friends.

Then high school ended. My friends and I went off to different schools, and I was alone again.

***

The next time I thought about Sympathy, I was nearly twenty, in the spring semester of my second year. I was halfway done, so they said, but four years of high school and two years of university were enough for me to know better than to trust the “they.”

It all started with a girl named Barbara Calhoun. Yes, she had a grandma’s name. But she did not have a grandma’s looks. Not that I was into her or anything. The few girls I dated were more… gothy types, like Aubrey Plaza or Jenna Ortega, but thicker. Usually, Latina, though not exclusively, and ideally well-tatted. I definitely didn’t go for tall, perfect blondes with legs for days and eyes bluer than a…

Anyway, Barbara transferred to my school halfway through my first year, and she was a model. Not an Instagram, TikTok, whatever the fuck else social media bullshit model; an actual honest-to-goddess model. I knew because she never shut the hell up about it. Barbara did everything short of carrying around the damn magazines with her ‘bikini perfect’ body on the cover. She dropped comments in casual conversation about this or that lingerie sponsorship and this or that “demanding” photoshoot.

Barbara said she’d only come to college as a safety net, something to fall back on if and when she ever ‘got bored’ with modeling. I’m sure every girl within earshot of Barbara’s bragging knew her body had a shelf life, but again, I had no college friends, so I had to fill in the blanks.

I cannot stress enough how little I cared about Barbara and her ninety-five-pound body. I certainly could have starved myself and been her size. Though, to be fair, I could never have added the eleven inches it would have taken for me to match her height. Regardless, I did my best to steer clear of Barbara and her coterie of sycophants. A bunch of sevens and eights clinging onto a nine for reasons I could not fathom.

That all changed when our worlds collided. When Barbara stole my dream girl. My best chance at having a partner, a companion to have beside me through the dreary days of my college life.

Her name was Carla Martinez, and she was perfect. Well, to me, she was perfect. Five foot nothing, glossy black hair, a little chubby but with big tits to go with her little muffin top. She always wore glasses, and her “resting bitch face” made her lips form a pouty little bow I ached to kiss.

I’d spotted her the prior semester. We were in the same Western Civ class, and I managed to get into study hall while she was there a few times. I’m sure you’ll say I should have just made a move if I was down so bad for her, but I’ve learned the hard way that a girl like me has to slow play that shit. I got both of my high school girlfriends by way of the dreaded friendzone. It didn’t always work, but it was better than making a big confession to a girl only to find out she was straight and becoming the school pariah for months.

In the spring semester, I signed up for a class I knew Carla was in, Chemistry 201. I knew that if I could get into her study group, or better yet—become her lab partner, I would finally get my chance. I knew she had a girlfriend, but they’d broken up just before the holidays, so the window was open. Unfortunately, Barbara got to her first.

Up to that point, I was certain a girl who looked like Barbara was lower than a one on the Kinsey Scale. But on the first day of the semester, she and Carla were all but holding hands in class. Carla got contacts, dyed her hair, and started dressing in gaudy pastels like the rest of Barbara’s sycophants. Even if I could have pulled her attention away from “College Barbie,” she was completely out of my league now. Not that I believed in any of that league bullshit, but honestly, what girl would look at me twice when she had a literal ten sitting beside her?

As you’ve probably guessed, Barbara scheduled the same class I did. To make matters worse, lab partners were moronically assigned alphabetically. While I was fortunate enough that another name fell between Carter and Calhoun, that still put me and that third name at the lab station directly beside Barbara. Carla and her partner were way on the other side of the room, and the few times she came over to our table, her attention was completely on Barbara. I might as well have been invisible.

My partner, Bettye Carmichael, was not one of Barbara’s followers, but she either wanted to become one or was just one of those girls who are too nice for their own good. Weeks of lab time passed with Bettye making inane small talk with Barbara and her lab partner until, one day; I somehow warranted Barbara’s attention.

“I love what you did with your hair Barbara; how did you get it to curl like that?”

As usual, Bettye was kissing Barbara’s ass. I had to admit her hair did look great; if you’re into reddish-blonde extensions that hung all the way to her non-existent tits.

“Oh, it’s nothing, really. The salon over on third is passably competent.”

I forgot to mention that Barbara had some weird European accent. I’m pretty sure it was fake.

“Really? Maybe I should go there sometime…”

Bettye was yammering on. I tried to tune out her and Barbara’s chatter about stylists and styles while focussing on our lab project. Then I heard my name.

“You might like him too, Danielle.”

Barbara pronounced my name like no one else did. It made me want to punch her perfect lip-injected, laser-treated face.

“What?”

“My stylist, Tyrece. You know, you could be quite pretty if you put in some effort.”

I still can’t remember what I said to that. I wish I could say it was a witty, biting retort, but I’m sure I just mumbled some kind of agreement before pulling my partner’s attention back to our assignment. We finished our lab time, and I had one more class for the day. I floated through all of it in a dark haze as I replayed Barbara’s words. Where did a smug bitch get off judging me like that? She’d won the genetic lottery and clearly been born into wealth to look as perfect as she did. She could have whatever she wanted, and she chose to steal away my dream girl? It was all too much. I’d tried so hard to ignore her, to keep my head down and focus on my grades, but she’d crossed a line.

Stomping into my solo apartment, I tossed my bag into the corner and went straight to my stash. A few shots of vodka and an edible later, and I was good and cross-faded. I went into a kind of fugue state. I didn’t realize what I’d done until the next morning.

***

I woke up with my mouth dry as a desert and a splitting headache. I staggered to the kitchen for some water and saw my bag of clay open on the desk. Somehow, I’d made a near-perfect model of Barbara Calhoun last night.

As I’ve said, I grew out of doing magic when I started high school, but I had my own clay and often kneaded a lump of it to soothe my nerves or occupy my hands. I made snakes and rolled balls between my palms, and it calmed me. Once in a while, I’d put pieces together into some vague animal shape, but I’d never made anything like this. The worst part was I had no memory of doing it.

Just how high was I last night?

I picked up the doll and turned it over in my hands. It was thin, tall, and perfect. Like a clay Barbie without the tits. Remembering all the hours I spent practicing with Grandma and Myra as a girl, I pushed my conscious thoughts away until there was nothing but me and the clay doll. I pictured my odious classmate and believed she and the doll were the same. My headache intensified as the Void collapsed.

Stupid I chided myself. Even if I could perform Sympathy on the girl, I’d need a piece of her body to make it work. No matter how perfectly it was molded, a lump of clay had nothing in common with the actual Barbara. Hair would be the easiest to get, but I’d have to make sure it was her real hair and not those stupid extensions. A small voice in my head asked me why I even wanted to try this. A smaller voice told me it was wrong. I ignored them both.

I stuffed the doll in the bottom of my underwear drawer. I went to the kitchen for a glass of water. And some ibuprofen. I had class in half an hour, and the last thing I wanted was to sit through a Micro-Econ lecture with a hangover.

Sympathetic Magic - 2/5

II

I don’t know why I bothered hiding the doll. It’s not like anyone ever came to my apartment. Maybe I was hiding it from myself. I went to class and then to my boring but tolerable part-time job at the campus coffee shop. I didn’t see Barbara. The next day was the classroom half of Chem 201, but I always sat as far from Barbara and her “plastics” as I could, so I was mostly able to ignore her existence.

The cycle of days went on as usual, and I almost forgot about my little accident. Two weeks later, we were in Chem lab again, doing another dumb project about solutions and precipitates or something. Bettye was sucking up to Barbara as always, and the conversation turned to the gym.

Needless to say, the gym is a place I avoid at all costs. Every kind of person in a college gym is a type I despise. Student-athletes all go in the same bucket—hyper-competitive jocks and she-jocks grunting, dropping weights, and holding impromptu push-up competitions. Vain “hot chicks” like Barbara and her ilk bouncing on stair-masters or doing yoga poses in skin-tight lycra, studying their bodies in the wall-to-wall mirrors. Hoping to be ogled but throwing a hissy fit if they caught anyone actually looking. And, of course, the chubsters with bodies like mine—tree trunk thighs and belly rolls, who only served as a reminder of what I’d look like if I didn’t have the good sense to wear all black.

Anyway, Barbara was pontificating to Bettye all about the gym at our school, how the equipment was dated and worn, but how some of it was “passable.” I think to her own ears, Barbara was being polite and helpful; to me, she sounded like a condescending bitch.

“I usually go around three if it fits into my schedule. It’s not too crowded, but still busy enough not to be quite so sad. You should join me. I can give you some tips.” Barbara leaned her trim body forward a bit, making her perfect hair flutter around her heart-shaped face. “You’re welcome to come too, Danielle. I’m certain it would do you good.”

Being this close to her, I had a hard time denying Barbara’s appeal. Her expression seemed genuine, and though her invitation was insulting, a part of me knew she wasn’t wrong.

“Sure, maybe,” I mumbled. I had no intention of setting foot in the gym, especially if Barbara was within ten miles of the place. After she’d ruined my chances with Carla, the last thing I wanted was to see her stupid face even more often.

While packing up my things after lab, I noticed a few strands of red-gold hair on the lab bench near Barbara’s seat. I was the last one at our table—Barbara had left her partner to clean their station, and Bettye had trailed after her. I found an empty ziplock in my bag and collected the hair.

***

I stood staring at my closed dresser drawer for a long time. I’d dug the ziplock out of my bag and held it pinched in two fingers at arm’s length from my body—as if it might bite me.

What am I doing?

I stared at the two strands of hair in the bag, then back to the dresser. Two weeks ago was the first time I’d tried to find the Void in years, and it’d been a colossal failure.

This is stupid.

Grandma and Myra told me countless times how important it was to keep magic a secret. “No one will believe you anyway. You won’t get burned at the stake or anything these days, but it’s best to avoid the ridicule.”

Then I pictured Barbara. Her perfect face, her musical accent, her condescending “advice…” I thought about how she’d stolen Carla away from me. In my mind, the strands of hair in my bag became her gorgeous, expensive mane.

I pulled the drawer open.

Holding the clay simulacrum in my hand, I was impressed again by my own work. Even as a child, when I played with clay almost every day, I’d never made a doll this well. I turned Mini Barbara over in my hand. The flush of arousal I felt looking at her model’s body made me furious.

It probably won’t even work.

I opened the baggie, pulling out one strand of hair to examine it. I did the same with the other. I can’t really describe how I knew this, but one strand was fake. Something about the way it felt between my fingers—holding its shape while the other twisted and curled. In one hand, I held a piece of artificial hair extension, and in the other, a piece of Barbara’s real body.

Tossing the fake hair aside, I folded the strand of Barbara’s hair and pressed it into the soft clay. I held the doll in both hands and closed my eyes. Without a hangover, I found it surprisingly easy to push my thoughts away. The room around me faded, and I was floating in the empty Void. Even when I was little, it had never been this easy. I brought the beautiful model into the blackness with me. I felt the clay in my hands. It should have taken some effort to nudge the two together, but Barbara’s image slid toward the clay like oil on a pan, like the two wanted to be Linked. With a silent snap, the woman in my mind and the doll in my hands became one. The clay grew warm in my hands.

It… it worked.

As I released the Void and came back to myself, I looked down at the doll. It looked even more beautiful, even more like her. I don’t know if the clay actually changed in my hands or if it was a side-effect of the Link, but the doll was her.

My mind raced with possibilities. Glancing at my dresser, I saw my dish of safety pins and considered. A small voice in my head said this was wrong. Using magic to hurt people was forbidden. It even came before the rule of secrecy.

Then I thought about Carla. I dreamed about all the fun we could have had together without Barbara in our lives. Looking back, it seems like a pretty flimsy justification. It’s not like Barbara forced her to change. And we were never dating; she barely knew who I was. But something about the thrill of doing magic again, after all those years, made me reckless. I grabbed a pin with one hand and undid the catch, still holding Mini Barbara in the other.

Then I stopped.

What’s the point of trying it now?

I wrapped the doll in a handkerchief and tucked it carefully in my book bag. It would be much more fun if I could see Barbara’s reaction. I’d have to be careful no one saw me, but that would be pretty easy, sitting in the back of a lecture hall.


III

The next day, I went to classes as usual. Chem 201 was the only class that Barbara and I shared, so I didn’t see her at all. At the time, I wondered why that disappointed me. Throughout the day, I thought I could feel the weight of the clay doll in my bag, tugging at my shoulder as I walked across campus and whispering tempting words. I shrugged it off as my imagination, and by the time my last class let out, I’d almost forgotten about it.

Thursday morning, I jumped out of bed with more energy than I’d had in a long time. I caught my lips forming a grin as I did my eyeliner. Something deep inside me knew I was about to get away with something, and it thrilled me. My morning class was Micro-Econ, and I had an even harder time than usual focusing on the lecture. I wolfed down my lunch, and by the time I sat down for Chem 201, my hands were shaking.

I took slow breaths, trying to moderate my expectations. There’s a big difference between levitating coins and other “parlor tricks”—as Grandma called them—and using Sympathy to affect something living. It’s embarrassing to remember now, but I even fantasized about Barbara crying out in pain and disrupting the lecture.

I sat all the way in the back of the big lecture hall—as far away from Barbara’s favorite seat as possible. I set up my laptop on the table and tucked my bag beside my hip. From that position, I was able to slip my right hand in, digging around until I felt the simulacrum. With a few furtive glances around the room, I unwrapped the doll and touched my fingers to the clay surface. It was still warm. I tried to remember if that ever happened when I was a kid, but reminded myself I’d never Linked a living thing before. Somehow my subconscious was maintaining the Link.

Since I’d arrived early, it was several minutes before Barbara strutted into the hall. Seeing her in the flesh, I had a moment of clarity. What was I doing? Was I really going to break the first rule of Sympathy over a few rude words? I could almost see Grandma and Myra’s disappointed looks, and my cheeks flushed with shame.

Then Barbara’s posse strode in behind her. Her lab partner, Britnee Bell, and mine, Bettye, and finally, the one-time girl of my dreams, Carla Martinez. Seeing Carla dolled up like a Latina version of “College Barbie” herself threatened to bring back all my frustration and rage. I mentally scolded myself. Carla was an adult, and it wasn’t Barbara’s fault that she’d chosen her over me. Then I saw Barbara lean down to whisper something in Carla’s ear. A bright smile filled her face, and she let out a perfect giggle.

My vision blurred. Barely aware of what I was doing, my hand unclipped the safety pin and touched it gently to the clay surface of the doll in my bag.

Even across the large lecture hall, I could see Barbara twitch, and then scratch at her shoulder.

Holy shit…

The reality of what I’d done came crashing down on me. Every time a girl pulled my hair or a boy in the playground kicked over my sandcastle, Grandma lectured me against “malefaction.” As a child, I’d barely understood the word. But now I was an adult. Acting like a little girl at recess.

The professor arrived, and the lecture got underway. They were droning on about covalent bonds. Normally I find chem fascinating, but my head was swirling with shame. Barbara hadn’t done anything to me personally. And even if she had, that was no excuse for this. She was a person, just like me. Sure, she was tall and gorgeous, with legs for days and perfect hair…

I felt heat rise in my neck and reflexively made fists with both hands. One of those hands was still holding Mini Barbara and a safety pin. I felt a prick against my palm as the sharp point drove all the way through the doll’s torso.

Ahn!

The professor stopped mid-sentence, their eyes darting to the model and her entourage.

“Something to add, Miss Calhoun?”

Barbara only shook her head.

“As I was saying: When the polarity of two identical atoms…”

I stared intently at my laptop screen. There was no reason to think Barbara—or anyone else—would suspect me of being involved in her little outburst, but I worried she might see me and my face would give me away.

What, the fuck, was that?

Even across the crowded lecture hall, I could tell the noise Barbara made was one of pleasure, not pain. Was she secretly a masochist? If I was making her feel good, it technically didn’t count as malefaction, but the thought still turned my stomach. Carefully sliding the pin out of the doll, I withdrew my hand and tried to clear my head. The last thing I needed was to miss a whole lecture on top of everything else.

***

Back in my room, I tried to put the whole ordeal behind me. I could already hear the brow-beating I’d get if Grandma or Myra ever found out what I’d done. I dropped the doll on my desk and grabbed a handful of clay from the bag. Kneading it between my hands, I paced.

What if I’d actually hurt her?

It would serve her right.

Why? Just for being herself?

Yes.

That’s a pretty shitty attitude. Not to mention hypocritical.

Oh, shut up.

My thoughts turned to Barbara’s reaction to my last “accidental” attack. Why had she seemed to enjoy it?

Maybe she’s a masochist… I wondered again.

That’s when my dark thoughts returned. If I could use Sympathy to give Barbara pleasure, I could still put her in her place. What if she came in the middle of class? That would be pretty embarrassing…

And no different from actual malefaction!

Then an even less welcome thought entered my mind. What if my subconscious wanted to give her pleasure?

Not possible.

I mean, even though Barbara was very not my type, I couldn’t deny the fact that she was conventionally pretty. Gorgeous even. Slapping my lump of clay back into the bag, I dug in the back of my fridge for a hard seltzer and dropped onto the couch. I desperately needed to shut my brain off.

This next part is a bit of a blur; because the seltzer turned into vodka shots. At some point, I got up and started kneading clay again. I don’t know if it was anger over losing Carla or a desperate attempt to deny my latent attraction to Barbara, but I started imagining her… different.

What if her cute little skirts and shorts didn’t fit anymore? Carla would forget all about her.

And I will too…

I could blame it on the alcohol, but I know better. Despite all Grandma’s lectures, despite the rational arguments against it, I desperately wanted to rid myself of Barbara. I tested the Link with my mind and found myself gripping the Void. It shouldn’t have been possible in my affected state, but so many improbable things had happened already that I didn’t question it.

With the lump of clay in one hand and Mini Barbara in the other, I brought my hands together. Floating in the Void, I imagined the extra clay transforming Barbara’s perfect body, giving her a big round belly and a flabby ass. My own voice hammered against the Void.

What are you doing??

Just like in the lecture hall, it seemed to happen automatically. My hands were pulled together like I was holding a pair of magnets. Opening my eyes, I watched the two pieces of clay merge like a pair of water droplets on a window. But instead of sticking to the doll in a lump that I could mold into a chubby Barbie, the simulacrum absorbed the raw clay, swelling into a… larger version of itself.

I turned the doll over in my hands, examining it. Yes, the doll’s ass had grown, but it was now a pair of firm round bubbles only slightly larger than they’d been before. In fact, Mini Barbara now had a perfect ass! Quickly, I turned it over to hide the delicious, offensive rump and saw something even worse.

I know I’ve mentioned this already, but Barbara had a model’s body. As in, a Victoria’s Secret model. The kind of body that really benefits from the magic of padding and underwire and whatever the fuck else goes into their skanky underwear. Pretty much the only thing I had on Barbara was that my tits were way bigger than hers. Not that that mattered. I’m short and chubby, so a D-cup doesn’t mean much on my frame.

Anyway, after the fresh clay merged with Mini Barbara, she had serious boobs. They were huge. Like, “anime” huge. Bigger than her head, the clay formed perfect teardrops that stuck out like implants. Though as I examined the doll more closely, I could see that the clay boobs did hang. Just like, not nearly as low as they should have at that size.

What have I done?

I felt a chill run up my spine. I imagined Barbara strutting into class on Monday with perfect pornstar tits—a perfect body with perfect tits. Even perfect-er than she already was. I stuffed my clay back in the desk and hid the doll in my dresser. I poured another shot of vodka and popped an edible, praying to the old gods and the new that nothing would come of my drunken stupidity.

Sympathetic Magic - 3/5

IV

I spent the weekend binge-watching anime and video games with a few short homework breaks. The assignments and reports I turned in during those three days were some of the worst of my entire college career. I did whatever I could to drown out the nagging voices in my head—Grandma’s, Aunt Myra’s, and the loudest, my own—reminding me of the dangers of using magic irresponsibly. As I lay in bed Sunday night, letting my earbuds pour soothing white noise into my brain, I told myself for the hundredth time that what was done was done—worrying about it was useless. Monday morning, I would see. I would find out what my hubris had wrought, and I would face the consequences.

In retrospect, I was being fairly dramatic.

After spending my first class struggling to maintain stoic fatalism, I slunk into the back of the lecture hall for Chem 201. Cold sweat dripped down my neck. Then I saw Barbara and her coterie waltz into class like normal. She was wearing a fluffy pink top that created the illusion of more boob than she had and a knee-length white skirt. She wasn’t fat. I saw no ghetto booty stretching that skirt. Most important of all, her tits were every bit as small as they’d always been.

I was so relieved that the sight of Carla following in Barbara’s wake didn’t faze me. I melted into my seat. A few students eyed me as I heaved a loud sigh, but I didn’t care. Everything was fine. The magic hadn’t worked. My hands shook from the aftershocks of adrenaline as I pulled my laptop from my bag and set up for class.

I resolved to put Barbara, Carla, the simulacrum, and Sympathy altogether out of my mind. Barbara was just Barbara. I should never have tried to fuck with her using magic, and if the worst that came of it was accidentally turning her on in class, I’d gotten off easy. All I had to do now was keep my head down and ignore the platinum princess for three more months.

Easier said than done, of course.

Over the next few weeks, things started to get… weird. Okay, that’s not the best word, considering I’d already performed real-life “Voodoo” on my supposed nemesis and had my magic act on its own.

Barbara started bringing snacks to class. It was noisy, and I couldn’t help glancing over at her little entourage several times during the lecture. She seemed to always have a chip in her mouth or a cookie in her manicured fingers. Snacking during lectures wasn’t unusual—plenty of kids did it. It went against school policy, but most of the professors turned a blind eye for the sake of getting through their lessons without having to play nanny to alleged adults.

Chem Lab was a different matter. Twice in the first month, Barbara was verbally reprimanded by our lab supervisor. The third time he said, “Miss Calhoun. If I see food on your lab bench one more time, I’m sending you to the Dean’s Office.”

Barbara mumbled an apology as she shoved the remaining half of a candy bar into her mouth in one bite, stuffing the wrapper into her bag. I heard Britnee whisper, “What’s your deal?”

“I don’t know!” Barbara shot back in a less-quiet whisper. “I’ve just been hungry all the time lately. I think I have some kinda hormone imbalance.”

“Well, go get your shit checked at the HC or something. I don’t wanna fail Lab because you’ve got the munchies.”

“Watch your tone, Britnee. I’m stressed enough right now without you dragging me.”

The lab super interrupted their whisper-fight, “Is there a problem, Miss Calhoun, Miss Bell?”

Barbara and Britnee shook their heads, and the lab period proceeded as normal, but I could feel the bad vibes all the way at my end of the lab bench.

***

Magic, as the old saying goes, works in mysterious ways. Despite my intention to ignore her and ride out the semester, I found myself watching Barbara more closely. Aside from watching her snack through Chem lectures and sneak candy during Lab, I even went so far as to change my routine so I had a better chance of being in the cafeteria when she was.

Although I only saw Barbara a few times a day at most, I could tell she was eating way more than normal.

“That’s –um– a lot of food, Barbara…”

–homf– Fuh’ you, bish. –ulp– I’m hungry!”

To be fair, I have no idea what her diet was like before, but I don’t think too many working models eat two full plates of meatloaf and mashed potatoes for lunch, then top it off with a bowl of soft-serve.

The effects were far from instantaneous, but I started to notice small changes about a month after my little incident with vodka and clay. Barbara had always had an expensive and ever-changing wardrobe, but now I never saw her wear the same thing twice. Her tight jeans and shorts were gradually replaced with loose skirts, like she was trying to hide something below her tiny waist. She wore cardigans and hoodies even as the weather got warmer. Again, like she was hiding something.

I wondered if Barbara actually was gaining weight. If her thighs were getting chunky or her tummy was getting round, it would certainly explain her recent wardrobe choices. But I knew I couldn’t be so lucky. Barbara was put on this plane to make my life hell, and my own stupidity had made the situation worse. While I spied on her, I had my suspicions, but once a week, when I saw her close-up in Chem Lab, they were confirmed. Barbara was growing to match that damn doll hidden in my underwear drawer, and her baggier clothes couldn’t hide it.

If you’ve ever seen one of those houses with a giant tarp over a sports car in the driveway, you’ll know what I mean. Nobody drives by those places and says, “Gee, I wonder what’s under that tarp?” We all know. That’s what Barbara’s gleaming white zip-up hoodie with sequined letters spelling “Pink” across the chest was like. She had the sleeves rolled up to her elbows, showing off her willowy arms, and it hung low enough to completely hide her ass. It was loose enough around her shoulders and hips that even I could tell it was a huge size, at least XL, not one of those extra-long ones made for tall, skinny girls. The letters were warped over a set of cannons, at least E-cup. It looked like Barbara was smuggling a pair of cantaloupes in her bra. Though if the wad of chocolate bar wrappers she stuffed into her designer backpack just before the lab supervisor stepped out of his office were anything to go by, she’d spent the past month indulging in far less healthy snacks.

I hadn’t committed malefaction; I’d done something worse. All those empty calories were filling Barbara’s bra, and it was my fault.


V

Have I mentioned the Law of Unintended Consequences yet? Well, you can probably figure it out from the name. If not, just google it. I’m pretty sure there’s a Ted Talk or something. Anyway, it applies to magic even more than it applies to the social sciences, as evidenced by my story so far. Aside from the obvious ethical implications, it’s one of the biggest reasons malefaction is forbidden.

I had become a poster child for unintended consequences. When I accidentally turned Barbara’s simulacrum into some kind of anime porn star, I expected—and feared—the consequences that followed. I didn’t expect one of those consequences to be a drastic change in her personality.

Don’t get me wrong; Barbara was still herself. She was still the same competent student, the same magnetic extrovert that drew aspiring “plastics” to her. But rather than her ridiculous new assets making her even more of an insufferable snob, she actually softened… somehow.

Barbara’s body was transforming into even more of a male-gaze fantasy, but she seemed unhappy about it. I’ve described her baggy wardrobe at length, but she also stopped wearing high heels—walking around campus in flats or sneakers. Rather than strutting into class with her nose in the air, looking down on us mere mortals, she stared at the floor. She shuffled her feet and hunched her shoulders like that weird girl in high school. Yes, that weird girl was me; shut up.

During the second month of Barbara’s “curse”—maybe I should call it my curse—I started to come to an unpleasant realization. Barbara wasn’t a bitch. Looking back, the signs were all there. But humbled as she was, I finally started to notice them. After a class, I watched Barbara show her notes to one of her friends, explaining some tricky parts of the lecture. In Chem Lab, she stopped my partner Bettye from adding way too much sodium chloride to a solution. One time, at dinner, I overheard Barbara giving relationship advice to a crying friend while wolfing down three plates of spaghetti.

“Britnee’s right, Dakota. No relationship is perfect, and they all take work.”

“I know, I know.”

“You have to –ulp– put in the effort if you expect him to.”

“But—“

“But! –munch– At some point, if he’s not willing to work at it too, –urp– you have to ask yourself if you want to stay in a one-sided relationship.”

I sat in the cafeteria, pushing pasta around my plate with a fork, tuning out the rest of their conversation. I couldn’t believe it. Well, I could believe it; I just didn’t want to. Was it possible I’d misjudged her this whole time? Under the professionally styled strawberry-blonde hair, was there a functioning brain? Did that face, covered in very expensive skin treatments and sponsored cosmetics, belong to someone who actually cared about her friends? Behind the high-end disposable wardrobe, the magazine covers, and the millions of subscribers and followers, could there really be… a good person?

The thought turned my stomach. I’d eaten maybe a third of my dinner, but if I took another bite, I knew it would all come back up. I twirled spaghetti onto my fork, then let it slide off. I should have just gone back to my room. The chattering voices around me were nothing more than animal noises. Then I had a feeling—like someone was watching me.

“Hey, isn’t that girl from our lab? Um… Dahlia?” Britnee asked.

Barbara corrected her, “Danielle.”

They were talking softly, but not softly enough. I looked up in time to see Barbara breaking off from her trio to step up to my table.

“Hey, Danielle!” She smiled. “I don’t usually see you in here.”

I’d been spying on her before I fell into my little reverie, so I knew Barbara’s tits had gotten even bigger. I thought they were up to around a G-cup, but up close, I revised my estimate. She was at least an H, and looking up past them to meet her eyes, they looked enormous. She was a good person, if a little oblivious, and I’d cursed her to a life of lower back pain. I probably torpedoed her modeling career, too. My self-reproach must have shown on my face because Barbara gave me a look with as much kindness as she’d shown her friend earlier.

“Hey,” she said, “You doing okay? Stressed about that test on Thursday? We have a study group Mondays and Wednesdays; you’re welcome to join us…”

My guts did another somersault. I was either going to puke or burst into tears at any moment. I tried to keep my face calm and found myself floating in the Void, which made me feel sick all over again. I held on to that anchor, though, and smiled back up at Barbara.

“I’m alright. Just personal stuff, you know?”

Barbara looked thoughtful for a moment. She was probably trying to decide whether we knew each other well enough to pry further.

“Well, I’m sure you’ll get through it. Hang in there, okay?”

Through her glossy lips and perfect white teeth, I knew her smile was genuine. “Thanks, Barbara,” I mumbled.

Barbara rejoined her friends, and I took my unfinished dinner to the tray return. I went home and blasted Iron Maiden in my headphones so I wouldn’t have to hear my inner monologue berating me.


VI

Over the next few weeks, I decided to fix my “issues” with Barbara through exposure therapy. I talked to her during Lab; I sat a row behind her group in lectures; I even joined her damn study group!

“And this column is the Noble Gasses,” Barbara explained. “They pretty much never bond with any other elements in a natural environment.”

“They should call them Incel Gasses,” I said.

Barbara burst out laughing, and Carla and Britnee both grinned. I saw Barbara’s head-sized melons wobbling with her mirth before looking away. I thought it was a pretty lame joke, but the three of them acted like it was the funniest shit they’d ever heard.

“You’re hilarious, Danielle,” Barbara said, wiping her eyes, “I’m really glad you joined our group.”

Had I joined Barbara’s group? Surely not. People like her didn’t form groups with people like me. She was a cheerleader, and I was a goth. We were like those elements on the far edge of the Periodic Table.

That’s when it hit me. All this time, I’d been holding onto those stupid cliques and stereotypes from high school. Was I really one of those people? Was I one of those adults who lives their whole life like it’s still fucking high school‽

I pushed the thought out of my head. I had exams to study for, and anyway, I couldn’t get lost in another mental spiral sitting at a table full of girls.

***

During lab hour, we switched up the seating so that Bettye and Britnee were on the outside, with Barbara and I in the middle. I found out she’s a much more “tactile” person than I am. Seated beside me, Barbara would touch my arm to ask a question or put her hand on my back when she leaned over to show me something in her notes. I bristled at first, but after what I’d done to her, I probably would have let Barbara beat the shit out of me. Goddess knows I more than deserved it.

Still, I found it a little distracting. I noticed her doing it with the other girls too, so I don’t think there was anything to it. But every time Barbara got into my personal space, I started to notice little things. Her hands were delicate but dextrous, handling chemicals and lab equipment with measured precision. She smelled really nice, clean like a good soap, with hints of something floral but never cloying. Seen up close, her face wasn’t plastic or fake. Her blue eyes had flecks of green, her cheeks brightened when she got excited, and her smiles filled her whole face, so I knew they were genuine.

Not that I was attracted to Barbara. I said before I wasn’t into her, and I still wasn’t. But I was starting to see how she drew so many girls to her. I’d assumed it was her looks, but it was so much more than that. When I was with Barbara, I felt seen, valued, like I was the only person in the world who mattered to her.

Okay, I’m not making this point very well. Obviously, I wasn’t into Barbara. Like I said, she’s a cheerleader, and I…

Fuck! I’m doing that high school shit again!

Let me try this again. Even if I was starting to “like” Barbara—Which I wasn’t!—it wouldn’t matter. She was straight… wasn’t she? Even if she wasn’t, girls like her don’t go for girls like me. High school class system bullshit aside, she was a fucking model! Never mind my magic fucking up her body. And, really, the more I thought about it, the less bad I felt about that. Don’t get me wrong, it was a super shitty thing for me to do, even if it was kinda by accident. But really, I was sure Barbara would be fine. Her tits would stop growing eventually, and she’d switch to a different kind of modeling. Sure, she probably wouldn’t show up on any billboards, but she’d make a killing in men’s magazines and… and… whatever companies make really big bras and bikinis!

Anyway, I’ve gotten off track. What was I saying? Oh yeah, I was not into Barbara. Because… she… couldn’t possibly be… into… me?

Well, fuck.

Sympathetic Magic - 4/5

VII

I got an unexpected knock on my apartment door the last Friday before move-out weekend. I wasn’t moving out; I had a summer job, but I planned to avoid campus as much as possible over the next two days. Unlinking and destroying a simulacrum is complicated, and I’d bagged up my Barbara doll and the materials I’d need. I planned to go to the State Park on Saturday night—somewhere I could start a fire.

I dropped the lump of clay I’d been kneading back in the bag and went to look through the peephole. It was Barbara. I opened the door. “Hey, what are you—“

“Can you help me?”

Barbara was in my personal space again. Her scent filled my nose, and her boobs almost crashed into my face. It had been a month and a half since my little “accident,” but Barbara had finally stopped growing about two weeks earlier. She matched the clay doll perfectly. Stretching out a hoodie with our school name warped across her front, Barbara’s tits were as big as her head, with a few handfuls to spare. I stepped back, almost tripping over the paper bag I’d just packed up. Luckily, it stayed closed—the last thing I needed was for her to see I had a tiny clay version of her and start asking questions.

“Are you okay?” I asked. “Come in.”

I never had guests in my apartment, and for a moment, I wondered what the tall, gorgeous blonde would think of my collection of posters with pentagrams and metal bands. But she glanced around the room, and her face lit up. “She was right!”

“Barbara, slow down. Here, come sit.” I gestured at the couch, and we sat. I deliberately put myself far enough away that our knees couldn’t accidentally touch. I said, “Tell me what’s going on.”

Barbara proceeded to pour out her tale of woe. A tale that, at the risk of repeating myself, was my fault. She told me her breasts had mysteriously started growing—as if that could have escaped anyone’s notice—and that she’d had an insatiable appetite for over two months. All her modeling contracts had been canceled, and her agent was trying to convince her to switch to a different department that handled “adult” clients. I let her talk, keeping my quips and judgments to myself. Every word was like a punch in the gut that I absolutely deserved. After what felt like half an hour but was ten minutes at most, Barbara finally wound down and got to her reason for showing up at my place.

“And… and I was talking to Betye. I know it sounds stupid, but I think maybe I’m cursed or something. And she said… She said you draw all kinds of witch symbols and stuff in your notebook, and I thought… I thought…”

I wouldn’t call pentagrams or metal band logos “witch symbols,” though, I guess, to a normie…

“You thought what, Barbara?”

She looked like she’d been crying when she knocked on my door. Now, her eyes shone with hope, and her cheeks were bright. “I thought… maybe you could help me.”

“Help you?”

Barbara couldn’t possibly know I could do magic. And, as I’ve already said, it’s not magic magic. It’s not like I can wave a little wand at her and yell, “Reducio!” like we’re in a stupid kid’s book.

“Please!” She begged, taking my hand in both of hers and pulling, mashing my forearm into her vast chest. Her body was warmer than I’d expected.

“Barbara, there’s no such thing as magic,” I lied. “Or curses!”

She folded her legs under her perfect ass and leaned toward me. “Please, Danielle, I’ll do anything!”

She was really close to me now. I could feel waves of heat radiating off her enormous tits.

“I can’t!” I said, “There’s nothing I can do!”

Barbara’s voice was low and throaty as she said, “I’ll do whatever you want… let you… do… What. Ever. You. Want.”

Holy shit, was she offering to fuck me in exchange for my help? Or maybe to let me fuck her? Either way…

“Barbara,” I pleaded, “I don’t think—“

She cut me off by leaning even closer, swinging one leg around so she was kneeling over me, practically in my gods-damned lap. Her massive tits filled the space between us—the letters pressed up under my chin.

“Don’t get shy on me now, Dani… I know you’ve been feeling it too…”

“What!?”

“The vibe between us! I mean,” Barbara broke eye contact. “You probably don’t have much experience…” She met my eyes again, and the intensity of her gaze made my breath catch. “But I bet you’re into some weird stuff.”

I tried to push her off me, but she grabbed my wrists, pinning my arms to the back of the couch. “I mean it, a hundred percent. You can tie me up, whip me…”

“Barbara, stop!” I struggled against her grip, but she was too strong. I guess all her hours at the gym were more than just cardio. Having an extra foot of height and twenty-some pounds of tit to press against my chest probably helped.

She dropped her ass into my lap, grinding against me as she peppered kisses all over my neck. “Please –mwah– Dani, I –mwah mwah– I want you so –mwah– bad…”

Barbara’s body on top of mine blazed like a furnace. It was like a hundred and thirty pounds of hot water bottle pressing me into the couch. I turned my head to avoid her lips catching mine, and then I saw it. The fucking paper bag with the clay doll was lying against the radiator. It must have fallen there when I kicked it earlier. My own fucking magic was making Barbara hot—literally and figuratively. I cleared my mind. I pushed away the sensation of her hot pelvis grinding against mine, her warm lips on my skin, and her huge, firm breasts crushing my chest. My hold on the Void had never been so fragile as I pushed my subconscious and believed that the clay simulacrum on my floor was not Barbara.

With a soft pop only I could hear, the Link broke.


VIII

Barbara pushed back, pulling her head away from my neck, and let go of my arms. Her eyes were wide and a little manic. “Wh–what?”

She scrambled off of me and stood. She was still close enough that her boobs blocked my view of her face. Her shoulders slumped, and she said, “Why did I do that? Oh my god, Danielle, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to do that. This isn’t how I wanted… not like this…”

“Not… like this?” I softly repeated.

Her face turned bright red. She tripped over the coffee table and stumbled toward the door. “It’s nothing! I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have come. I’m sorry to bother you, to barge in like…”

“Barbara, wait!” I called.

She stopped, turning slowly. With her view of the floor blocked by her enormous tits, she couldn’t see the paper bag as she kicked it over with one foot. She stepped back, looking around to see what she’d almost tripped over. I was too distracted to notice.

Slowly, I asked, “What do you mean, ‘Not like this?’”

I know; I should have been freaking out. My nemesis-turned-dreamgirl had just tried to assault me. But once again, that was my fault. Plus, it had been a long time since I’d been touched like that. Besides, you can’t control people with Sympathy. As I said, magic is subtle, giant boobs notwithstanding.

“I…” Barbara wouldn’t meet my eyes. I thought she might try to bolt again, so I got up from the couch and approached her slowly, like a wild animal I didn’t want to spook.

I reached for her hand. “You what?”

“I… really like you,” she whispered.

If my mind hadn’t been a fog of fight-or-flight and horny, this revelation wouldn’t have surprised me. The magic couldn’t make her like me; it would just give her a little nudge, like if she got drunk and lost her inhibitions. Not that that made any of this okay, but I was in no state to process the ethics of my magic making her bold enough to assault me. All that came out of my mouth was a soft, “You… you do?”

She finally looked at me, then away again, shifting her weight to the other foot. She didn’t pull her hand away.

“Yeah… I’ve always thought you were a cool girl. I work so hard to get people to like me. To be what everyone expects me to be. But you… you’re so confident. You don’t give a shit. You’re pretty without even trying, and I think that’s really cool.”

I was stunned. I tried to clear my mind, to process this infodump of compliments. “What?”

She went on, “And then you started hanging out with me and my friends. And the more I got to know you, the more I liked you. You’re funny… and thoughtful, and—“

“Stop!” I couldn’t take it. If I’d heard one more self-deprecating compliment from this perfect woman, my world might have shattered.

She looked at me again, and I said, “What are you saying, you idiot?”

“W-what?”

“Don’t compare yourself to me!” I said, “You’re smart! You’re gorgeous! You’re a literal model! Everyone loves you!”

“They don’t, though!” She said, “They love the idea of me! I came to school without makeup one time, and everyone asked if I was sick! If I don’t keep up all this,” She waved her free hand over her face, “Then who am I? I’m nobody! These are fake lashes! I’m not even really blonde!”

My neck was getting sore from looking up at her, so I pulled her back into the room, stepping up onto the couch. From this angle, I could look down on her for once.

“Look at me,” I said, “I’ve seen your ‘no makeup’ selfies.”

“Y-you have!? I deleted those posts.”

“Yeah, well…” I couldn’t believe I was telling her this. “I found them. You know people archive that stuff, right?”

“I… guess so…”

“Anyway,” I continued, “My point is, you’re not nobody without ‘all this,’ you’re even prettier without it.”

“Bullshit.”

“Bullshit, nothing. I hated you. You’re pretty, smart, and popular. Just like the girls I hated in high school. You even…” I stopped myself. I couldn’t believe I almost spilled my whole “Carla drama” to her. I didn’t realize until that moment that I hadn’t thought about Carla that way in months.

“I what?”

“Never mind. Anyway, I got to know you. You’re thoughtful and caring, not at all the stuck-up princess I thought you were.”

“I’m not—“

“Shut up. At first, that made me want to hate you more, but I just couldn’t. You’re a good person, and I…” I trailed off. How did I feel about her?

“You…?”

Damn it all to hell. “I like you, too.”

Her face lit up like a damn Christmas tree. The heat in my chest pushed away all my panic and self-recrimination. I bent down to kiss her, taking her face in my hands. When she put her hands on my hips, I jumped off the couch to wrap my legs around her waist. She grabbed my ass, and her massive boobs squished between us as we made out.

We fell together down onto the couch in a fit of giggles. Yes, I fuckin giggled. Shut up.


IX

After a good deal of making out, lying side-by-side on my couch, Barbara turned me on my back to kneel over me. I couldn’t see what she was doing because her tits hung down to mash into my chest, blocking my view downward. I reached a hand up to her face and found her looking not at me but somewhere over my head.

“What’s that?”

The spell was broken as those two little words sent a bolt of cold panic down my neck. Before I could form a response, Barbara was climbing off me, off the couch, and walking toward the door.

I tried to think of something, anything to distract her or entice her back. “Why—“

“What is this?” She interrupted, bending down, steadying her boobs with an arm as she picked up the clay doll.

Barbara stood. She looked at the simulacrum, turning it over in her hands. She looked at me, then back at the doll. I sat up on the couch, slowly rising to my feet.

Her voice was soft but icy. “What is this, Danielle?” She stared at the doll. “Why do you have a little statue of… is this me??”

My mind raced, but I couldn’t come up with an answer. I couldn’t tell her the truth. But what could I tell her that wouldn’t be complete bullshit? That I found it somewhere? That would only raise more questions. That I made it because I’m some kind of artist and I admired her? I don’t know. Is being a creepy stalker better than being a witch who put a curse on her? Maybe, but not by much.

Barbara looked back at me while I struggled to find a plausible response, then she returned to examining the doll. Her voice grew quiet, “Is this… my hair?”

She tugged at the single strand of hair, firmly wedged into the hard clay. I’ve said she was smart, so I guess what she said next was inevitable.

“It… was you…”

Her eyes met mine; her beautiful face twisted into an ugly mask of rage. “You did this to me!”

I stood frozen, blurting out, “What? I—“

“You, what?” She mocked. “Magic is real, and you used it somehow to do all this to me!” She gestured at her enormous chest.

Barbara took a step toward me, and I flinched back reflexively. “D-don’t be silly, Barbara… that’s impossible.”

“Is it!?” She got closer, and I took a step back.

“That’s just –um– a sculpture I was working on…” I said lamely, “I was just messing around…”

Her chest loomed toward my face, and I backed up again. “Oh, you were just ‘messing around?’ Then what’s with this hair, then?” She tugged the strand again, and again, it stayed put.

Um, it, um…

“‘Um, oh, um…’ You’re a shitty liar, Dani.” She closed on me, and when I retreated again, my back hit the wall.

Barbara stepped forward, pressing me against the wall with her tits. She put both hands on the wall, penning me in, still holding the simulacrum. I squirmed in my soft, fleshy prison, but even without her arms, Barbara had me trapped. As before, I was painfully aware of how much more physically powerful she was than me.

Her voice was a low growl, “I should report you to the dean.”

“W-what would he do?” I gasped. I could only take shallow breaths with her weight against me.

Barbara glared down, “Expell you… kick you out of school… cancel all your credits so you can’t graduate…”

A kind of calm fatalism fell over me. She was right to be angry. “What would you tell him? That I put a magic spell on you?”

She clicked her tongue in annoyance, “I’ll go to the police. Altering someone’s body without their consent has to be a felony!”

I let out a tiny sigh with my limited lung capacity. “They’re not going to believe you anymore than the Dean.” I took another ragged inhale. “Besides… did I force you to eat two or three helpings of lunch for the past two months?”

She pulled her empty hand back and slapped me across the face. If I hadn’t been pinned to the wall, I probably would have fallen to the floor. I probed with my tongue to see whether she’d knocked any of my teeth loose. Then, a hot wave of pain blossomed on my cheek.

I looked down, seeing nothing but Barbara’s chest, and sighed. “You’re right. And I deserved that.”

She stepped back with another annoyed “tsk.” My knees buckled, and I slid down the wall to land on my ass. Staring at the floor, I softly said, “I know you won’t believe me, but it really was an accident.”

“Accident…” She scoffed. “You accidentally cursed me to grow giant boobs?”

“Yes…”

“That’s hilarious. You should do stand-up.”

I struggled to my feet. “I mean it, Barbara. I could try explaining it to you, but I don’t even know how it happened, not really.”

“Well, that’s great. Just great.”

She paced the room, then spotted the open bag of clay on my desk. As she stomped across the room, I noticed I could see her boobs even from behind. What the fuck is wrong with me?

Barbara set the doll on the desk, grabbed a wad of clay, and rolled it between her hands.

“Let’s see how you like it…”

Sympathetic Magic - 5/5

X

I sat against the wall as Barbara played with my clay. She couldn’t do anything with it, not really. Even if she had the talent for Sympathy, she didn’t have any training, so there was no point in trying to stop her. After a minute or two, she strolled slowly back to my side of the room, holding a clay doll. It was simple and crude, like one of the vague animal shapes I sometimes made when I used the clay as a stress reliever. Just an oval with four cylinders as limbs and a round ball for a head. The clay version of a stick figure.

Barbara bent down and grabbed a handful of my hair. I winced as she yanked a few strands from my scalp. Even though I knew it was coming, the sharp pain was such a shock I found myself holding the Void to separate myself from it. As Barbara poked the hair into the doll, I was only dimly aware of my subconscious Linking myself to it.

With my mouth gaping in horror, I tried to sever the Link, but the Void shattered around me. In Barbara’s hands, the clay transformed into a perfect copy of me. Her eyes went wide, and she gasped. “Holy shit… it’s true…”

She looked around the room and spotted my bowl of pins. With three strides of her long, perfect legs, she was at the dresser, picking up a pin and undoing the catch. I stood slowly on shaky legs but didn’t go after her.

I deserve this.

Barbara jabbed the pin into Mini Dani’s arm. I felt a bloom of heat in my own arm. To my surprise, the sensation wasn’t entirely unpleasant. It was as if the skin of my arm was as sensitive as my private parts, and someone had bit down on me just a little too hard. My body twitched, and I bit my lower lip to stifle a gasp.

She misinterpreted my reaction as a wicked grin spread across her lips. She pulled the pin out of her doll and stabbed its other arm. A spasm rocked through my back, making me stagger back against the wall.

“You like that, huh?” Barbara sneered. “How does it feel to have someone fuck with your body?”

She stabbed the doll again and again, each time sending a burst of intense pleasure through my body. The overwhelming sensation was too much, and I cried out, stumbling back to the floor. Then, Barbara drove the pin all the way through the doll’s stomach. I shuddered in ecstasy as the orgasm took me, screaming in pleasure as I lay curled in the fetal position on the carpet.

Barbara stared down at me, eyes wide. She stepped across the room slowly, stopping with her shoes a few inches from my head. I rolled onto my back and looked up, but Barbara’s chest was blocking my view of her face. She must have realized at the same time I did because she took a step back to glare down at me.“What the fuck was that? Did you just… are you enjoying this?”

I waved a hand frantically up at her. “No! Stop, please, no more…”

Barbara squatted down, her strong legs keeping her balanced despite her new center of gravity. “Start talking,” she demanded.

I pushed against the floor, my arms trembling as I levered myself up to sit against the wall. “It… it does that. I don’t know why. It’s not supposed to, but I’ve never tried Malefaction before.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Malefaction?”

I stared at my hands, and my voice came out in the faintest whisper. “Using Sympathy… magic, to hurt someone…”

“The fuck do you call using magic to fuck with my body, then?”

“I don’t think it counts if it’s not a direct attack, though I know that’s no excuse.”

“Damn right, it’s not.”

She glared, but I went on. “I technically did do it to you once, I think… Though that was an accident, too. Do you remember that time in class… a few months ago?”

Her eyes widened. “That’s what that was?”

I told her the whole story. Carla, the night I made the doll, I even tried to explain how Sympathy and the Void work.

“That first time in class is the only time I actually wanted to hurt you, I promise. I really am sorry, and I know this won’t help, but I felt awful as soon as it happened.”

The fury in Barbara’s face had cooled, and a crease formed between her gold eyebrows. “You poked me in my shoulder?”

“Yeah…”

“What about the second time, in my…” She looked down at the fat lobes resting on her knees. “…chest?”

I stared at the floor. “I… I sorta bumped it with my hand.”

“Heh. You’re such an idiot.”

I looked up to find Barbara grinning at me.

The room spun as I sputtered, “W-what?”

“You spent all that time believing a bunch of shit you just made up in your head… when you could have just talked to us? Am I really so scary?”

I hung my head. “No…”

Barbara clicked her tongue, rising to her feet. She reached a hand down to help me up, and I took it. “I would have helped you out with Carla if I’d known. But she’s got a boyfriend now.”

“Really?”

“Did you not know she was bi?”

“I guess not. I don’t really know her at all.”

In that moment, I knew I was over Carla. The news of her having a boyfriend should have been devastating, but I just felt… nothing. Maybe I was even… happy for her?

Barbara said, “I didn’t tell her to dye her hair, you know. She’s just kind of a follower.”

“Yeah…”

“Anyway, she seems really happy with Carlos. I think they’ll be good together.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Carla and Carlos?”

Barbara grinned. “I know, right?”

I felt her fingers shift and realized we were still holding hands. “I really am sorry, Barbara.”

To my shock, she pulled me close and wrapped her arms around me. My face was buried in the softness of her overstuffed sweatshirt. “I know you are,” She said, “and I forgive you.”

I tilted my head back to meet her eyes and free my nose and mouth from her cleavage so I could breathe. “I can talk to my Grandma and her partner. They might know how to undo… this.”

“That would be nice,” she said. “Though if they don’t, I guess it’s alright.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. They’re kinda… growing on me.”

I gave her a flat stare, and she grinned at her own “joke.”

Pressed against her body like this, I was having a hard time focusing on coherent thoughts. Remembering what she said a moment ago about believing the worst instead of talking to people, I managed to ask, “Do you… still hate me?”

She craned her neck down, squishing her massive breasts between us as her lips met mine. With all my secrets out in the open, it felt better than all the kissing we’d done earlier. More freeing, more true.

Our lips parted, and Barbara said, “How could I hate a cute girl who’s so infatuated with me?”

I pulled back. “What?”

Barbara slid her hands lower until they were gripping my lower back, just inches away from my hips. “Come on, Dani, I can read between the lines. I’m still working out all this ‘void’ stuff, but obviously, some part of you wanted to give me great big honking titties.”

I sighed. This new policy of honest transparency was going to take some getting used to. “You know, you’re probably right. Before all this, the only consolation I had was that my boobs were bigger than yours.”

She made a mocking gasp. “How rude! I was very insecure about my chest; I’ll have you know.” Then she grinned. “I guess I should be thanking you.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah. I’d been debating surgery for a long time, and now I don’t have to. Though I think you went a little… overboard.”

I squeezed my body into her, burying my face in her cleavage. “Agree to disagree.”

Barbara chuckled. “Well, if what my agent says is true, I can make even better money in their adult department. But that doesn’t mean you’re off the hook, little witch.”

I met her eyes, but instead of rage or scorn, I saw that fire from earlier just beginning to smolder.

“You’re gonna pay for what you did to me.” She glanced at the open door to my bedroom. “And I have a few ideas about how.”


Epilogue

Staring at the endless miles of highway, I felt a jolt of pleasure between my legs. I looked over to see Barbara with her simulacrum of me in her lap. She was watching me as she brushed an enameled fingernail over the doll’s middle.

“Would you stop that,” I scolded, “I’m trying to drive here.”

Contrary to my words, I couldn’t help but stare at her cleavage as if hypnotized. She was wearing a tiny tank top, and her flesh glowed in the afternoon sun, rippling with every bump in the pavement.

“Eyes on the road, Wednesday.”

I clicked my tongue and looked away. A few seconds later, my back spasmed as Barbara prodded my doll again.

“I’m gonna take that away.”

“I’d like to see you try, short stuff.”

“You know…” I said, keeping my eyes forward, “I’ve got lots more clay. I could always add another handful to yours. You feeling hungry, Barbie?”

With a huff, Barbara put the doll back in her bag.