February 1942 - Just over two months have passed since Zanzibar the Magician faced the Sorceress of Zoom and demanded to be reverted to a man. The attempt had failed, the Sorceress escaped, and Zanzibar (now having adopted the name Zee) remained in...
Music: MIDNIGHT COCKTAIL || Glen Miller & his Orchestra
February 1942
A wisp of smoke rose, slow, swirling, snaking its way through the air. Like a lover's embrace, it curled around the standard-lamp before fanning out and dispersing beneath the fringed lampshade.
On the radio, Glen Miller's Moonlight Cocktail played. The chimerical mix of reed and brass, peppered with piano, percussion and the vocal harmonies of Ray Eberle and The Modernaires created a relaxed ambience within the small sitting room.
Zanzibar sat in her favourite armchair puffing on a Chesterfield and holding a glass of bourbon in her other hand. She did so enjoy the big band sound coined by Glenn Miller. Music was and always had been an escape for her, something in which to find comfort, relaxation. This night was the first evening she had truly decompressed since -
She shook her head, refusing to allow specific thoughts to ruin her pleasure.
Alas, the song ended, and a newscaster took over the airwaves. The Japanese Imperial Army was reported as having secured yet another part of the world, adding to their growing Empire. So far, every day in February aired news of a siege, a battle, be it by sea or air, in which the Japanese pressed on for world domination. Their latest conquest was Palembang in Sumatra. They were frighteningly successful with their war strategy.
And on that note, Zanzibar's mood became sour.
Just over two months ago, life had been very different. Regularly on missions fighting those steeped in criminal activity, Zanzibar still didn't foresee the turn of world - or, indeed, personal - events.
She had belonged in a man's world, and she had occupied it - as a man.
War was raging in Europe then, and America had remained sitting on the fence. Until that was, Pearl Harbor. For the nation, everything changed on December 7th, 1941; conscription occurred for the fourth time in American history, and the US then joined WWII.
As for Zanzibar - well the battle taking up [his] her efforts at that time was one with -
Her fingers tightened around the glass. She took a long swallow of bourbon, hoping to drown out thoughts of her adversary - the one who had altered the magician's life so dramatically. The drink was quickly followed by another drag of her cigarette, the plume of smoke more forced, dense. Angry.
The Sorceress! How similar was she to this Imperial threat? She too sought world domination. But, her vision was even more ambitious; it spanned the cosmos and time itself. The fiend gathered to her bosom countless slaves, all contorted into mindless, mutated minions. All obeyed her commands without a second's thought.
A sneer, bitter, laced Zanzibar's bourbon-flavoured lips. She supposed that was at least something to be grateful for - she was neither a contorted monster nor a mindless follower of the Sorceress. But changed she was, nevertheless.
She eyed the legs which poked out from the hem of her dressing gown; they were now smooth, sheer, shapely. They could so easily have been warped and gnarled like some of the Sorceress' grotesque disciples.
Her eyes then drifted to her hands. No more masculine, strong and broad, they were slender, delicate, the nails longer than she usually wore them.
Finally, she stared at her breasts as they rose and fell, rhythmically, beneath the rayon challis fabric. She heaved a sigh; its dying sound ragged.
Then she heard the words again. 'Another time, little magician. Another time."
The Sorceress' parting pledge when escaping Tibet, would forever echo in Zanzibar's mind. And that conceited, triumphant look in her eyes as she looked down from the threshold of her cloud city; it sorely irked the transmuted magician.
A warm, prickling sensation encompassed Zanzibar's hand, snapping her back to the here-and-now. Her eyes focused on her fingers again as they tightly gripped her glass.
An effervescent stream of azure swam and weaved its way around her wrist and fingers. It pulsed and throbbed, the colour fluctuating, dazzling then dim, quickly brightening once more. A soft thrum filled the air.
She pushed herself forward, agitated, shocked, and suddenly the unbidden wave of magic vanished.
This had been most unusual. Her magic had never 'leaked' before; it always required initiation, a command, control.
And once more her thoughts returned to the Sorceress. Perhaps it was not just Zanzibar's physical form which the evil creature had altered. Maybe, somehow, the way she channelled magic was also modified.
Zanzibar stared at her hand, pondering. But just what was the stimulus to induce this irregularity? Furthermore, could it be controlled?
*****
Dedicated to @HaleyMcAfeeReid for her wonderful film noir styled artwork below.
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