Last of the Raffle Stories from the February Contest! This one is a SFW tale of an auditor accidentally getting cursed and becoming a female sphinx. It's a lot fun, I promise.

Going to open another raffle contest very soon, if you'd like to enter for a chance at winning your very own "Marquis Orias"-brand TF Story, then be sure to follow me on FA!

This comedy is about 5k words long.

Enjoy!
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The Thing About Riddles

Marquis Orias


Raffle Story for Catprog

Man => Female Sphinx

Comedy-Drama





“So do you or do you not have a transaction list of all your ‘trades’ over the years? Because that’s technically taxable if the items are not deemed worthy of equivalent value. We aren’t necessarily going to appraise everything in the collection for you, but there’s a severe backlog of outstanding tax debts leveraged against your… nonprofit… see this too is what’s really grinding my gears. Non. Profit. That’s not the vibe I’m getting from this place.” Victor’s eyes scanned the room, though he still didn’t know how to properly read it.

“We’re just collectors of curiosities.” The white-mustached elderly gentlemen, allegedly identical twins, spoke in unison. “Nothing more to it!”

Victor tapped his fingers against his clasped briefcase, not even taking a moment to sip the tea the elderly museum owners had poured for him. Of all the cases he was tasked with handling, the worst always involved talkers and their STORIES. A cacophony to be suffered, as far as he could tell, in the main ‘office’ of the Curio Museum, itself a derelict relic of the 1970s with star clocks and worn varnish on wood paneling. The entire ‘museum’ complex consisted of a series of warehouses conjoined through likely illicit and shoddy construction… At least the manicured grass lawn was partial compensation to the museum’s sorry state, though the trim was completely overshadowed by broken windows and rusting exterior lighting fixtures that caught Victor’s attention upon first stepping out of his car. The mess inside was just the icing on the cake.

Across the table from Victor sat Herbie and Hank, the Brothers Ptolemy… Keepers of Curiosities... Herbie wore silver aviators and a cream-colored suit audacious enough to put even Tom Wolfe to shame, his comb-over stained with touch-of-gray even though his sparse facial hair was bone white. Hank was his shadowy parallel, wearing a dark threaded three-piece suite and golden shades. Even their teacups contrasted, and Victor wasn’t yet sure whether the aesthetic was intentional to throw him off his game or if these twins were just that eccentric.

“So where do you want to get started?” Herbie’s smile was as coffee-stained as his cheeks wrinkled. “Upstairs, main lobby, or… the basement collection?”

“It’s terrible down there.” Hank shook his head. “So much clutter, we wish we opened your letter sooner… we could have tidied up.”

“No worries, gentlemen. I’ll just be taking preliminary pictures today, further analysis will require me to bring in experts…” Victor loosened his tie, his starched collar already irritating his skin.

Overseeing state audits wasn’t Victor’s first choice career-wise, but his unwavering attention to detail earned him a reputation potent enough to get rare ‘merit-based’ compensation in the public sector. His name emerged at the top of recommendation reports, graced the lips at department mixers, and his emails always got forwarded far beyond their intended destinations. Of course, such distinguished success earned him the ire of coworkers and their “The Office”-style pranks, always at his expense.

“Do you want to know the first item we ever purchased together as brothers in business? I’ll give you three guesses.”

“Gentlemen, I really don’t have time to-” Victor pushed the cup of tea and its accompanying coaster aside to make room to open his briefcase.

“Nonsense, you came all this way from the capital… we’re going to treat an official guest right!” Herbie stood up, a spry step in his bones beyond what Victor would have expected from the old man.

“And we’re going to sort out this audit issue, we don’t want any trouble and will fully pay what we owe!” Hank nodded as his brother started pacing the dusty office.

“We’ve got receipts… somewhere…” The twin in the cream-suit muttered to himself about legends and innate worth as his wing-tipped dress shoes tapped off worn carpet.

“Gentlemen, that’s the problem. The state doesn’t know exactly what you owe, except that it's a hypothetical sum between either $100,000 and $4,700,000.” Victor could hardly believe the words escaping his lips, the unknown true quantity frustrating enough to make his blood boil. He always got the numbers right!

“That’s quite the range.” Hank frowned.

“Hence the headache. This isn’t the worst I’ve seen, at least.” Victor lied. “So I’m hoping the final penalty sum will be on the lower end.”

Even the office annex was filled with sporadic and nonsensical chaos, vintage 1920s advertisements next to Kowloon Walled City neon signs… fur coats, ancient suits of Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth armor… and that was just what was shown on the cropped website photo. In person the sea of random inside the complex was overwhelming, each additional room holding fresh surprises. This wasn’t a museum, it was an unfinished episode of American Pickers…

“Us too!” Herbie shouted, picking up a dress cane leaning against a cabinet only to begin striking exposed wood paneling with it. “I haven’t felt this alive in years… we’re finally going to know what we’ve got! And, well, pay our debt to society!”

“Do you have any item in particular that stands out in terms of perceived or known value? Something that you would consider the ‘prize’ of your collection?” Victor asked the brothers.

“All of our collections are prizes, their sentimental value dwells evenly in our hearts.” Hank dabbed his mouth with a handkerchief.

“I didn’t ask about sentimental value, just monetary. I’ll make it a little easier for you, do you have any items containing gold or precious gemstones?”

“Yes.” Herbie gave the wall another smack, hard enough that the panel permanently curled after the strike. “We do have those.”

Victor’s fingers moved through his meticulously ordered folders, each delineated by a different color scheme for specific business type, official filing forms, official late forms for those official filing forms, official late forms for the official late forms of the official filing forms, mechanical pencils, pens with erasable ink, whiteout for when the ink erasers smudged… every tool he could possibly need to make his day glide along a little easier sat in silent repose inside that briefcase, wrapped up with love and care.

“Can you show me these items?” Victor retrieved his smartphone, 108 megapixels purchased at a premium, auto-zoom constantly enabled. Moving from most valuable to least was his typical method of operation for these appraisals, it made the grind a bit more tolerable… at least if the purchasing document pedigree still existed.

“I was hoping we could get to know each other a bit better.” Hank sighed. “Before we jumped immediately into business.”

“Sometimes I hope for that too, but I also have no pretenses about the challenge awaiting me. Going through all this… The state doesn’t really like to wait.”

“I understand.” Hank removed his golden sunglasses and rubbed his eyes, the elderly man looking frailer by the minute.

“Maybe you’ll get a kick out of The Slab, Victor.” Herbie snapped his fingers, a wide grin stretching across his face.

“Herbie, we shouldn’t talk about that...” Hank’s fingers paused, mid-pull of the bags under his eyes.

“He asked about gold and gemstones, maybe he’ll be able to give us a proper appraisal. No auctioneer has been successful in understanding The Slab.”

“Gentlemen, I think you misunderstand. I myself am not an auctioneer, I merely photograph and prepare the collections for educated and state-approved experts.” Victor realized how similar his situation sounded to a Pawn Stars routine. “They’ll come later, I’m just here to gather preliminary information and manage the audit.”

“He doesn’t know…” Hank stared at his brother, his voice serious.

“I’ll show him anyway.”


Herbie, assisted by his cane, shuffled down the hallway with Victor in tow. His unusual spryness came and went, like a phantom arthritis. One minute he was practically jumping, the next hobbling… inconsistent, just like the half-lit chandeliers on the ceiling above.

The auditor clutched his briefcase tight to his chest as he slipped around the stacks of old newspapers, written in dozens of languages across decades, and chipped Ming vases. Hoarders, that’s what this situation was… hoarders manifesting as curators. Victor had seen worse on television, the only thing keeping the clutter manageable was the distinct lack of mold… the dryness in the air sapping all microbial life, but causing the walls and wooden tables to warp and peel.

“Watch out for that electrical cord.”

“What electric-” Victor felt his shoe snag on a silvery translucent coil, tripping the auditor but failing to topple him.

“That one, it’s for our jukebox. There was an old diner about 19 miles up Route 1… proprietor decided to sell, didn’t want to give everything away, cast out memories to the trash, so he called us. And we grabbed the best help we could, our immediate family, and got to work salvaging.”

Each item had a story, value wrapped in the emotions and events each random knickknack bore witness to over a long and tumultuous history… or a boring one. Victor wasn’t 100% certain that each dusty piece of silverware once sat on a prince’s table, but if there was a tale to be spun… he was in the company of gentlemen who would kindly do so.

“I like 50s diners, they’re a dying breed.” Victor grumbled, jerking his leg to remove any lingering sting from the cord.

“Ay.” Herbie paused, turning around and looking over Victor’s shoulder.

“Your brother coming?”

“He’ll meet us at the Altar.” Herbie smacked his lips, the sound like crumpled paper.

“Altar?”

“The marble slab I want you to see is special, we had to go through an awful lot of trouble to acquire it. We aren’t pulling your leg when we say it’s one-of-a-kind.”

One-of-a-kind. So appraising would be randomized, no historical record to judge… only innate value of whatever precious metal and stone composed it, layered against cultural premium… symbolic value. A nightmare to process for taxing purposes, though if it required additional expert testimony then it would be on the Brothers Curio to cough up the cash necessary to bring that talent in.

“Is it actually Egyptian?” Victor asked once they were farther down the hallway, coming to a bend almost cordoned off by a partially deconstructed Amish buggy, one wheel off its axle and sitting in the middle of the hallway’s clearing.

“Greco-Egyptian was what we were told. From the lineage of Alexander himself.” Herbie leapt over the wheel, the edges of his shirt brushing against the chipped black paint of the buggy and the peeling wood vinyl of the walls.

“I see. So it’s old but not Neolithic.” Victor winced as he stepped between the spokes of the wheel, sucking in air to make sure he didn’t catch any flaking paint or dust across his fine business suit.

“That’s one way of putting it. Much of our collection is shrouded in mysteries, potentially unsolvable ones due to the untimely deaths of our eldest siblings.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.” Victor gave a firm exhale as he hustled to catch up to Herbie, the elderly gentleman never skipping a beat.

“Oh they were like… 102… 104. And they weren’t quite ready to move on, but they obtained a mercurial elixir of life from an ancient Chinese tomb. Before Hank or I could intervene… It was too late. Both gone. A preventable tragedy… and unfortunately my eldest brother was the one who kept our collection records. We’ve just been playing catch-up ever since.”

“I think I caught a special on the history channel about one of those elixirs. Arsenic was a core ingredient, right?” Victor raised an eyebrow.

“Ah that would explain the frothing.” Herbie paused, aged lips curled into a frown. “Hmm…”


Hank was waiting for them in the atrium, where a makeshift Egyptian altar ‘exhibit’ was propped together with pieces of old plywood, some still adorned with flecks of black paint, the kind used on Amish buggies. Two meters high, a haphazard Mayan pyramid made out of debris, lit up with repurposed theater lamps, each from a different decade. The artifact itself sat prone, situated upon a repurposed tabernacle.

“Behold! The Slab!” Hank, trembling as he moved, retrieved a set of ceremonial robes from a massive 17th century pirate chest.

“No! You have to point at The Slab when you say that.” Herbie smacked his cane against the base of the altar. “You can’t say it when nobody can see it! That completely defeats the point, you crazy old man!”

“Crazy old man? Look who’s talking! You’re waving around a cane you don’t even need!”

“Now… wouldn’t that make me crazy but not old? If I didn’t really need the cane. I fail to grasp your LOGIC.”

“Because you need a walker instead! Ah. I was building toward the punchline.”

“You malicious devil! How dare you!” Herbie shuffled toward his brother, twirling the cane above his head.

Victor didn’t intervene between the feuding siblings, instead he carefully ascended the altar, each footstep a little larger than on a typical flight of stairs. The wood creaked under his weight, but the platform didn’t collapse as he reached the summit.

“Don’t you swing that at me! I was the boxing champion! Remember that!” Hank dodged his brother’s telegraphed strike.

“You can’t even open a pickle jar anymore!” Herbie’s voice echoed off the tall ceilings.

“Neither can you!”

Victor’s eyes widened as he drew nearer to a glass prism containing an oblong and chipped piece of marble, embedded gems glistening from all angles, patterns deliberate and spiraled… the words inscribed illegible, but the sight compelling him forward… closer…

“This is ornate, far more than I anticipated.” Victor slipped a latex glove onto his hand with a firm snap before trailing a finger around the engraved tablet.

“We weren’t messing with you.” Herbie lowered his cane from its striking position. “Not one bit.”

“Exceptional artistry, simply-”

“Really though, I’d be careful about touching it.” Hank added, his voice flush with seriousness. “Because we were specifically told that while The Slab is beautiful, it has a personality all its own. No man can predict the ebb and flow of its ways. Like the tides.”

“I… it’s almost like it's whispering to me.” Victor’s finger moved from the edge of the marble slab to the words etched across its shiny facade.

“It probably is… of all our supposed mystical artifacts, The Slab is the only one that talks.”

Victor didn’t yank his hand away when The Slab liquefied, the polished white marble turning first to mud and then to translucent pale water. Instead, the auditor’s latex glove slipped inside the forming pool, down past the cusp of the seam of his glove. Once the bone-colored liquid touched his exposed skin, however, the electricity coursing through his arm forced him to cry out.

“You really shouldn’t have done that.” Hank muttered as he watched the mayhem unfold. “Most people don’t touch the mystic cauldron, the maelstrom of souls.”

“We don’t call it the maelstrom of souls…” Herbie’s voice wavered into an exaggerated moan.

“I can also call it the maelstrom of souls.” Hank rolled his eyes.

“It’s called The Slab and only The Slab.”

“Whatever.”

Shaking his arm, Victor tried to get the shimmering liquid off his skin, to end the electrical current racing through his muscles and tearing at his bones. Deep, so much deeper than static electricity… The sound reminded the auditor of an old chemistry class from his college days, a required elective, where the professor had used hydrochloric acid in a reaction. The sputter, twenty shielded eyes, the hiss that just kept on going. To mirror the memory, the ivory color drifted up Victor’s arms, tone yellowing to a light tawny as it neared his bicep. As the discoloration spread, the pain of the electric tingles subsided, transitioning to a dull throb.

“Has that happened before?” Herbie craned his neck as Victor held up his shifting arm to the theater lamps.

“Nobody has touched it before.”

“Right, but our auditor’s arm is now in a state of metamorphosis…”

“Which is a surprise BECAUSE IT HAS NEVER HAPPENED BEFORE!”

“You’re so cruel to me sometimes.” Herbie clutched his cane, a hint of his eyes peeking over the edge of his sunglasses as he lowered his chin toward his brother. “So cruel.”


Victor, mouth agape, stared blankly at the curly fur tufts that emerged along his wrist. The hair growth followed the path of the color shift of his flesh, both up his arm toward his shoulder and down under the glove. The extent of the change, however, didn’t become fully evident until sharpening nails tore through Victor’s latex-coated fingertips, his digits now sporting curved feline claws, wickedly sharp and growing larger by the moment.

The auditor was quick to rip the glove away, uncovering a hand swelling with animal paw pads, rapidly losing dexterity. Victor’s thumb shriveled, atrophying muscle as it pulled back along the contours of his altered hand. By the time the remnant digit finally withered away to a shriveled nub, the changing pallor spread across Victor’s throat, coating and removing his Adam’s apple. His skin, though furred, clung tighter against a thinning profile.

“What…” Victor’s voice rose in pitch, veering from a masculine base to a feminine alto in a matter of seconds. “WHAT?!”

“This is extraordinarily peculiar, Hank. Marvelous and impressive, yes… but extraordinarily peculiar.” The cane slipped from Herbie’s fingers and fell to the museum floor with a clatter. “That such transformation could take place on our humble earth.”

“I…” The fur might have stopped at Victor’s neck, but the transformation certainly didn’t. What exposed skin he possessed, hinted with five-o-clock shadow, softened and lightened to a porcelain hue. The man’s jawline diminished, his brow receding as his hairline, tone matching the pale tawny wave across his arms, lengthened into distinguished golden bangs. From out of the growing locks, two feline ears emerged, tips coated in fine golden fur… the only animal trait to grow from Victor’s feminizing face.

The tingling across Victor’s shrinking jaw moved into his nose, bulky cartilage melting away into smoke, leaving only a nasal profile distinctly regal and unquestionably female. Lips cracked by the stale air pumped through the museum by dehumidifiers plumped and moistened, turning a virulent red with a firm and unyielding pout. Victor could feel the puffing of his lips with his tongue, though the sensation was one of numbness, applied novacaine.

The ripples in the marble liquid subsided, and where The Slab once rested Victor could see his own transformed visage, the woman reflecting back at him decidedly beautiful, otherworldly even... with cat eyes and pointed tufted ears… and fur racing down her neck and arms… a tawny pelt that ran down… his… her… swelling chest.

Something inside Victor’s mind clicked, a shifting of self-identity… not erasure… but an easing into a new perception, that the old ‘him’ needed to be reevaluated, that the femininity that wracked the human portions of… her... mythological morphology should be embraced, cherished… the word sphinx drifted into her mind.

But no, no! That wasn’t his conscience talking, only the trickle of a dream matching the flow of fur. Victor wasn’t a sphinx, he wasn’t a lion creature with-

Victor’s dress shirt rippled, collar popping with a resounding tear as the fabric of even a designer tie couldn’t hold up to growing muscle mass.

But what if she was? Her transformation displayed in lights on a tattered and forgotten stage… like a vaudeville act. Was this her moment? Did she need to be afraid? Did she-

Wings erupted from Victor’s back, silken feathers of eagles, ravens, swans… the down mixed together in wave-like patterns. She cried out at these new protrusions, another inkling of pain beyond the numbing tingles… such was the whiplash that Victor fell forward, catching herself upon her paws… the crouching position itself a signal for the rest of the metamorphosis to cascade, faster and faster. No time for the lights to subside, not time for a curtain call… not yet, not when there was so much left for her to ask, to ponder-

Victor snarled, a lion’s roar pushed through human vocal cords, as a tail erupted from the back of her ruined pants, swishing side-to-side as her legs contorted, bones liquefying as hips displaced and the curve of her spine readjusted to a quadrupedal stance.

“Now that’s definitely a lion.” Herbie, wide-eyed, didn’t dare look away from the Egyptian altar.

“It’s not a lion you idiot! How many lions do you know that have wings?” Hank pointed at the flailing lioness, Victor’s forelimbs stretching like putty to match her digitigrade legs.

“To be fair, I’ve never seen a liger so what do I know about big cats? I’m a total novice, and can't even consider myself an acolyte of catology.”

“That’s not a real science.”

“There are 182 different diplomas that I have milled out to myself using the copier in the Dinosaur Hall. 182. Catology can be number 183, just you wait!” Herbie slammed his cane between his splayed dress shoes in defiance.

Victor gave another roar as the last of her tattered clothing fell away, a wail of both confusion and triumph. Heavy claws to slash at the feeble wood beneath her, human lips to speak in riddles and rhymes… waylay and confound the unworthy… all while her heightened muscles tensed to pounce. This shriek was the only thing able to cut through the bickering Brothers Curio, snap them out of their curmudgeon conflict and truly GAZE upon her acquired glory. Glory from the tip of her porcelain nose all the way to the tuft of her tail and-

Wait.

Victor blinked, her head suddenly fuzzy under lights that pulsed with a heat that hadn’t existed but a moment prior.


“My word! I know what you’ve become! Victor! You’re a sphinx! A lady of cruel riddles… she who devours souls of the feeble-minded and weak-willed.” Hank stumbled toward the sphinx woman illuminated upon the Egyptian podium. “In all my years I never would have thought-”

“Is that what that is? Looks a bit like a cat with a human head to me.” Herbie stroked his chin.

“Well no, look closely Herbie… the cat ears, humans don’t have those so we cannot technically describe her as possessing a human head. That would be inaccurate.”

“Ah yes. My mistake.”

“I’m a monster!” Victor wailed, claws tearing their own story into the chipped plywood structure. “A hideous beast! A demoness!”

“Right but that was also true 6 minutes ago when you were still a state auditor. Not much has really changed if you think about it. Perhaps the slide has only taken your innate wickedness and made it externally apparent. Karmic justice, if you will.” Herbie broke into a smirk.

“She’s a beautiful lioness creature though… better looking than before. Could still rock a tie too if she finds a fresh one. I think we have a box somewhere.” Hank glanced over his shoulder toward a stack of cardboard wardrobe moving crates.

She. They were referring to Victor as a woman… femininity her… her… her new descriptor. Fear, terror, an alien sensation just from existing… and yet… part of it felt… comfortable. What magick could make her feel this way, shift her perception and mind beyond just the running of her flesh?

“Fair point, fair point.” Herbie laughed, a bellied guffaw. “Tie would help us remember that she was once a distinguished tax collector.”

“Don’t just stand there and laugh at me! You did this!” Victor hissed at the brothers.

“We didn’t make you touch The Slab, in fact we were explicitly going to warn you about touching The Slab, but you just couldn’t wait for us.” Hank refrained from joining in his brother’s hyena-like display.

“You were fighting!”

“We always fight, sometimes I win.” Herbie shrugged as he giggled. “Sometimes I throw out my back, it’s 50/50.”

Victor looked over her shoulder, toward her fluttering wings and thrashing leonine tail. So alien the sensation… could she really fly? And why… given her circumstances… Did she want to try?


Circumstances. Loss. Whimsical possibility was overshadowed by cruel realities. Amazing sensations coursing through her body coupled with existential dread and potent dreams.

“I… I can’t go back to my old job. My coworkers already hate me… they’ll laugh and then put me in a science lab, subject me to horrifying experiments, strip away what humanity I have left…” The sphinx began to hyperventilate as her thoughts kept looping, a downward roll toward the worst possible outcomes despite the energy that coalesced inside her new heart.

“Oh please, most of the Government isn’t like the IRS. I’m sure you’ll be okay.” Herbie slapped his knee, bracing himself.

“If you’re truly concerned about your future, we are in need of a new receptionist and curator. Someone to both greet guests and help us sort out our collection. Having proper pricing would be nice for auction purposes… Neither myself nor Herbie are long for this world or keen to pay our taxes.”

“Hank, there’s another elixir we can drink. It might work to prolong our lives!” Herbie doubled over, his aviator sunglasses clattering to the floor.

“Herbie, that ‘elixir’ was just bleach. I tried to tell you when you bought it, even made you smell it, but you just didn’t listen…” Hank shook his head. “Or are you joking around with me… with you it’s just so hard to tell sometimes.”

“It smelt of healing properties, cleansing for the soul!”

“Maybe you should have downed the ‘elixir’ the moment you handed over the cash… then our auditor wouldn’t be in this situation.”

“She’s not really our auditor anymore, especially not since you offered her a different job!” Herbie’s raucous laughter finally started to subside.

“I never accepted that position…” Victor grumbled, human head slumped forward in defeat. “But in light of what’s happened… I don’t see how I can exactly live my old life.”

No way to go into the office, no way to pay the bills, no way to go out with friends, no way to visit family during the holidays… maybe with enough phone calls, enough explanations… some of those issues could be alleviated. But nothing was guaranteed, and who would take a mythological creature seriously at face value, especially when trembling in fear was easier. Accepting this new position, as wacky and zany as it sounded, was suddenly the best option on the table to Victor’s scattered mind. But the museum was a cluttered mess, a hoarder’s paradise, and fixing it would prove its own daunting task.

Was returning to normal completely off the table? Maybe they had another magical slab, Sumerian, Babylonian, or Persian…

“I think if she started as head curator, sorting out the basement would be a top priority. I’m pretty sure some of our ‘specimens’ that were supposedly dead and preserved in formaldehyde might actually still draw breath… we hear clattering and hissing down there, the shattering of jars. We’d investigate but we aren’t the warriors we… never were admittedly… but like I don’t have the shoulder to fire the elephant gun as I did in my safari youth…”

“Herbie, you’re rambling again.”

“There’s… things alive down there?” Victor’s head tilted, leonine ears furrowed… eyes narrowed to slits.

“Possibly. Could be robots. Could be giant rats. We have no real way to know…” Hank explained.

“There’s a suit of armor made for Manchurian ponies… I don’t know if the plate and mail would fit your new form exactly, but the chest piece might if we sling it together with duct tape.” Herbie, sparing not a moment’s notice, hustled over to another pile of clutter. “I think it was here… oh maybe it was in the attic…”

“Armor?!”

“Well we don’t know what’s down there, you’ll want to be prepared.”

“I just accepted the job 5 minutes ago! And became a mythological beast 5 minutes before that.”

“We spare not a moment’s notice. Despite our apparent incompetence, and our fronting as geriatric hoarders… we run a very tight ship.” Herbie huffed as he rummaged through the pile, replica medieval tapestries tossed aside to reveal a disassembled set of armor.

“You don’t have to go down into the basement… I have an adult nephew I’m not particularly fond of… I’ll send him down instead sometime.” Hank attempted to console the increasingly terrified Victor, defusing the situation at every level.

“Hey! I like Bill!” Herbie heaved out a chest plate, the metal dulled and rusted in the corner, though the steel was emblazoned with a heraldic lion. “How dare you!?”

“The armor from that set will help you cover up, feel less exposed despite that fur coat.” Hank crossed his arms as Herbie hauled the equipment across the floor, loud scraping noises of metal against tile making Victor wince. “If it isn’t comfortable we can search for a better fit.”

“I still feel like I’m in a fugue state, this lucid wakeless dream… where I’m a woman and a hideous beast…”

“If there’s a place to walk around in a wakeless dream… it’s here.” Herbie set the chestplate before the sphinx still crouched atop the altar. “I promise we get less insufferable over time.”

Hank watched as Victor crept off the platform and dragged a paw across the armor. “Herbie… no. No we don’t.”






3 Months Later



“Are you real?” The visitor’s jaw dropped as a creature straight out of Greek and Egyptian mythology stared back at him from behind the ticketing desk. Its face was that of a beautiful woman, but from the neck down the torso profile was leonine… albeit clad in a polished steel chestplate. Long pantherine claws rested in shallow divots etched into the booth’s veneer, and outspread wings flapped listless and bored.

“Oh. Hello, Bill. I guess they’d send another auditor eventually.” The creature spoke in a familiar voice, albeit a feminine version. “I see you’ve brought all the bells and whistles… love the Zero Halliburton and your tie. Very spiffy.”

“Vic… Victo-”

“It’s Victoria now. Ran afoul of a magical curse and now I’m a sphinx.” She’d originally picked out a longer explanation for when someone from the bureau inevitably dropped by, but something succinct felt more appropriate for a number cruncher. “Better than one of your pranks, I’ll admit. This metamorphosis really shocked me.”

As a human male, she’d been fairly ‘no nonsense’ and though her mind and body had shifted, she wasn’t eager to part with all old aspects of her personality.

“Jesus Christ…” The state auditor’s jaw dropped, and Victoria could see the man’s fingers loosen around his briefcase.

“It took a little getting used to, I’ll admit… the biggest hurdle is the lack of thumbs coupled with the lack of a muzzle to compensate. But besides that I’ve been well.”

“Everyone thought you died!”

“The old me kinda is gone, I work for this museum now.” Victoria declined to admit the extent of her personality shift, the wayward glint in her eyes instead flashing whenever she could toy with new visitors like a cat batting at a ball of yarn.

“Oh about that… yeah there was a judicial ruling that this establishment cannot legally be referred to as a museum.”

“What will I refer to it as then?” The sphinx sighed and tensed her claws, the divots in the wood paneling growing deeper with each flex.

“Condemned.” The new auditor glanced around the messy atrium, the corridors of the converted warehouse so covered in heaps of junk that the museum resembled a junkyard.

“Lovely.”

“They gave away your old job… management was really pissed… disappointed.”

“I expected as much… hmm… I suppose I should call the Brothers Ptolemy so they can speak with you.” Victoria arched her back, hackles raising as she tensed ample muscles and her wings.

The new auditor rocked back and forth on his heels, unease welling inside him as he stared at his former coworker.

“So you… uh… like working here?”

“It isn’t terrible. Pay sucks, but the work is at least entertaining. They have things you wouldn’t believe.”

“I’m sure I’ll be getting into the thick of it.” The auditor coughed, awkwardly scratching at the back of his neck.

“Want some advice?”

“Sure! Anything that gets today over with faster, directors have me so booked with these audits.”

“So if you go down the hallway on the right…” A sly grin, just shy of predatory, crept across Victoria’s flawless lips. “You’ll come across a makeshift Egyptian altar, looks like a Halloween prop… but you should really check out the marble slab they’ve got on display. Appraising that piece of jewelry-encrusted stone will be the highlight of your career, it’ll literally change your world.”