Five Portraits

by Piers Anthony

  “That is sensible,” Brown agreed. “Do you know my nature?”

  “Astrid says that you are one of five women who can merge into one.”

  “This does not turn you off?”

  “Not if the five and the one are sensible. Especially if they are as pretty as you.”

  “We must talk,” Brown said. “After we clear this region of the virus.”

  “That is sensible,” Jon agreed again, smiling.

  Brown smiled back. This looked promising.

  In another hour, with Jon’s help, they cleared the region. Now it could be safely seeded with new puns. They all settled down for a break.

  “This is Jon,” Astrid said. “He helped us spread the elixir. He is looking for the right woman, and is considering Merge, or will once he meets her.”

  “No time like the present,” the five aspects chorused. They came together, put their heads in close, and let their hair twine. Soon they merged into one.

  “Hello,” that one said. “I am Merge.”

  “Hello, Merge. I am Jon.”

  “I note you do not freak out at the sight of a bare woman,” Merge said as she put on her panties and turned around to provide him a panoramic view.

  “That is true.” There was no freakout, only interest.

  “Please tell us about how you came to be immune to panty magic,” Merge said as she completed her dressing. She and the children settled down to listen. The children loved stories.

  Jon told them. Astrid visualized the sequence as it was narrated.

  He was foraging in the woods one day soon after passing the magical age of 18, looking for new kinds of pie to eat, when he heard a faint moan. He went there and found a lovely nymph with her foot caught in a trap. He recognized the type of trap: it was a supernatural snare, designed to catch only magical creatures. That meant she was magical. A fairy, maybe, or a sprite, or a wood nymph caught away from her tree. Certainly she was beautiful; he had never before seen a creature so fair. She had lustrous long golden hair that swirled around her body, forming a kind of cloak, and her features were simply perfect. Her body was—

  “Wake,” she said, and he snapped out of his trance.

  “Sorry,” he said. “The sight of such a—well, it does things to me.”

  “It freaked you out,” she said.

  “Yes,” he agreed, embarrassed. He had very little experience with women, but he knew about freaking out, having seen it happen to his friends.

  “Please help me, and I will reward you.”

  Just so. But was she a good or an evil spirit? If he touched an evil spirit he might be ensorceled and never heard from again. So he hesitated.

  She looked up and saw him hesitating. “Please, kind man,” she repeated. “Only a mortal can spring this trap.”

  “What are you?” he asked.

  “I am an angel.”

  “An angel! But they never leave Heaven!”

  “I am a young, naughty angel. I sneaked out because I wanted to explore Xanth. Now I am in awful trouble, unless I get back before they do bed-check. I’ll never do it again.”

  “But where are your wings?”

  “They are invisible. But I can show them to you if you wish.” There was a buzzing, and delicate pink wings showed at her back.

  That satisfied him: she was an angel. He knelt and put his hands on the jaws of the trap. In half a moment he had it open, and she drew her foot clear. In the process her hair slid aside and he saw up her bare leg.

  “Wake,” she said.

  Jon snapped out of it. He had evidently freaked out again. “Sorry. I—”

  “My fault, Jon. I moved carelessly.” Her hair was back in place so that nothing showed above her knees. “But perhaps before I fly back to Heaven I can help you eliminate that awkward freak reflex. It could be dangerous if you were in the wrong company.”

  “Uh, I guess,” he agreed.

  “First a little privacy.” She waved her hands, and a scintillating globe formed around them. Inside it was a marvelously soft bed of ferns. “Now your reward.”

  “I really don’t need a reward,” he protested. “It just wasn’t right to have a lovely creature like you trapped like that.”

  “Oh, but I promised. I am going to cure you of freaking.”

  “Well, that’s sort of a man thing. I admit it would be nice if I could look without freaking, but its harmless.”

  “Harmless? Not necessarily. Suppose you encounter an illusion-wielding vampiress who masquerades as a pretty human girl in panties, then sucks your blood during your freakout? You would then become her love slave, when all she wants is your blood. That would be a draining experience.”

  “Ugh!” Jon said. “I see your point. It would be better not to freak.”

  “Indeed.” She approached him and started removing his clothing.

  “What are you doing?” he asked, abashed.

  “I am undressing you. You must be naked for this exercise.”

  “Uh, well—”

  She stood on tiptoes and kissed him. That completely shut him up. In fact had she not been holding him down, he would have floated away.

  “Now close your eyes,” she said. “Because though human women need things like bras and panties to freak out human men, I do not. I need you conscious for this stage.”

  “Uh, yes.” He closed his eyes.

  Then she took his hands and moved them to stroke her marvelously soft body. Again he tried to float. Had he seen what he was stroking he was sure to have freaked out so hard he would never have recovered. As it was, he was in nearly terminal rapture as she passed his hands over all of her body from head to toe.

  “Now lie down with me,” she said.

  Numbly, he obeyed, eyes still closed. She hugged him and kissed him. Not only did he feel as if he were floating into the sky, he exploded into total freakout.

  “Wake,” she said gently.

  Jon found himself lying alone on the bed. The angel was standing beside him, fully clothed in her voluminous tresses. “Did I—?” he asked.

  “Yes, you freaked out,” she said. “But that was your last one. Henceforth neither the sight nor the touch of a woman will cause that to happen.”

  He sat up, then stood. He put his clothing back on. “Are you sure? I don’t feel different, apart from the, the joy of your touch.”

  “I will demonstrate.” She swept her cloak of hair aside and stood nude before him. She was absolutely lovely in every glorious detail, but while he fully appreciated the sight, he did not freak out.

  “Wow,” he breathed, awed as much by his lack of freak as by the truly evocative body before him.

  “Once you have been made love to by an angel, you are forever spoiled by anything less. Not even the most luscious panties will freak you.”

  “Wow,” he repeated. “Thank you.”

  “Now I will return to Heaven, having done you this return favor. Farewell, mortal.” She spread her gossamer wings and flew up into the sky, the globe that had given them privacy dissipating as she passed though it. He stood and gazed up after her as she rose. He saw up her legs, but did not freak. He had definitely been cured.

  “And ever since then I have been immune,” Jon concluded. “Experience has shown me that love springs don’t affect me, or lethe water. My heart is my own, or maybe the angel’s. This allows me to be wonderfully objective in my judgment of mortal women. But so far the ones I have encountered have been largely foolish twits, depending on their panties to wipe out my objectivity and cause me to ignore their faults. I want more than that in a wife.”

  “In Xanth, romance tends to be simplistic,” Demoness Fornax remarked, appearing only to Astrid. “Possibly Jon, no longer subject to panty magic, really is more objective.”

  “That would be nice,” Astrid subvocalized.

  “I wonder,” Metria said as her clothing dissolved leaving only a bright-purple bra and panties on the verge
of bursting asunder. Mitch, Ease, and Art froze in place, caught by surprise and freaked out. The women wore expressions of thinly masked disgust, though they were used to it.

  “She’s testing him,” Fornax said. “She considers it a challenge.”

  “No, it’s true,” Jon said. “I don’t freak.” He was nevertheless taking a good look. “You’re a demoness, aren’t you. They tend to have matchless measurements.”

  “I meant about the spiritual being,” Metria said as the stitching on her bra began to give way. “She could have been a demoness, like me, masquerading as an angel, the better to tease you.” Now the panties were starting to tear, exposing a generous buttock.

  “Nice touch, the seams giving way,” Fornax said. “Considering that they’re all demon stuff anyway.”

  “About the what?” Jon asked, his eyes orienting on the buttock.

  “The angel,” Astrid snapped before the usual exchange could get fairly started.

  “Oh.” Jon pondered half a moment. “Would a demoness have deliberately rendered any man immune to the weapon of the freakout?”

  “Bleep no!” Metria swore. “It’s fun to freak men.” Her straining bra and panties developed polka dots with no material in the dots, one of her favorite ploys.

  “Lovely,” Fornax said.

  But Jon still did not freak out. “Are you by chance single?” he inquired.

  “Ha! She is scoring,” Fornax said.

  “I’m long since married,” Metria said. “However my alter ego Mentia isn’t. But she’s a little crazy. She’d probably do anything you wanted.” She shifted, becoming a different person, but no less endowed.

  “Oh yes, she’s setting up a possible relationship for her alter ego,” Fornax said. “Clever.”

  “But unscrupulous,” Astrid murmured. “Considering it is Merge he is supposed to be checking out.”

  “It’s not working. Now cover it up, lady canine,” Kandy said tersely. “We want our men functional.” She evidently hadn’t picked up on the change of personalities.

  Mentia glanced at her. “Am I missing something?”

  “Metria was trying to tease an immune man,” Astrid said. “Put her back in charge.”

  “As you prefer,” Mentia said. She glanced at Jon. “Some other time, perhaps?”

  “Perhaps,” he agreed, intrigued, as she faded.

  “Oh, all right,” Metria grumped as her clothing reappeared. It was as if she were unaware of the intervening dialogue with Mentia.

  “Show’s over,” Fornax said, fading out.

  Kandy snapped her fingers, and the three men woke. “What do you wonder, Metria?” Mitch inquired. “I fear I suffered a moment of inattention.”

  Win laughed. “She flashed you, daddy.”

  “She wondered whether Jon encountered an angel or a demoness, dear,” Tiara said. “We concluded that it was indeed an angel.”

  “But how did she cure you?” Squid asked. “All she did was kiss you and hug you.” The children had not freaked out; bodily displays were the stuff of boredom to them.

  The adults did not comment. It seemed there had been an ellipsis in the narrative that left the children confused. The Adult Conspiracy was ever-diligent.

  “When an angel does it, that’s all that’s needed,” Jon said.

  “So you still appreciate the charms of women,” Merge said. “You just aren’t freaked out by them.”

  “Exactly.” Jon eyed her. “I find your charms quite satisfactory.”

  “And what of my ability to fragment?”

  “I admit that the thought of being hugged and kissed by five young women like you does not dismay me.”

  “So you in your objectivity see me as a suitable marriage prospect?”

  “I do. Are you interested?”

  “Is this adult-speak for mushy?” Santo asked.

  “Very much so,” Metria assured him.

  “I am interested,” Merge said. “But there is a condition.”

  “Let’s have it.”

  “We must adopt a child.”

  Jon frowned. “I was thinking of the conventional signaling of the stork. Repeatedly. Does the stork not respond to your call?”

  Merge colored faintly. “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never tried a signal.”

  “Then why do you think you need to adopt a child?”

  “Because the child needs to be adopted. I like her, and she likes me, and we want to make a family. But it would help to have a man in the picture.”

  “I see. So you are not abruptly smitten with me, so much as needing a man to complete your prospective family.”

  Astrid winced. Jon’s supreme objectivity was showing.

  “That’s approximately it,” Merge agreed. “It’s the converse of your interest in signaling the stork, regardless of the woman involved.” She shot a brief irritated glance at Metria.

  Jon nodded. “That is sensible. Who is the child?”

  “I am,” Myst said, smiling sweetly.

  “Well, you’re a cute one,” Jon said.

  “Thank you.”

  “How are you for discipline?”

  “For what?”

  “Power, control, obedience, no back talk, parent’s word is law,” Metria said.

  “Spanking?” Myst asked, bridling.

  “Whatever,” the demoness said crossly.

  “Yes, when necessary,” Jon said. “Can’t have a child running wild.”

  “No spanking,” Myst said.

  “That is not for you to decide.”

  “Yes it is.”

  Jon’s eyes narrowed. “So you are an undisciplined child?”

  “You bet. No one—”

  She was interrupted by the swoop of his hand. He caught her about the waist, lifted her, turned her over, and put her across his knee. He spanked her.

  And his hand passed through her to bang his own knee. Myst floated free, a cloud of mist.

  Jon nodded. “Undisciplined,” he concluded.

  “I don’t like you,” Myst said, making a pooping noise.

  “The feeling is mutual.” Jon turned to Merge. “Adopting a child, maybe. Adopting this one, no. She would be nothing but trouble.”

  “But this is the one I want,” Merge said.

  “Then it seems you have a choice: me or the child.”

  Merge hardly considered. “The child.”

  “Then that’s it.” Jon got up and walked away.

  Astrid winced again. Could there be such a thing as too much objectivity?

  Metria shifted forms again. Her child ego, Woe Betide, appeared. “Well, I guess you showed him,” she said.

  But now Myst was contrite. “I’m sorry, Aunt Merge. If you really want to marry him, I’ll—I’ll let him spank me.”

  “Absolutely not,” Merge said. “I don’t believe in that form of discipline.”

  “He did seem a bit too oriented on control,” Kandy said. “His way or the highway. Maybe it’s because panties don’t soften him. His immunity makes him unmanageable.”

  “Like me,” Myst said.

  “He didn’t like you being like him!” Merge said, amazed.

  “It would have gotten worse,” Metria said seriously. “If he’s making demands during the courtship, he’ll be a tyrant in the marriage.”

  “But now I can’t make a family,” Merge said tearfully.

  “There are other men,” Astrid said. “You just need to find the right one.”

  “I suppose,” Merge agreed uncertainly. “But I fear they may be all alike in this respect.”

  “Not me,” Mitch said.

  “But you’re not available.”

  “It must be time to get back to work,” Mitch said, not arguing that case. Tiara’s dawning glare might have had something to do with it.

  Metria shifted back into Mentia. “I’m just crazy enough to be intrigued,” she said. “I have no children.” She puffed into smoke an
d dissipated, evidently going after Jon.

  They got back to work, collectively sobered. That continued for several days, as they searched out remnants of the virus and eliminated them.

  Meanwhile Astrid pondered: three of the five children had found prospective adoptive parents, and a fourth was in the offing—if only Merge could find a man to marry. But one thing they were not finding any sign of was such a man. It was as though men didn’t exist in this region of Xanth.

  One afternoon Firenze was working alongside Astrid. “Is it all right if I call you Mom?” he asked hesitantly. “I know you haven’t married Uncle Art yet, and you haven’t adopted me, but it feels odd to keep calling you Aunt Astrid.”

  “Cal me that, son,” she said. “We know it will happen. We’re just holding up until the others can join us for the five portraits.”

  “Thanks, Mom.” He seemed relieved. “I’m worried about Myst. And Santo.”

  “Metria has expressed an interest in Santo. She admires his talent.”

  He hesitated. “I don’t want to insult anyone.”

  “What’s on your mind?”

  “Metria’s pretty flighty. She changes her mind all the time. And she already has a half-demon child.”

  “More than one,” Astrid agreed. “You’re thinking of Demon Ted. He’s nineteen now.”

  “Yes. She doesn’t mention him or bring him around. I don’t think she’s much interested in children.”

  “You think she might renege?”

  “Yes. And that she wouldn’t be a very good mother anyway. Not for a boy like Santo.”

  Astrid stopped working and faced him. “What are you saying?”

  He backed off immediately. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”

  “There’s something.”

  “Mom, he told me in confidence. I can’t tell.”

  “But it’s enough to make him not right for Metria?”

  “Yes,” he said miserably.

  “Well, I think it will be their decision. We should simply hope for the best.”

  “I guess.”

  She let it drop. But she wondered.

  Fornax appeared. “He has a point. Santo is special.”

  “He’s not a bad boy!”

  “No one said that. But Metria may indeed have a problem.”

  Astrid knew better than to push for more information than the Demoness felt free to provide. “Meanwhile we have not yet placed Myst.”