As Mike and Micky tied Ivan securely to an ornate wooden armchair, Ella took one last stab at the main control panel. She let out a loud whoop that made all the Monkees jump in fright when the last light on the panel obediently glowed a bright red. She ran the last two wires to the main switch and plugged them in. “It’s all set,” she announced.
“Okay,” Micky said, checking the controls. “It should be able to switch our musical abilities back now.”
“Should?” Mike asked dubiously. “You mean you don’t know?”
Micky shrugged. “Without any numbers—or any instruction manuals—I’m just guessing.”
“You mean you can’t do the calculations in your head?” Ivan said as he came around. “You’re even bigger fools than I thought.”
“In our heads?” Mike asked. “Man, no one can do that!”
“Ivan can,” Ella said matter-of-factly. “That’s the one thing that keeps him from being a complete idiot—his math skills are incomparable. Which means, Ivan, that you’re going to help with the calibrations.”
Ivan snorted and looked away. “Like hell I am.”
“You know, Ivan is quite a piano player.” Ella stepped back and retrieved an axe from under the stairs. She hefted it, grinning evilly. “Let’s see if you can play with eight fingers!”
“Wait!” Ivan shouted as she raised the axe over her head. “I’ll do it!”
“She’s mean,” Micky said, looking over at Mike.
“Yeah,” Mike said, shaking his head. “Thank God she’s on our side.”
“What do I get in return?” Ivan asked, an arrogant sneer returning to his face.
“You get to live,” Ella snarled, watching the smirk disappear from Ivan’s face. “And—provided you help return the Monkees’ musical abilities to where they should be, and leave when that’s done . . . I will give you all of my uncle’s notebooks, with all his work.”
Ivan’s eyes widened momentarily; he quickly regained his composure and nodded. As he began to rattle off a complex sequence of numbers and settings—which Micky scrambled to feed into the machine—Mike pulled Ella aside. “Are you sure about this? How can you trust him?”
“I don’t trust him. But Ivan is a coward. If he doesn’t help you or if he hurts any of you I’ll kill him—at least, that’s what he thinks.” She wiggled her eyebrows mischievously.
Mike whistled softly. “You’re evil.”
Her evil grin grew even broader. “Thank you.”
“We’re done,” Micky announced. “Everything looks okay to me.”
“That’s not sayin’ much, Mick.”
“All right,” Ella said, her attempt to cover her unease wavering slightly as she nervously wrung her hands. “Who’s first?”
“We’ll go,” Peter and Davy said in unison.
“You’re sure?”
Peter shared a brief look with Davy, who nodded his affirmation. “Yeah,” he said. “I just want to get this over with.”
“Hey, El, wait a minute,” Mike said as Peter and Davy stepped up on the platform and leaned against the wall. “Wouldn’t it just be easier if we all went at the same time?”
“No,” she replied, fastening the thick belt around Peter’s midsection. “The calculations are already complex; with four of you . . . besides, we want to get the right musical abilities back into the right bodies, not shuffle them around again.”
“Well, all right,” Mike said doubtfully.
“Do you really have to do that?” Peter asked as she strapped his wrists to the wall.
“Yes, dear, I do,” she replied, moving to Davy. “It’s for your safety.” She carefully attached the electrodes to their temples; she could see the fear in Peter’s eyes as she gently smoothed his bangs. “It’s all right. Just relax, Peter. Nothing is going to happen to you—I promise.”
“Okay, El; I trust you,” Peter whispered.
“Yeah, me too,” Davy said, unable to hide the nervousness in his voice.
“May I remind you who did the calculations on which you’re depending?” Ivan pouted.
“Oh shut up,” Ella hissed. “You’d better be sure those calculations are correct.”
“They are,” Ivan snapped. “My life does depend on them, you know.”
“Yes, it does,” Ella said darkly as she placed her hand on the switch. “You boys ready?” At their short, nervous nods she took a deep breath and pulled the handle down.
Peter felt the same intense vibration surge through him, making every muscle in his body constrict painfully. An odd draining sensation flooded through him, leaving him weak and gasping for breath. He forced his eyes open; keeping them shut only made it seem like the discomfort would go on forever. Ella was standing a few feet away, staring intently at him. He locked gazes with her—the strength in her eyes was enough to make the pain recede, and before he realized any time had passed Ella reached over and switched the machine off.
Peter and Davy slumped against the wall with identical weary sighs. “Did it work?” Davy asked breathlessly.
“You tell me,” Ella said as she unfastened their restraints. “You’re the musicians.”
“Look out, here comes tomorrow, that’s when, I’ll have to choose,” Davy sang, smiling when the voice that emerged from his throat was his own.
“What about you, Peter?” Mike asked.
Peter looked down at his hands. Though they didn’t feel any different, he knew instinctively that they were once again capable of dancing across a piano and bass. “I can play again,” he said, giving Ella a dimpled grin.
“You’re welcome,” Ivan groused.
“I’m not going to tell you again,” Ella snarled. “Shut up or I’ll chop off one of your fingers just for the hell of it!”
Ivan closed his mouth with a pop.
Peter watched anxiously as Mike and Micky allowed themselves to be strapped to the wall. Ella repeated the process, crossing her fingers as she flipped the switch. Micky performed his usual theatrics, squirming around and grimacing exaggeratedly. Mike remained perfectly still, the slight trembling of his hands and the tightening of his jaw the only indications that anything was happening. Ella watched the panel closely, then reached out and threw the switch one last time.
Mike’s brown eyes fluttered open. “Is it over?”
“Yep,” Ella announced, pulling the straps loose. “How do you feel?”
“Well,” he drawled, “You ever had someone in real high heels tap dance all over you?”
“Can’t say that I have.”
“Well, that’s how I feel.”
Ella chuckled. “Can you at least play your guitar?”
Mike flexed his long fingers. “Yep. I certainly can’t drum anymore.”
Micky danced off the platform and grabbed two of the rungs from the chair he’d broken; he beat a wild rhythm on the back of Ivan’s chair. “But I can!” he crowed happily.
“Wonderful,” Ivan growled.
On to Nine
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