Tales From the Sorcery Patrol: Case #9783 The Ring of Thieves by: C. M. Ellis

 

Officer Emily Fae

07:23 hrs

02/23/02

We were responding to a 302-C breaking and entering call at "Auntie Helga's Olde Fashioned Spelle Shoppe" and I had no idea it would be anything other than your typical magical burglary. It was one of those little spell shops that sell various occult items and antiques. Most of the smaller stores have fallen on hard times since the Spells R Us chain captured most of the market, so we get a lot of funny business on these calls. Yet usually they don't amount to much beyond insurance fraud or potion busts. The young man looked nervous and twitchy as he told my partner and I about the stolen items. Generally you find anger and-or fear when you get these burglary cases, but when the quote-unquote "victim" acts nervous, there's often more than meets the eye.

"I'm glad you got here so fast, I just hope you can help." The man was apparently the assistant manager of the shop, and he had the typical pale complexion, bloodshot eyes, and flared nostrils that come from spending too many hours over a bubbling cauldron. He was a skinny kid, couldn't have been more than twenty or so, and he seemed very stressed out. He kept rubbing the back of his pants with his hand, and his eyes kept glancing back and forth between his shoes and my breasts. "They took a bunch of stuff: some luck and love potions, a few magical statues, and um." He looked at his shoes, "and some assorted jewelry. You got to get it back! My aunt's gonna be furious!"

"Your aunt?"

"She owns the store." Back at my breasts.

I took notes in my little book while Officer Chandler, my partner, asked the questions. "Did any of the stolen items have any special value or powers?"

"Um, no, not really. They were all pretty generic magical items. You know, love spells, body enhancement, fortune stones, that sort of thing." Down to his shoes again.

"Ok, so none of them would give the burglars any kind of special powers? No elementals or demon summons, or anything?" The man shook his head, but still seemed very nervous. Mark pressed him a little bit. "You're telling me everything, aren't you? I don't want to leave here and run into burglars with invulnerability spells on them because you lied to me about what they took."

"No, no that's everything, I swear. So can you help? Can you get them back?"

"Ok sir, we'll look into it, but I have to be honest with you. The odds of us finding your stolen items aren't very good. We'll do everything we can, but there isn't very much to go on here. I'd recommend that you go ahead and submit the claim to your insurance company and have done with it."

"No! I mean, you have to find that stuff, you have to!" He seemed almost panicked, another red flag. "You have to find my stuff!" Hmm, he said ‘my’ stuff, not the store’s stuff. Interesting.

"Sir, I understand that you've been robbed here, but according to your description, you didn't lose anything that can't easily be replaced. You're attitude makes me wonder if there might be something else that was stolen that you're not telling us about."

The kid looked trapped, but he didn't give us anything new, just said that he had made a few of the items himself and they had sentimental value. It was a pretty lame story, but without anything else to go on, we had to take his word for it.

* * *

I flew through the open window of our squad car, and settled down into my custom booster seat. Just like me, it was about one-twelfth scale, with an opening in the back for my wings to pass through. It was up high enough for me to see out the window, but obviously I couldn't reach the steering wheel or the pedals while doing so. Therefore I was relegated to the passenger seat. It was yet another thing that separated me from the rest of the force. I don't care what you say about equal opportunity, it was still tough being the only pixie on the Sorcery Patrol. Most of the chiefs appreciated my special skills; my size and flight capability come in very handy when it comes to reconnaissance and tailing a running perp, but my relative size can't help but separate me emotionally from other officers. I constantly needed to prove myself. My partner sat down in the driver's seat and turned to me.

"What do you think Em?" My partner was great. Officer Mark Chandler was the poster-boy for the force. Mark was strong, clean-cut, and capable of being charmingly friendly or dreadfully imposing, an excellent trait in a cop.

"I don't know, Mark, he seemed awfully twitchy in there. I think that maybe he has some illegal potions in with that stolen stuff, or maybe some bootleg artifacts."

"Yeah, I got that feeling too. More the former than the latter I think. He had that look about him, didn't he?" I nodded, and Mark started the car. "What did you get from the point of entry?" While Mark had finished up the interview and examined the broken display case, I had flown around back to see where they had come in.

It was one of those brown steel doors set into a brick wall, just like you'd see in back of any other shopping complex. I looked around and saw that the streetlights wouldn't give much illumination back here at night. I looked at the door and immediately saw that the alarm hadn't been tripped.

These spell shops generally have magical defense systems on all their entrances. It's one of the reasons that we so rarely have to respond to burglaries in progress. If the alarm is triggered, it's usually over already.

This one seemed fairly harmless. Some places have some pretty vicious spells. Overkill, I think, bordering on vigilantism, but legal under the so-called "Make My Eon" law. By the look of the door though, the only thing this one did is teleport all the guy's clothing into the shop, and teleport him to a random women's restroom. It hadn't been triggered, so either it was an inside job, or we were dealing with a professional burglar. If it was an inside job though, why had the kid insisted that we find the stolen goods? It didn't make sense, yet these cases didn't always give us the benefit of logical motives.

More likely a professional or maybe a shady deal gone bad. The kid was trying to move some dirty goods and the buyer ran off without paying. So what was it? Illegal potions? Stolen totems? Hard to tell for sure without more information.

Mark listened attentively as I described the point of entry and my thoughts on the nature of the crime. When I finished he nodded his head.

"I think you're on to something there, Em. That would fit with what I saw inside. One of the display cases was smashed, but I didn't see any glass on the floor or empty spots in the case. Looked like the items were gone already when the glass broke."

"You think the kid did it?"

"Could be. Maybe he removed the stuff himself and then smashed the glass as an afterthought. So we're looking for some dirty potions then, you think? Why do these kids ask us to find their stolen highs? Do they think we'll just give 'em back?"

I shook my head. "Most likely potions, but we'd better keep on our toes all the same. Let's go file the 302. Then I'll buzz my guy. See what the scoop is on the street."

I finished up the drawing on the alley pavement with a small sliver of chalk and read the incantation. Immediately a puff of smoke flared up.

"For Lucifer's sake! I friggin' hate pixie summons! These five inch pentagrams are a sumbitch to squeeze-- Oh, Emily! It's you. How you doin'?"

It wasn't much of a demon; but then again, the little ones make the best rats. The really powerful ones are either too noticeable or too full of themselves. It's "Bow before me" this and "By the powers of darkness" that. You can't get word in edgewise.

Vinnek though, was a fantastic rat. About three feet high, reddish skin and the cutest little goat horns. Not intimidating, but perfectly forgettable. He was just the type who can listen in and be ignored.

I was fully capable of drawing a larger pentagram, but the small one required him to stand at a sort of attention in order to keep his feet inside. I feel it provides a more respectful atmosphere.

"I'm fine, Vinnek. How are you? Still burning in hellfire?"

He rolled his yellow eyes. "Ha, ha, ha, copper. A barrel of laughs as usual. So what's up? I got word on 'dis body-shaping medallion, just come into town."

"Not today. Heard anything about Auntie Helga's Olde Fashioned Spell shop getting hit?"

"Hmm, no, I don't think so."

"We think that there may have been a potion deal gone bad there last night."

His eyes flashed up briefly, but then he immediately assumed a poker face. He looked around briefly before he spoke. "I think I might've heard sumpin', but it's hard to remember. You know I always gets forgetful when I's hungry." He looked at me knowingly while he rubbed his fat little gut.

I sighed deeply. I had expected this, but it was unpleasant just the same. I thought back, and remembered my favorite childhood pet, a cricket named Pogo, who had been eaten by a bird. I immersed myself in the painful memory, until I felt a tear trickle down my cheek.

"Aw thanks, baby. That really hit the spot. You always got great emotions."

"Yeah, yeah, so make it worth my time, Vinnek. What do you know?"

"I think there was a deal gone bad there last night, but not over potions. The buzz this morning was over some magic rings suddenly being available to fence. Pretty unusual. Mostly, anyone dealing with rings has got someone lined up before they get the product, you know?"

"Any word on where they might be?"

"I think they got 'em holed up somwheres on forty-third street. Be careful though, I think some of 'dem rings is pretty strong. The word is that they got a bunch of bootleg transforms."

"Thanks, Vinnek. You've been a bigger help than usual. Here." I pinched my arm hard. "For your trouble."

"Mmm, nice. Thanks Emily, always a pleasure workin' wit'chu." With that, he vanished in another puff of smoke.

Mark and I were scouting Forty-third Street when we saw a little punk kid, maybe twelve, standing in an alley. He seemed nervous and kept looking around like he was waiting for someone. We pulled over and walked slowly up to the kid. He stared at us like he expected us to sprout fangs and rip him to shreds, but was it simply distrust of police or did he have something to hide? I nodded to Mark to hold back. No sense scaring the kid off, he might know something.

"Hey kid, why aren't you in school?" I asked, only half-serious, hovering in front of him with my arms crossed.

"There's no school today, there was a fire, and they let us all go home early." The kid bluffed pretty well, but the fear in his eyes showed through.

"Don't worry, we're not on truancy detail today. We're looking for some rings. Heard anything?"

"I don't know nothing about no rings."

"No? We've got word that there's a stash of bootlegs available around here. Sure you don't know anything about it? Maybe just got in last night? Some transforms and stuff?" The kid shook his head, but his hand started to reach into those huge pockets all these human kids have today. "Please keep your hands where I can see them."

With that, the kid froze and looked up at us in renewed fear. Then he took off running down the alley. I flew after him, and by the sound of footsteps, Mark was right behind me. The kid sprinted down the alley and hung a sharp right on the other side. As I turned the corner I saw that he was entering a small vacant lot through a gap in the chain-link fence. I followed easily, but I'm sure that Mark was going to have some trouble fitting through the small hole.

The kid was pulling off an impressive broken-field run across the lot, jumping and dodging the various boxes and garbage cans strewn all over the place. I saw the gate where he was heading, and veered to the side in order to head him off.

I reached the gate before he did, and he spun on his heels to take off in another direction. I followed and finally he was up against the fence. He tried to climb it, but I got hold of his shoe, and pulled him off the fence. (We pixies can be pretty strong when our blood is up.) I called to Mark, and a few seconds later, he walked up, his wand drawn.

A cornered suspect is always extra dangerous, and kids were no different. We slowly advanced on him, when suddenly he reached for his pocket again. Mark tried to stun him, but the kid had already pulled out a ring and slipped it on. Suddenly I felt a wave of vertigo and then I felt really heavy. I crashed to the ground, hitting with an unusually hard impact. Stunned, I tried once to get up, but my wings didn't seem to be working. I heard the kid's small footsteps fading into the distance, and I hoped that Mark was all right. I lifted my head, which still felt unusually heavy, and then caught a glimpse of my arm.

It was big, it was hairy, and worst of all, it was Mark's! I pulled my legs under me, and managed to reach a sitting position. Looking down, I saw Mark's huge, long, pant-clad legs. I saw Mark's broad, flat chest, Mark's big hands, and Mark's muscular stomach. Clearly, the kid knew a lot more than he claimed about our missing rings. I tried again to stand up and give chase, but I was still far too disoriented.

I looked around the small lot, marveling at how small everything was. Huge crates that had loomed like skyscrapers were now no more than chest level. Upended garbage cans, which had once been large gaping caverns, now seemed pitifully cramped. Then I noticed a soft glowing light from behind an old oil barrel. I got on my hands and knees, and slowly crawled over there. I still felt tremendously massive, and every movement felt like moving through water.

Around the barrel, I saw what had to be Mark in my former body. My God, I was so tiny, barely the size of my new huge hand. Mark lay there on his back, looking up with a stunned expression. "Who are you?" He asked in a tiny, tiny voice, then his eyes widened at the sound of my voice coming from his throat.

"It's me, Mark." I winced also.

A look of confusion crossed his cute little face. "But I'm Mark."

I laughed a little. "No, I mean: Mark, it's me, Emily. That kid swapped our bodies."

Mark sat up slowly, examining his new arms and legs, and don't think he didn't linger far longer than appropriate on his new chest. Oh sure, maybe my whole body wasn't the size of a human b-cup before, but proportionally speaking, I was pretty well off, if you know what I mean. Finally, he squinted up at me.

"Is that my body? It looks different."

"I think you'll discover that a lot of things look different. I sure have. You've shrunk to about six inches high, after all."

"What happened to the kid?"

I shook my head. "He took off; Goddess only knows where he is now. We've got to get back to the car, and call in some backup." I struggled to my feet, and almost fell when another wave dizziness hit. I've been up far higher than this before, but it's different when you're feet are still on the ground.

Mark stood up as well on my tiny little feet, and then stopped, looking way up at me. "Um, how do I do it? Fly, I mean."

Well, that was an odd question. I'd never really given that any thought before. Pixies are born with instinctive knowledge of how to fly. I was never even aware of "doing" anything.

"Well, I'm not sure, exactly. I just always kind of, 'just did it.' Sorry, I guess that's not much help, is it? Try jumping or something."

He rolled his eyes at me, I think. They were so small it was hard to tell for certain. I'll have to remember how hard it is to see my facial expressions for humans. He looked down at his feet, and then over his shoulder at the thin insect-like wings on his back. He shrugged his shoulders up and down and back and forth, soon the wings began to twitch a little.

He squatted down, and then leapt as hard as he could. Unfortunately, he was still not fully aware of a pixie's strength-to-weight ratio and he launched himself about twenty feet in the air. While falling back to earth he tried frantically to beat his wings. I rushed to catch him, but found myself unable to stop my own momentum, (guess I'm not the only one having strength-to-weight ratio problems,) and tripped over a rock. That's a new experience; I've never tripped before. Now that I've tried it, I think I'll leave it to the professionals.

In the meantime, Mark had managed to get his wings going, but still had no directional control, and was weaving all over the place, sometimes upside down. Finally, he reached the wall of the adjacent building, which stopped his first flight rather abruptly. Fortunately, we pixies are fairly resilient, and he escaped with little damage.

Slowly, and tentatively, I walked over to where Mark was sitting on the pavement. He looked up at me with a wry grin.

"Maybe I ought to just ride on your shoulder for a bit, until I get the hang of it."

We made our way back to the car, having only minor difficulties getting over the fence. I thumped my head on the roof of the car as I attempted to get into the driver's seat. Mark stood on my hand as I reached over to place him in my little seat. He settled in and looked back at me.

"So, what now? Do we look for the kid?"

I shook my head. "I don't think we're in any kind of condition to be hunting down anyone. We'd better get back to the station, and see if they can reverse this." Mark nodded, so I turned forward and just sat there for a moment, waiting.

"Um, Emily?" I looked over to Mark. "You have to drive."

I laughed sheepishly, sounding odd in Mark's voice. "Oh yeah. Where are the keys?"

"In your right front pocket. The silver one with the square head goes in the ignition."

I reached into the pocket to retrieve the keys, and while I was in there, my hand felt something else through the cloth that made me quite uncomfortable. I didn't have time to dwell on my discomfort however; we had to get out of there. So I pulled out the keys.

I fit the silver key into the slot, mimicking the motions I had seen my partner make so many times before. The engine screeched horribly as I turned the key. Mark winced at the sound.

"You have to engage the clutch, and give it a little gas."

I tried again and managed to start the engine, only to have it stall immediately upon shifting into first gear. My third try sent us hurtling into a mailbox on the sidewalk. I looked over at Mark with a helpless expression.

"Maybe we'd better just call for another unit."

* * *

"Why didn't you stun him?" The Chief's disembodied voice was yelling at us from whatever plane he actually existed on. He seemed fairly angry, but no more so than when his coffee isn't prepared properly. Officer transforms were not uncommon in our line of work, but that didn't mean they were ignored. Mark and I sat in the Chief's office, me in a chair, and Mark on top of a paperweight on the desk. Frankly, I'm not sure why a non-corporeal, disembodied voice needs a desk, or an office for that matter, but stranger things in heaven and earth and all that, I guess.

"Well, we had him cornered and visible, I guess I was still just hoping we could get him to cooperate without resorting to that." Mark explained in a very small voice. I'm not sure if it was because he was embarrassed or whether it was because he didn't know how hard it was for human ears to hear him at that level. "Then, when he went for the ring, I sent the stun bolt at him but the first one missed, and I didn't get off a second. Chief, this ring isn't your run of the mill vernal-equinox-special. The kid got off a full body-swap directed outwardly within a second of having the ring on. No incantation or anything."

"Great, just great" The chief was ranting fully now. "This is just fantastic. That kind of bootleg transform out on the street, in that neighborhood? That kid couldn't possibly afford a ring like that unless he stole it or got a heck of a deal. Either way, whoever has them, doesn't know what they have."

I spoke up at this. "Chief, we need to move in as soon as possible, or else those rings are going to leave the neighborhood and go who knows where."

"I agree, Officer Chan-, Officer Fae, but you two are obviously in no condition to be of any help, at least until you get better suited to those bodies. I want you to go down to Research, and try to dig up some information on the rings we may be dealing with here. Report your findings, and then go to the Clinic, and see if they can do something about your situation here. If not, then you should go home until we need you."

"But Chief!" I tried to fly over his desk, but obviously was no longer equipped to do anything but trip over my huge new feet and do a face plant onto the desk. I sheepishly rubbed my forehead. "Right, the clinic it is."

On our way out of the office, I could hear Mark trying not to laugh, so I reached over and pinched his tiny feminine butt, and smirked at the yelp that followed.

I clumped down the hall to our research library, all the while feeling like a big clumsy oaf. By this time, Mark had managed to fly in a generally straight line, although his fine control still left a lot to be desired. We pulled our copy of "Enchanted Rings: A catalog and guide for the collector," by Shuler and Kang the Magnificent. Fortunately, we found our ring right away. Unfortunately, it belonged to a set of five.

The five rings each contained a different transformative power: Age, Gender, Size, Shape, and Swap. The rings had been created back in the forties as part of the war effort. They had not been given a traditional magical classification, but were instead merely known as Project Chameleon. Top Secret, naturally. Of course, they had all been declassified years ago, but according to the book, they were supposed to be in a private museum in Newark. I sent Mark to find out what he could about when they went missing, while I read on.

Clearly, the rings had been intended for espionage. Apparently though, by the time they were completed, the tide had turned at the European front, and there wasn't much need for them in the Pacific arena. So the project had been closed and the rings sold to a private collector by the name of Tolkien, who was apparently really into magic rings. The chief advantage that the rings provided was the ability to perform multiple changes, and to be directed at anyone the wielder was in visual contact with; a dangerous thing in the wrong hands. Usually, these street kids had small potions, or one-time cheap rings, which needed an incantation and therefore couldn't be used very quickly. These rings though, they could be a lot of trouble. Already had been, I reminded myself.

I looked down again and sighed. The size was a big change of course, but more than that, I felt heavy. As a pixie, I could lift off, fly around the room, or hover in the corner with no effort at all. Now though, it was as if I was glued to the ground. Merely walking across the room, while not tiring exactly, seemed like so much effort. I had to concentrate on each step, moving one leg, then the other. Getting around was never so much work!

On top of that, I was, well, a man! I had never really even thought about human gender except in the abstract and in the ways they behaved differently. Pixies don't have male or female, we're all born from the Great Mother Tree, and we all go back to tend it for a year of our lives. I suppose I must be considered female anyway, in the sense that I look like a human female, albeit only six inches tall and with wings. But I was certainly male now. I could feel that part of Mark's body down there, but I hadn't worked up the nerve to look at it yet. I've seen a few, on crazy homeless guys, and flashers, but I hadn't really given them any thought at the time. I just sat there, staring at my newly renovated crotch.

"Ahem." I looked up suddenly to see Mark standing on the table, holding a scrap of paper. I think I blushed, but I couldn't tell from inside. Mark decided to ignore it. "Yes, well, this newspaper is dated two weeks ago, and it says that the rings were one of a couple exhibits stolen from the Newark Museum of the Bizarre. They're pretty sure it was the night security guard that did it, but they never found him. Looks like he might have made his way to our fair city, hmm?"

"Good work, Mark."

The clinic hadn't been able to do anything for us. Since the rings had been intended as a defensive tool for spies, they put a pretty powerful block on counter-spells. The lab got cracking on the code, but unless we got the rings back, we were looking at a couple of months before we could change back. We reported our findings to the chief, and then he sent us home. There was no way I could fit into my little apartment now, so we both went to Mark's place uptown.

It was a nice place, Mark's wife had prettied it up quite a bit, but it was still kind of small and shabby for my tastes. Of course, my place is much smaller, but proportionally, it was easily twice the size of this place and much nicer. That's one good thing about being a pixie in the city; rent is cheap.

No sooner than we closed the door, Mark's wife, Karen, rushed in with a big "Hi, Sweetie!" and planted a big kiss right on my lips. She held it a few seconds, and I just stood there, stunned, but it also felt really nice. Soon, I regained my composure and stumbled backwards, pulling away from her and falling on my huge butt. I tell you, this falling thing takes some getting used to.

Karen looked shocked and hurt. I looked up at her, and I didn't know what to say. Fortunately Mark flew in and told her what had happened.

"Oh Mark!" She seemed near tears. "Why did this have to happen tonight? We were supposed to have dinner with the Forster's tonight."

"I'm sorry, honey, you know I'd be there if there was any way that I could. I'm not happy about this either."

She looked to her shrunken feminized flying husband, longing to embrace him, and then turned to me and hugged me tightly. I looked over to Mark to see what I could do, but he just shrugged. All I could think of is that her hair smelled nice and I wondered what conditioner she used, until I noticed something else. Karen noticed it too, and started to reach towards it, then pulling back suddenly.

"Oh! Emily, I'm sorry." She looked mortified. "I have to check something in the kitchen." With that, she rushed into the kitchen.

Mark looked confused. "What was that all about?" Then he saw the stiff swelling in my uniform pants and his mouth gaped open. He just hovered there, staring at me with a shocked expression. This time I'm sure I blushed.

Eventually, Karen came back into the living room, having regained her composure. "So, Emily, will you join us for a late lunch? You're welcome to the sandwich I had made for Mark. Um, what will. uh, what does Mark eat now?"

Thankful for a change of subject, I sighed in relief. "Oh, a leaf of lettuce maybe with a side of honey, or a sugar cube, if you have them."

The meal was relatively uneventful until I realized that there was animal flesh in my sandwich and spit the contents of my mouth across the table. I apologized immediately, and offered to clean it up, but Karen had already gotten the half-chewed ham off the table and into the garbage. I removed the poor pig from my sandwich and added an extra lettuce leaf and tomato slice. After that, we continued eating in an awkward silence.

After lunch, Karen suggested a movie to calm us all down, but Mark reminded her that we had to wait for the Chief's call. Fortunately, we didn't have long to wait.

The department sent a car by to pick us up, because although we were getting around all right in general, I still wasn't up for driving. When we arrived at the station, we learned that a no-knock teleport raid was already in preparation. I was initially confused as to how they got the no-knock approved, but apparently they could center in on the exact location of the ring that transformed us by tracing the residual magic signature left behind on Mark and I. Which meant we were going along.

We got suited up in the standard gear for magic den raids. Spell shielded body armor which covers the main torso and legs, fast acting stun wands with narrow or spray fire patterns, and an emergency escape spell, in case of injury or incapacitating transformation, which could be activated locally or by the supervising officer back at the station.

The research officer scanned us, and uttered the incantation. We appeared suddenly in a small, cruddy apartment. The suspects inside were taken quickly, and we secured the apartment with only small casualties. A girl in her early twenties and dressed for the street had managed to get off an unfocused shot with the gender ring, but since all our people were in body armor, only exposed body parts were changed; the head, neck, hands and legs below the knee. I was transformed, in Mark's body, plus one other officer was affected, but her boyfriend, who turned out to be the security guard from the Newark museum, hadn't been so lucky and was fully transformed into an impressively endowed female.

We searched the apartment, and managed to find only two of the rings remaining, the gender ring, and the age ring. Thankfully though, the girl turned out to be the kid’s mother, and the swap ring was soon recovered when the kid walked in. Mark and I swapped back immediately, and I giggled amusedly at the sight of Mark with a female head and small feminine hands. That however, was also quickly restored.

We had been right about the original burglary. It wasn't a burglary at all, instead the security guard had tried to sell the hot rings to the kid at the spell shop, but the negotiations went sour and the kid got a shot with the change ring. A set of women's genitals and a small pig's tail had taught the kid a lesson about dealing with criminals, but he hadn't done anything else except file a phony police report, so we decided to leave him as he was and be done with it. The security guard had then desperately tried to unload the rings on the street, and had gotten less than forty dollars for the two of them. He was sentenced to three years toiling in the sulfur pits, for stealing the rings and assaulting an officer.

We never found the other two rings, and we also heard that the two we had recovered disappeared off the truck on their way back to the museum. Not too surprising really, sets of magical rings are only easy to deal with when they're together. Separate them, and they have a way of leaving to look for the rest. By now, they're too far-gone to spend a lot of time looking for them, but I'm sure that someone will find them eventually.

Mark and I were even closer as partners after our time spent as each other. I had a better understanding of what he was capable of physically, and he better understood what I went through as a six-inch police officer. After switching back, Karen and Mark invited me to their dinner party with them. I politely declined. The truth is, I just wanted to go back to my little place in the park, take a bath, and thank the Goddess for not making me human!

 

The end

 

 

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