The Case of the Wooden Actress - Inanimate TF

The Case of the Wooden Actress - Inanimate TF
By: ThatGuy

Angie would have been lying if she said this wasn't a strange day, even before the woman walked through her wall. “Strange” was part of the MPI job description, but it was still a hell of a slog. So far she had handled more cases this morning than she usually did in a week, which she probably should’ve taken as a sign all things considered.

First there was the pet-owner who needed help with her cat, who recently started speaking English and Swedish fluently. And the museum curator who suspected his lifelike statuary hadn't all always been marble. And it would be hard to forget the clearly insane woman who claimed a shrunken man was living in her ear, in order to disassociate from the eight-foot tall cockroach in her foyer calling in some nasty debts. And all before lunch, too.

With clients like hers it was sometimes hard to keep even her veneer of disinterest, but the job was detection and reversion. And strange or not, all of those cases had to be solved – and they each turned out to be simple once she looked a little deeper:

The cat turned out to be a petty thief that chose the simple existence of a pet over prison, whose transformation was wearing off. All of the museum’s marble figures were exactly as they appeared, but as it turned their new abstract art exhibit was made of clay that was itself made from supermodels. And while the shrunken man was just crazy talk, the cockroach was from a secret society of evil cursed humans out for revenge.

After that the tedium kicked in. She gave the cat-owner a card for a good mage, called the authorities on the artist, threatened to have the roaches magically bug-zapped and then seriously considered taking off early and going home.

She decided to have a long lunch instead, but the monotonous feeling persisted. Another day, another dozen transformations. She could punch through problems til the cows turned back into cheerleaders, but people would always change or be changing each other. Magic was spreading, it seemed. With so many transformational incidents out there it was harder to care for each individual case so much, let alone get invested in the situations she walked into.

On cue, it was around that thought that her next client interrupted her lunch by literally walking through her door (she actually went through the wall next to the door, but Angie felt thinking of it the other way was more fitting). Angie slid back in her chair and nearly sent her Thai food toppling to the floor to the ground before she realized she probably wasn’t being haunted. Or at least, it didn’t look like she was.

It was a young woman, and she was entirely gray and transparent. She wore baggy clothes and a drawn hoodie, but her pristine features were hard to miss. Even covered up and see-through, Angie could make out her youthful, cared-for beauty and pronounced posture that absentmindedly regarded her figure, even when in a panic. She was clearly someone who usually cared a lot for her appearance, even if she was trying to hide it for some reason.

She was certainly not hiding her desperation however, judging by the nervous look in her eye and the way she introduced herself by yelling at the top of her lungs. "Hello? Please tell me you can see me, or hear me, or something! Please!" She looked on the verge of bursting into tears. Angie didn’t want to know what she would do if she didn’t get a response.

So she responded, by wincing and plugging her ears. "Yes, yes. I can hear you! Stop shouting!”

To her irritation, the woman traded “loud” for “touchy feely” and swooped down to give Angie a hug, only to go right through her instead. Angie shuddered. There was no feeling to it, but it was still freaky.

The woman was so excited to have someone to talk to that she didn’t even notice her discomfort. “Thank you!” She cried, breathing a sigh of relief as she lowered her hood. The face of a young woman, just a few years younger than Angie, stared back at her. “I’ve been floating around all day looking for someone who could see me! Then I overheard someone around here mention you dealt with all sorts of weird stuff, and I hoped you at least could help! Can you?”

“That depends on exactly what the problem is.” Angie said vaguely. “I’m Angie Desino, Private Metamorphic Investigator. And you are…?”

The woman faltered. An odd, almost offended expression crossed her transparent face. ”You… really don't know me?"

Granted her face and distinctive haircut did look a little familiar, but Angie drew a blank. "Should I?"

The woman crossed her arms and pouted. "Hello? Penelope Morgan?!” She huffed. “Actress? Or at least, I was an actress, I think. I hope I still am." Her flustered attitude almost made Angie smile. She seemed caught between being afraid and being indignant. "How could you not know me? Up and coming? The tabloids wouldn't leave me alone a few months ago?”

"Oh yeah.” Angie shrugged. “I've seen a few of your films. Not half bad, I guess."

"Gee, thanks."

Angie glared at her. "I think you have better things to worry about than whether I think you can act, unless that's what got into this mess." She said flatly. “Since there’s obviously a case here, lets get to it. What happened to you?"

"Right.” Penelope said, seeming a little embarrassed at her outburst. The pride had apparently been some kind of defense mechanism, because when she continued it was much less standoffish. “I… I don't entirely know. I think I’m a ghost now, but whatever happened was so sudden! I’m filming a movie, but I wasn't on the set. I was just walking down the street, in disguise so people wouldn’t recognize me."

She gestured to her casual clothing. Angie opted not to mention a comment about her face, which was still very recognizable.

”I was heading up Pygmalion Avenue to find a good bagel shop,” she continued, “and I get mobbed a lot so I have to be careful about staying incognito. But the only one around that day was a woman packing her car, so I let my guard down.”

She paused to fiddle with her hair, clearly regretting her carelessly. Angie gestured for her to continue. “Halfway up the block, I felt a shock right in the small of my back.” She paused again, this time to shudder. “And then it was like my whole body was twisting and squishing together! Before I could get a handle on it, suddenly it was like I jumped a dozen feet in the air and was looking down at the street from above. I thought I was dreaming at first.”

“That’s significant.” Angie said, thinking out loud. “What did you do next?”

“I wanted to find my body, cause in the movies, when you become a ghost you're always right where your body was. But I couldn't find it. It's like I evaporated. All I could see was the woman I passed, and she was still moving knick knacks into her van. I don't think she even noticed me fall."

"Knick knacks?"

"You know. Trinkets, a bit of furniture, some clothes. It looked like she was moving. She caught my eye before but, y’know, not my business. Though the strange part is, it felt like…" She seemed reluctant to tell the next part, but that only made Angie more interested in hearing it. She gestured again for her to continue on. "… you know how when you look in a mirror, you just know that the person you're looking at is you no matter what? That's exactly how I felt looking down at that lady, like I was there, but I wasn't. I was drawn back down there, but it freaked me out so I ran. Or flew, I guess.”

"That's all you remember?"

"That's it. And now I don't know what I am! Or what to do!” She crumpled into herself in midair. Now that the panic stage was over, the strain of her experience was obviously getting to her. “Whatever happened to me, I hope you can help me move on or whatever it is beings like me do."

She had nothing more to say, which was fine. Angie had more than enough information to go on. "Well, on that front you'll be happy to know you're not a ghost."

Penelope raised an eyebrow. "I'm not… what? What else could I be? I'm transparent, I float, and nobody can see me. I’ve been falling through walls all day!“

“But you’re not a ghost. Penelope Morgan, you're a textbook case of a transformation induced divorced consciousness if I ever saw one."

Penelope blinked. "I'm sorry, but can I get that in English?"

Angie winced. "Sorry. Basically there’s bad news, and some good news. The bad news is I'm pretty sure you, or your body at least, has been transformed into something else. An inanimate object, most likely. Judging by your story I'd say you're now one of those knick knacks you saw that lady with. That's why you felt drawn to her car. Five will get you ten that that she’s the one who transformed you, without caring about whether that was inconvenient. Unless you turned into the woman you saw, but that’s doubtful. Lucky for you, this is exactly my area of expertise.”

Penelope didn’t seem able to speak. She looked very close to freaking out, but Angie could see a glimmer of realization in her eyes. Which made sense in a way: one can't be totally split from themselves, at least not so easily. Penelope was likely aware of what happened to her on some level, even if she wasn’t aware that she was aware of it. "That's… that's impossible.” She finally gasped. “It doesn't make sense. People don’t just turn into… things!”

Angie sighed. If she had a nickel for every time she heard "that's impossible”… "The good news is,” she said, ignoring her. “While your body is now classifiable as decor, you are still conscious. Sort of. This is actually pretty cool. You know who you are, where you've been, everything. It’s very rare."

"What do you mean? Why wouldn't I know those things?"

"Inanimate objects don't have minds, do they? They don't think, they don't feel, they’re just things." Angie began. Penelope gulped, not liking where this was going. If she wasn't already transparent, she might have turned white. "So when a person is transformed into an object, provisions or defenses have to be made to keep their mind intact. If not, that person becomes… well… inanimate. Most mages are strong enough to keep their thoughts together in a crisis, but an uncommon last resort is to eject your consciousness from your body so you don't lose yourself."

"Mages? Like, magic? This is getting to be too much. What are you saying?"

"I'm saying you might have a little magical affinity, or maybe you unknowingly picked up some magical knowledge while shooting a film somewhere. Not much, but enough to instinctively defend yourself. You couldn't stop what hit you, but you could protect your conscious mind by essentially getting out before it was too late. So you're more of a mental projection."

“And you know this because you’re a witch?”

“No. No magical affinity myself. But I’ve been around the block, and I’ve got access to a few trinkets. Trust me, I know what I’m talking about.”

Angie’s explanation hit Penelope like a brick. She slumped her shoulders and floated to the ground. “Why would someone do this to me? I didn’t think my movies were that bad…” Angie snorted, perhaps unwisely, but Penelope seemed to appreciate the humor and showed a small smile.

“Lots of magic users have a loose regard for the lives around them.” Angie explained. Unconsciously, she squeezed a small necklace that she always kept under her shirt. That brought up quite a few memories. “And if you’re as famous as you keep saying you are, she’s probably a fan. I bet it was a crime of opportunity: she saw an actress she liked and decided she had to own her.”

Penelope scowled. She leaned back against the wall, but surprisingly did not fall through it. “Great, so on top of the usual stalkers I have to deal with crazy witches too.”

“Happens more often than you think. Hell, I busted up a farm full of reality tv stars just last month.”

“A farm?” Penelope gasped. Now she did fall through the wall. Angie couldn’t help cracking a smile, but the time for breaks was over. Now that the case was on it was time to get serious. There was no more that could be done sitting in her office, so she packed up her lunch and headed over to help her see-through starlet client (as much as a person could physically help a projection, anyway).

“Yep, a whole farm.” She grinned, “pulling” her new client to her feet. Penelope smiled sheepishly, but seemed interested. “Take me to the scene of the crime, and I’ll tell you all about it…”

——

They continued talking all the way to Pygmalion Avenue. Somehow the conversation drifted from magic and transformations and onto Penelope’s favorite subject – her movies.  Since she hadn’t bothered to see most of them Angie found the conversation very boring, but she didn’t object. Her client seemed very proud of her accomplishments, and Angie got the impression having a comfortable subject to talk about was the only thing keeping her from a total breakdown.

That said, when they finally made it there Angie was very grateful for the excuse to stop the conversation.

“Is this it?” She grunted, a little too harshly. The street was busy, but not so much that Angie would worry about looking crazy talking to an invisible woman.

Penelope stopped in the middle of an animated description of her relationship with a co-star (“The tabloids blew that whole thing way out of proportion!”) and looked around. It was a rare quiet place in the big city, which might have been why Penelope had been walking there in the first place. “What? Oh… yeah! This is it! It was right over there!” She pointed at a spot halfway up the street.

Angie quickly made her way over and knelt down to inspect the area. “Yeah…” she sighed. “I can feel it.”

Penelope drifted overhead, feeling a bit foolish being in the dark again. “You can… feel it?”

“That’s what I said.” Angie reached into her shirt and pulled out her necklace. A bright crystal glowed in the center. “Every magical transformation leaves behind a residue. This charm can sense it, and if there’s enough of it I can even get the gist of what happened.”

“So you know what happened to me?”

“Not yet.” Angie grunted. “There isn’t enough magic in the air here. If I had a piece of you I could get a good idea, but this is just a spot on the ground.” She paused as an idea struck her. “But maybe… try phasing through me while I’m standing here like you did before.”

Penelope gave Angie an odd look. “I don’t know. I thought that made you uncomfortable.”

So she had noticed after all. How sweet. “Just do it.”

“Alright…” Penelope shrugged, and she swooped down again. The effect was very different from the first time - instantly, Angie could feel the residual magic leap off of the pavement and course through her. She closed her eyes – she had done this far too many times to cry out, but it was still uncomfortable. When she opened them, the scene was different…

It was the same street, but it was morning and there were only two people there. The first was a young woman trying in vain to hide her face in a hoodie. The second woman was further down the road. Angie couldn’t see her face. She was trying to stuff too many things into her car trunk - an ornate chair, window curtains, a box of trinkets…

Penelope gave a friendly hello as she passed by. The woman didn’t seem to notice her at first, but then she snapped away from keeping her collection together and watched Penelope walk away, grinning like a cat with a canary. She left her car, letting a few items fall to the ground, and began sneaking up behind the oblivious actress. She closed in quickly, and once she got close she poked Penelope in her back with one finger.

Angie’s vision started to get fuzzy. Penelope was suddenly shrieking like someone had doused her with ice water. Her clothes were billowing around her as she shrunk into them, the last visible part of her a shade of grainy brown…

Angie blinked. It was afternoon again. Everything was back to normal. The witch was long gone, and Penelope was floating in midair looking very confused. Angie took a few breaths to center herself. Though the charm had no harmful side effects (rare in this business), it was still overwhelming.

Penelope cocked her head to the side. She seemed unsure what to think. “Are… you ok?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Angie couldn’t help but smile. The concern wasn’t necessary, but it was nice to be thought of. “I just got a front row seat to your transformation.”

Penelope almost fell over herself in midair. “Really? Did you see what she turned me into?”

“No.” Angie replied, her tone apologetic. “Your clothes didn’t change with you, and they blocked my view. But whatever it is, I think it’s made of wood. I didn’t get a good look at her face, either.”

“So… that’s all? I might be made of wood now? That’s basically nothing!” Penelope cried, doing her now familiar act of falling to the ground. Though way too melodramatic, Angie could understand frustration at a seeming lack of progress. She put a hand on Penelope’s shoulder. Or rather hovered her hand over where her shoulder was.

“Not at all. I didn’t get a good look at her, but I did get her license plate.”

The hopeful smile slowly returned to Penelope’s face. “Just let me get back to my office,” Angie continued, “and I’ll have our would-be witch dead to rights by the end of the day.”

——

Tracking the witch’s license plate was no problem at all. According to her files (magically updating – the internet could choke on it), she lived in a tiny apartment in a seedy neighborhood halfway across the city. It was like something out of a movie, cornering the bad guy in the rough side of town – which Penelope of course pointed out, to Angie’s annoyance.

At least she hadn’t sunk so low that she was monologuing over bad metaphors, even if she did think this whole thing was as fishy as an angler’s convention.

On the other hand, Penelope seemed to like saying what she was thinking. “So… maybe I’m not used to this sort of thing, but isn’t this kind of an odd neighborhood for an all powerful witch to live in?” They stared for a moment at the apartment complex. “Falling apart” would’ve been a compliment. It was a travesty that people were still expected to live in a place like this.

“No, you’re right. Most magic users like appearances, especially the kind who would make a collection of celebrities. This doesn’t track.”

“Ok…” Penelope said. She still seemed a bit lost. “So what’s the plan?”

“Simple. We sneak in there, scope the place out to make sure it’s not a trap and grab you on the way out. Then I call a few mages I know to take care of her.” Penelope started to interrupt, but Angie stopped her. “If we call for backup now, she might get spooked and run with your body still inside. We need to know what we’re up against.”

“That’s crazy! What if she’s in there and gets the drop on us!”

Angie scoffed. “She’s not here. Y’know how my charm glows if there’s magic around? It goes nuts if there’s people who actually use magic around.” She pointed at the necklace’s faint glow. “At this distance I’d know if she was inside.”

“Maybe she’s hiding her power or something. Can witches do that?”

“Some can, I don’t think this one is one of those. She feels like an amateur. She just zapped some idiot off the street in broad daylight - no offense - and she lives in a dump way out in the open! She stuffs her booty in a truck, for cripes sake.”

“That doesn’t mean she’s stupid.” Penelope huffed, having taken some offense to the “some idiot” comment.

“You’d be surprised.” Angie said in a very final way. “Don’t worry. This isn’t my first go round.” She gestured to Penelope, who followed despite still having reservations. Their little adventure so far had earned the detective more than a little faith.

Sneaking into the building was easier than it should have been. Barely anybody paid attention to them. Sneaking into the apartment took a bit more work.

There were about a dozen magical tripwires and hidden locks to muscle through before Angie could enter safely without turning into a vase or something. The witch had no defenses for spirits so Penelope was safe, but it was a sudden reminder that Angie was in real danger here.

The apartment was gorgeous. It didn’t even seem to be part of the same building (it was too big, for one). This was the home of a conceited witch: old fashioned and luxurious. It was full ornate furniture, there was custom woodwork, and there was even fireplace despite there not being a chimney outside. Magic could definitely bring riches. Angie was almost jealous.

Penelope whistled. “Even I don’t live like this. Kind of pretentious, huh?”

Angie agreed, though there was more than just snobbery in this decor. It was likely that almost all of the furniture was transformed people, and one of them was really her client.

As she looked around she was drawn to a custom billiards table in the middle of the living room. It looked expensive, but there was suspicious hourglass shape to it (Typical. Seriously, how many times had Angie seen something like that in her line of work?). Anyone unaware that something strange was going on would just assume it was some kind of novelty table, but Angie knew better.

Unable to resist, Angie brushed her finger against the felt and concentrated. The reaction was immediate…

She was a master billiards player. She’d won big in better places than the bar where the witch found her. She might have been a former hustler from the hint of a swagger in her walk, the challenge in her smirk and the way she immediately knew how to handle anyone who got too unruly. But she was only in the bar that night to take a break from more serious games by playing a few matches in the sticks.

The witch hadn't planned on taking her when she walked in either. She just glanced at her technique while waiting for a drink, and was sold right away. She was beautiful, of course - shapely, but a graceful dresser (she might've made a good figurine if the furniture thing didn't work out) - but then such things didn't always matter in transformations. What really drew her in how she put herself into every shot, gracefully and with passion. And it lined up perfectly with her redecoration plans! The witch had never considered pool before, but now she just had to have something for that big empty space in her living room.

But she couldn't just zap the woman in plain sight, so she eased her way in by challenging the master to a friendly game. She used magic to ensure she won every time, planning on making the other woman competitive enough to accept a private challenge, but the master turned out to be friendly. They ended up talking four hours about the game, sharing techniques that the witch didn’t actually know. It worked just as well. The next day the witch invited her new friend to show off a new private table, which she would unwittingly be be providing.

Angie could clearly see the moment where the slick pool shark walked into the conspicuously table-less room, totally confused. Then the spell hit her in the back and she was knocked off her feet, wood creeping up arms and legs that were already changing into short table legs as the rest of her flattened into a smooth, felt covered surface…

Angie blinked. “We’re definitely in the right place. This one's been busy. It’s gonna take a team to get all this stuff out of here.”

“What about me?” Penelope said.

“You’re drawn to your body. Try to follow that, but whatever you do don’t touch it! If you bond with it we might lose you.”

Penelope gulped, but did was Angie asked. She drifted slowly through the apartment, leading Angie on a trail through several rooms before finally coming to a stop in what looked like the witch’s bedroom.

It was just as luxurious as the other rooms, especially the enormous Victorian bed, but was surprisingly cluttered and full of unsorted furniture. The witch probably used it to store new acquisitions. Angie had to take pains not to bump something or step on a discarded piece of clothing lest she damage one of the witch’s other victims.

“Please tell me you’re not the bedframe. We’ll never get you out of here if that’s the case.”

For once Penelope didn’t react to Angie's joke. She was too busy concentrating. “I think that’s me over there. I can feel my body by the bed, on the endtable!”

There were several things on the endtable, but Angie immediately knew what they were looking for. There was an old fashioned wooden clock there taking up most of the table space. Like the pool table there was a noticeable hourglass shape to it (though not necessarily uncommon with clocks), but even if there wasn’t it would’ve been obvious who it was. In the center was a large clock face framed by several ornate carvings of a woman that was clearly Penelope, positioned so that it looked like they were holding it in place. Additional etchings of her were carved elegantly into the stand, and flowed gracefully into the sides.

It would’ve been an impressive piece of woodwork, if not for its true origins.

Angie smirked. They were finally almost done. “The clock? Huh. That’s not at all what I was imagining. Good thing we didn’t bet.”

Penelope winced. It looked as though it were a strain to stay away. “It’s definitely me. I’m afraid to get close. I feel like it’s drawing me in, so we can fit together...”

“Ignore it and stay back.” Angie said sharply. Penelope nodded and backed away. “This is the easy part.” Slowly and carefully, she grabbed the clock and prepared to tuck it under her arm…

“Is it?” A new voice suddenly interrupted them. “One would think the robbery was the easy part.”

Angie nearly fumbled the clock – somewhere behind her Penelope shrieked, but luckily Angie’s reflexes let her catch it before it fell. As soon as she was sure her client’s body was safe, she slowly turned around to face a woman who could only be their witch.

She looked about the same age as Angie, which made sense. Younger witches had a tendency to be the most… reckless. She dressed like a socialite and looked about as bored as one, which also made sense. What really baffled Angie were her apparent abilities. Angie had never been snuck up on before, even by magic users - her necklace was glowing like crazy now, but she could’ve sworn it hadn’t been a moment ago. It was careless of her not to see something coming.

Angie prepared for a gloat or a threat, or to be turned into bedsheets or a pillow or something else bedroom related just like that, but the witch just yawned. “By the way, you shouldn’t talk to yourself.” She said. “It makes you look crazy.”

It seemed the witch couldn’t see Penelope as well. That kind of magic was thankfully niche. “I’ll try to remember that.” Angie stiffly replied.

“I don’t get many burglars in here.” The witch sounded legitimately interested. “Especially ones who can deal with magical traps. Lucky I keep a watch on the street, too.” So that’s how she knew they were there. Angie could have kicked herself. Sloppy!

“Actually, the truth is I’m only after that clock.” Lying probably wouldn’t help now. If by some miracle she could just get Penelope out of here this could still be a partial success. “She and I are… friends.” In the corner of her eye Angie could see Penelope floating above. She was trembling, and looked as terrified as Angie felt.

“Really?” Her captor seemed truly surprised. “How random.”

“You’re didn’t expect something like this? You nab a celebrity off the street to add to your collection, and you didn’t think there would be a response?”

Now the witch had the nerve to look at Angie as though she were the crazy one. “Celebrity? What are you talking about?”

That was unexpected. Even Penelope faltered in midair. “You know, the actress you transformed?” Angie said. She pointed over to the clock. “Penelope Morgan? Zapped her on Pygmalion Street this morning?”

“Really? That thing’s a movie star?” The witch burst into a huge grin, and started bobbing on her feet in excitement like a kid on a sugar high. Angie and Penelope just stared. “I don’t get out to the movies much, but that’s so cool! I only nabbed it cause I needed something for my endtable! Who knew it was collector’s item?”

Angie couldn’t believe it. The witch hadn’t been a fan, and she wasn’t collecting celebrities. She hadn’t known or cared who Penelope was at all. She changed her, dooming a human being to an existence as an object, on nothing but a whim. Penelope didn't take it well. “That’s it? She did this to me for no reason at all…” She hugged herself and began floating uncontrollably, muttering those words over and over. Angie could hear her whimpering, but she seemed unable to cry in her current state.

Obviously Penelope would be out of this conversation for a while. If only Angie had that luxury. “There’s no point in lying now,” she said. ”I’m here because the woman you changed into that clock asked for my help.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s impossible.” Sarcasm. That’s just what she needed, a sarcastic witch.

“It rare.” Angie explained. “Her mind broke off when she changed, and she’s been floating around like a ghost ever since. She would really like to have her body back now.”

"Wait, that can happen?" Angie was surprised to find a look of actual concern on the witch's face. When she put her hand on her heart, it almost looked genuine. "Wow, I'm sorry - well, I'm not sorry, but that's got to be terrible. I wonder if any of my other stuff is just floating around stuck like that…"

"Why? Would you turn the back if they were?”

The concern vanished. Now she looked affronted, which seemed a bit hypocritical in Angie's opinion. "What? No! Are you crazy? Do you know how long it took me to find the right figure for that clock? It's a shame, but it's not my fault the poor thing's brain isn't where it’s supposed to be. All I meant was I should see about making sure everything in here is normal.”

"And by normal, you mean…"

"Not alive. Inanimate. And so on." The witch said flatly.

"Wonderful…"

The witch sighed, almost as if she were the one trying to find a reasonable compromise. ”Can't she just go back in? It'd probably be easier for everybody."

"I don't think she wants to do that."

"Well, that stinks." She shrugged. “Then I’m sorry I can't do anything more to help."

At this Penelope, who had been drifting in a state of shock somewhere near the ceiling, finally snapped. She flew down upon the witch in a fury, wildly swinging her fists and yelling hysterically. "Of course you can do something! Turn me back, you selfish bitch! Turn us all back! I had a life! A career! I was going to win awards! You think I wanted to be a paperweight!? Make me myself again!” Of course, her punches harmlessly phased through the witch’s face. Her desperate shouts turned to sobs that fell on deaf ears. “Please…”

The witch gave no sign of response. Eventually Penelope gave up and slid to the floor, hiding her face in her transparent hands. The witch didn't even notice she was there.

Angie sighed. This was going nowhere, and it was her own careless fault. There was nothing left to do but face the music. ”So, are you going to turn me into a rug now, or can I go?"

“Angie, no!” Penelope shouted, but there was nothing either of them could about it anyway.

But then the witch surprised Angie again. Instead of zapping her right away she groused a bit and legitimately thought it over. ”Nah,” she said after a while. “This whole situation has gotten me kind of down. Plus there's all the work I have to do now that someone actually tracked me down. Just get out of here.” She waved Angie to the door as if this was just a simple social call. Maybe it had been, for her.

Rather than figure out her thought process Angie decided to take the offer before the nutjob changed her mind. But just before she could leave the room the witch caught her arm, and her hopes fell again.

Angie whirled around, sure she was about to fill in that empty space in the corner (a bookshelf, perhaps?), but the witch continued to be casual. “In fact,” she said, “just for being a good sport you can have some of my old stuff. I think I’ve got a dress in here that's about your size…" She reached into her closet and tossed Angie a pleated, flowery dress that was far from her style (not that she was going to say so). Angie instinctively gave it a once-over: the image of a Asian woman in her early twenties dressed as a retail clerk came flashed into her head, and then winked out immediately. This one had clearly been here for a while.

"Um… thanks." Angie mumbled. The witch shrugged, as though people received gifts that used to be other people all the time. "I'll just be going now…"

The witch said nothing, just smiled. Angie couldn’t tell if it was smug or genuine. Either way, she was out that door as fast as she could go without looking too afraid. With nothing else to do, Penelope rose from the ground and hovered after her. She didn’t bother to look back.

The door slammed behind them. A moment later all the blinds and curtains closed at once.

Now it was Angie’s turn to collapse (or take a seat on the curb, as she decided to put it). ”I’m such a fool.” She sighed. She looked up at Penelope’s crushed and confused face, wanting to kick herself. “I should've been more careful like you said. I should’ve seen her coming. I’m sorry.”

Penelope just seemed lost. “But… can’t we call your friends and storm the place?” From the sound of her voice she seemed to know it wasn’t an option, but there was just enough hope left for her to try. And Angie would have to break it.

"You don't get it! She may have let me go, but now that she knows I'm onto her she's going to move. Either she'll shrink everything and slip out the back, or if she's strong enough she might just teleport the entire apartment. Either way, she's not going to be there an hour from now."

“So… what happens now?” Penelope sighed. She looked out into the distance, staring through rather than at the buildings around them. “Do I move on to wherever I’m supposed to go?”

Despite the situation, Angie found herself getting annoyed again. Maybe it was just the disappointment talking. ”How many times do I have to tell you you're not dead?” She shouted, a little too loudly. Penelope winced. “Your body isn't technically alive, so it can't be 'dead' either. You're not moving on to anywhere. You’re stuck here.” Angie sighed. The weight of her words calmed her down. “Maybe forever.”

"So… you're saying I'm a not-ghost that no one can see. I've got no hope of ever returning to my old life, if I ever did get back to my body I couldn't enter it without literally losing my mind, and the only person who can fix this won’t do it and is probably long gone?” Penelope said. She kicked at a rock on the ground, and watched as her foot went straight through it. “Dammit…”

“In a nutshell. Though I know a few people who can help with the 'can't be seen' problem.” Angie hoped she looked reassuring. She may have failed, but in this line of work it always paid to have a backup. “That is, if this ordeal hasn't left you with a problem for witches. It’s not ideal, but it’ll still work.”

Penelope eyed her warily. “These witch friends of yours, they won’t…” She mimed an elaborate charade of changing into something else. It looked kind of like a bunny rabbit.

“They might,” Angie laughed. “But not unless you ask. They’re a lot more responsible than the one we just left behind…” She jumped to her feet and gestured for Penelope to follow her. With no other options but still a little bit of trust, the displaced actress did so.

As soon as they left the street a bright flash came from the building, and the apartment on that floor abruptly vanished without a trace…  

----

“Eureka!”

Angie’s wizard friend was theatrical, but vety nice. Next to him a dark skinned teenager and an older man who looked a lot like her pored over what looked like a gigantic stringless marionette.

"We came up with a sort of fix. Since you were turned into a wooden clock, we worked with that,” he explained to Penelope, who was as usual confused. At least these people had access to whatever magic allowed Angie to see her. Actually being part of the conversation went a long way.

“This body's made of the same kind of wood Ms. Desino described, and with a similar figure as yours - I hope you don’t mind us looking up a fansite for your measurements…” He continued, pulling at his collar a bit. “It should be able to fool your mind, so to speak, into letting it be your new home. It’s kind of like being a robot, but it's better than nothing right?"

Angie held back a sigh of relief. She didn’t want anyone to know just how worried she had been about this. Arthur Deco and his motley group of wacky wizards came through again. Weird as they were, she couldn’t ask for better allies – but at the same time she also had a reputation to uphold.

They were just lucky they could lend a hand at such short notice. When she tracked down Deco’s apprentice Vanessa (the only reliable way to contact Deco after hours, since the man himself was only ever organized when it came to his store), she seemed to be interrupting something important. No to mention creating a new vessel for someone’s consciousness to inhabit was insanely complicated. Angie and Penelope spent hours sitting (floating, in Penelope’s case) in the back of Deco’s department store avoiding his customers, since many of them had no idea of about the store’s true magical nature.

Meanwhile Deco and Vanessa swapped between working on the puppet and manning the store. Eventually they had to call Vanessa’s father just to get it done by the end of the day. They also thought to give Angie a once over, just in case the witch did something shifty after all (and to think there was a time when Angie thought all mages couldn’t be trusted).

Penelope stared for a long time at the finished product, unsure of what to think. ”I guess it's no more movies for me, huh?" She smiled wryly. This misadventure had understandably made her a lot more cynical.

“I don’t think it’ll be as bad as all that,” Deco’s assistant Wilson said. Like Angie, Wilson couldn’t do magic himself but had been around long enough to know the possibilities. He and Penelope shared a smile – Wilson and Vanessa actually were fans of her films, and had spent all afternoon getting friendly and gabbing about it. Just Angie’s luck…

“Yeah, you never know.” Deco flashed her a charming grin. Angie rolled her eyes. “Give us some time and we might be able to cook up a decent illusion so you can continue your daily life. Just stay away from sawmills and termites and come back every six months so we can renew the spells that let you move.”

The news that she could go back to her life seemed to please Penelope, but the experience still left her feeling down. ”I still can't believe she didn't have any idea who I was.” She whispered, almost to herself. “I mean, it just seems so…"

"… arbitrary?” Angie finished for her. “Yeah, lots of people get changed for no reason. Case in point…" Her hand drifted to the couch, where a similarly shell shocked woman had sat only a few hours ago.

Unlike Penelope, changing the former store clerk back had gone very quickly. But her story was just as cruel. The witch changed her into a dress two years ago just because she was unsatisfied with her store’s selection. One second she was asking a customer if they needed help, the next she was fluttering to the ground. She remembered being picked up, then being worn for the first time, and then almost nothing until she woke up in Deco’s store. It took a while to convince her that it hadn’t all been a bizarre nightmare.

It was just lucky that the witch wasn’t so powerful that a team of skilled wizards couldn't reverse her handiwork even after such a long time. Angie had run into disappointment before with victims trapped by spells too powerful to reverse, and it was never fun. But this witch seemed too lazy to add in any extra tricks, so the reversion went refreshingly smooth.

The young lady was very thankful for being rescued, but she didn’t stick around for long after they were done. Angie couldn’t blame her. If she had been in her shoes she would’ve gotten out as fast as possible too. But she made still sure they had an appointment to help plan getting back into her life after so long.

In the present, Penelope seemed to accept this. When it came to magic, that was just the way it went sometimes. “I suppose you’re right. I should be happy I got out of this with some version of my humanity. Even if it is a puppet.”

“Marionette!” Deco shouted.

“Of course I’m right,” Angie smirked. “And speaking of your humanity I think it’s about time you stopped stalling, don’t you?”

Penelope flinched. You could practically feel the sadness and doubt coming off her, as she stared at the wooden body that would be hers from now on. She seemed reluctant to even touch it. Angie understood. Doing this would make everything final.

“This will work?” She said quietly, staring into the marionette’s “face” “I’ll be human again? Kind of?”

Deco grinned. “Guaranteed!” He practically shouted. Penelope looked at everyone’s encouraging faces before glancing at Angie, who just nodded.

That seemed to be enough. She sighed deeply. “Then here goes nothing…” And with that she swooped down for what she hoped would be the last time…


Two weeks later and Angie was back at her desk reviewing cases. She had still found no trace of who she had taken to calling the Pygmalion Street Witch. Whoever she was, she either skipped town or had stopped transforming people for now.
?It taught Angie a lesson about underestimating opponents, and she swore to never make that mistake again. In fact she put so much more into the job these days it was kind of strange. She found she was caring more, trying to connect with the people in her cases and putting a lot more work into making sure everything turned out alright.

Utter failure can do that to a person, but at the same time Angie actually felt excited again. It was like the incident had reignited her passion for her work. She almost felt like she someone some thanks.

Once more on cue, a familiar woman knocked on her door and glided into her office. This time she used the door.

“If it isn’t Penelope Morgan! How goes?” She stood up to hug her ex-client, inviting her to relax.

Penelope smiled and helped herself to a seat. By her tailor-made outfit it looked as though she had just left the set, and she seemed content despite her horrible experience less than a month before. “Fairly well, actually. We’re wrapping up filming, and that’s been going smooth ever since your friends set me up with this.” She gestured to herself, and Angie remember that this cheerful woman she was looking at wasn’t really her, just an illusion over a marionette. All thanks to Angie’s mistake.

“It’s been a lot easier to adapt than I thought,” Penelope continued, oblivious to Angie’s thoughts. “Though I’ll never let anyone else complain to me about stiff joints!” She chuckled at her own joke. “How’ve things been with you?”

“Same old. There was an attempted murder involving a mouse transformation and an overeager cat. And I think everybody in the state might have changed genders for twenty-seven minutes yesterday, but the whole thing was covered up somehow. Speaking of which, how’d your disappearance go over?”

Penelope shrugged. “Compared to everything else that part was easy. I just told my director I had to call in the police to deal with a crazy stalker, and that I didn’t want to talk about it. I might have some problems with the tabloids, but Deco said he knew someone who could take care of that.”

“Good to hear it. So what’s next for the great Penelope Morgan after this?”

Penelope shuffled awkwardly. “Actually, I’ve been trying to start a personal project of my own. It’s a mystery involving a detective saving a woman who lost her body.” She smiled like a kid asking for an extra piece of cake. “Sound familiar? I’m thinking of changing the witch to a gorgon, though. People love Greek stories these days.”

Angie was very touched. “Really?” She uncharacteristically stumbled over her words. “Even though your case was a disaster?”

“If it wasn’t for you, I’d either be a timepiece or a ghost – I mean, projection. I can’t thank you enough.”

Angie quickly composed herself. “So,” she grunted, pretending to be annoyed. “I guess that means you’ll need something from me?”

“Well…” To Angie’s disbelief, she somehow managed to look even more awkward. Maybe it was an actress thing. “Maybe to prepare I could follow you around for a while? I could take notes, help you out. You wouldn’t happen to need a Watson, would you?”

“Believe it or not you’re not the first person to ask. But I work alone for personal reasons.” Penelope’s smiled faltered. Angie was almost disappointed that it wasn’t the full body collapse of depression she was used to, but she still felt a twinge of guilt. It was like watching a puppy not get a treat. “But I do need help now and then. If I ever need you, I’ll be sure to call. And I’ve got tons of stories for reference.”

That seemed to be enough. Penelope smiled. “Thanks. I know you blame yourself for what went wrong, but you really saved my life.”

“All in a day’s work. I could tell you about cases even crazier than yours…”

End