Carl gulped nervously as Missy pointed directly at him. The eyes of the entire room now rested firmly on Carl.
He exchanged a nervous, frightened glance with Steve, who could only shrug helplessly at his best friend.
“Well, Carly?” asked Agatha. “What do you have to report to us regarding the Grellstone you've been examining
this weekend?”
“Uh... y'see...” mumbled Carl, slowly rising to his feet to address the group. He fidgeted nervously with a
bit of his cutely cut, bobbed hair and felt the heat of flushed embarrassment flow across his cheeks.
Shit, thought Carl. I've never heard of a Grellstone, or Yas-Thutteht, or a Guardians Union, or any emotional
spectrum gemstones from the secret gods of the voles, or whatever flimflam these witchy froot loops were
blathering on about. I was just trying to go out fishing with Steve, maybe drink a few brewskies... and now,
here I am trapped in the body of some sexy broad, who apparently belongs to the Desperate Housewives version
of some real life Harry Potter group of witches!
“Speak up please, Carly,” said Agatha patiently.
If it weren't for the singular, unshakable fact that Carl was now twelve years younger and undeniably female
(as the impossibly large, perky breasts on his chest attested to), Carl would swear these women were all
cuckoo for coco puffs – pure loonies, prattling on about ancient gods, magic rocks, and conspiracies to change
wizards from the 'guardians' into witches from the 'local 2814'... and now this Missy the Wizard Slayer was
claiming Carl personally had this... this otherworldly ornament, this ghostly gewgaw, this fabulous
folderol... the ancient, mystical, all-powerful Gruntstone, or whatever.
“Well, y'see...” started Carl. “Here's the thing about that...”
What next?