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Author's Chapter Notes:
EARTH-DXM (AUG. 12, 2009)
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William Blefescu climbed the stairs up to the attic of his family's Belleview Park home. But, only after carefully locking the door behind him.

Upon reaching the attic, he went over to a Victorian-style trunk with brass studs. The kind now used mostly by stage magicians for the classic Metamorphosis illusion. He used a separate key, on the same chain, to unlock it. He then lifted the lid and removed something that most antiquarians would have called "almost-as-old."

A globular Philco Predicta television set!

This was not a genuine antique, however. Merely a high-tech reproduction. One of a series of them, in fact; currently manufactured by CTG Enterprises. And, distributed via Gray Fox Novelties.

William activated the TV screen, and knelt on one knee.

"It is I, Milord. Relaying a telepathic message that I have just now received from Dr. Messimer. She has the FBI agent under her control!"

"Excellent!" replied the vocally-distorted silhouette: "Do not become overconfident, though. The Growth Triumphant Society has many powerful adepts. And, the last thing we need, at this juncture, is them trying to thwart us!"

"I will be careful, Milord."


The two agents entered Wishbone's Restaurant. That is; the genuine one. The one now serving as corporate headquarters for all its legitimate offshoots. And, there, they saw her; Lorelai Allen.

The plagiaristic super-witch was bussing tables, now that the restaurant was closed for the day. And, visible beneath her right pant leg was a stagnatanium ankle bracelet. Nullifying her magic powers!

"Ms. Allen?" began Agent 678: "In case, you don't remember us, we're..."

"Fric and Frac, from I.D.E.E.A. Yeah, I remember. How could I possibly forget the two busybodies who got me into this mess???"

"Technically," replied Agent 679: "You got yourself into this mess. Operating a branch of this restaurant without a license? Not very bright, for a super-witch."

"Is that all you came to do, here? Insult me and gloat?"

"Not quite," replied the senior agent (after giving his junior a reproving glare): "We are here to offer commutation of your sentence, in exchange for your co-operation."

"Define 'co-operation,' " she growled.

"Prior to your arrest, who ordered the most Wishbone Specials at your establishment? After all; most of your regular patrons were un-dead! And, those wishes can only be granted to the living. So, answer our question, a hundred-and-one percent truthfully, and we'll persuade Mr. Wishbone to release you from your sentence somewhat earlier."

"Define 'somewhat.' "

The two agents turned to leave.

"Wait-wait-WAIT! Don't go! I agree to the terms."

"A wise decision," replied Agent 679: "Info, first, please."

Lorelai frowned, but did as instructed.

"You're right. My local regulars never ordered the Wishbone Special. It was strictly the were-drakes who live underground, in the nearby foothills."

"Were-drakes?" echoed the junior agent, completely puzzled.

"Well, that's what they're called on Auwth. A subspecies of dragon that's human-sized. Even when they haven't shapeshifted into human form! On other Earths, they're called 'garhu's.' As in, half-human/half-gargoyle!"

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