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— ¡Dios… esto… ¿de verdad soy yo…? ¿sí? ¿sí? (Oh God… this… is this really me…? Yes? Yes?) — Larry whispered in fear, not even noticing that he was speaking Spanish, staring at his own reflection where a young woman with far too obvious, prominent curves gazed back at him in panic. Curves that Larry himself could now feel with his entire body.

And not just with his body, but with his whole entire being.

Even though he tried to keep his back straight, he could already feel how these two gigantic monsters on his chest, swaying uncontrollably with even the slightest breath, forced his whole willpower to shift his posture, making the detective stand not in his usual confident masculine stance anymore, but in… something else.

‘I couldn’t even imagine that this potion… would actually work…’ Larry thought, hearing inside his beautiful head thoughts that sounded as if someone had turned on a noir retro detective narration where the main character coolly and calmly explains the plan of action, but which suited this pretty face and this body so terribly little. ‘But. Why is everything so… big… and…’ and… he couldn’t even finish the thought about why his nipples and crotch were now so incredibly sensitive, feeling some wild shame just from thinking about it.

— Tengo que… tengo que cambiarme de ropa (I have to… I have to change clothes)

Larry turned his head and immediately felt an unfamiliar long strand of hair tickle his neck. He winced, slightly squinting his eyes, catching from the corner of his eye in the mirror that it looked somehow… way too girlish, not at all like he was used to.

But there was no time for that now. Once he decided, then he had to do it. No doubts, no extra hesitation. Exactly the way Detective Larry Lorons always did — the man who several months ago swore that he would put that damn Diego Morales behind bars no matter what, even if that bastard married the governor’s daughter.

No. No. And no again.

He would prove that Diego Morales was not who he pretended to be. He would prove it in a way that no bought cops and especially not that bitter governor could save him. He would prove that all the drugs and whores in the city were connected to him one way or another, and that from every junkie dying under a fence and every whore sucking someone off in a car nearby, this damn bald asshole took his cut.

— ¡Hijo de puta… (Son of a bitch…) — Larry said through clenched fists, but immediately unclenched them, noticing that his nails had somehow become long. No polish, sure. But long and perfectly manicured, as if he had just walked out of a nail salon.

‘Not now, Larry. Even if you find answers to these questions — it won’t help you at all. So just stick to the plan.’

His gaze fell on the bag from which high heels and other clothes protruded, almost mocking him. Clothes so kindly provided… by whom? What do you even call someone who sits forever in his basement, overgrown with beard and books? Forever in dirt and dust… A bum?

Yeah, Larry had been sure it was just a tall tale, a stupid urban legend that this “bum” made people simply disappear. But everything turned out far more real than he could have imagined. And the heavy, swaying weight on his chest, together with the wide hips he couldn’t see yet already felt, proved it at 146 percent.

The only thing Larry didn’t know was that the “wizard/bum” was in league with Diego, who was already preparing a “special program” for the “niece of Marcus”, the head of the cartel from the neighboring country, who was supposed to take over his affairs while he sat in prison without access to communication.