Detective Emma Rawlins stood alone, set aside, watching the over-excited middle graders talk over each other while digging into cake and ice cream. The detective was under a spell that wouldn’t let her move or speak. She could roll her eyes some, twist her mouth some, and turn her neck some, but that was the extent of it. She frowned as she listened to the conversation, as Sophie, her “Owner,” quietly admitted:

“I mean, it’s cute and all, but I’m a bit old for dolls…”

Of course she was, Emma thought sourly. But the girl didn’t need to like the Ballerina Doll. In twelve hours, the spell would break, so that Emma could do what she had come here to do.

Sophie’s father, Tony Guillardo, was one of the more accomplished thieves in town. At least, Emma was sure he was. But even after months of stakeouts and investigations, she had no proof. A break came a week ago, when she discovered that Tony had purchased a one-of-a-kind doll from a local toy maker; a life-sized ballerina doll for his daugher’s birthday. Maybe it was the mania from being so close for so long, or the delirium brought on by too many sleepless nights on stakeout, but Emma got an idea.

“Are you out of your mind, Rawlins?” Her sergeant had said when she pitched the idea to him earnestly.

“But this is the br—”

“The costume will never pass muster, no one can stay still for that long, oh and there’s this little thing called chain of evidence to think about. Not to mention, who are you going to convince to do this insane scheme of yours?”

Emma’s mouth had twisted into a frown. “I’ll do it, and I’ll make sure the chain of evidence is clean.”

The sarge had snorted. “You? In tights and a tutu? As fun as that might be to see, I’m denying this plan. We’ll get Tony Guillardo, and we’ll get him the old fashioned police work.”

So Emma was disobeying a direct order being here like this, and no one on the force had her back. She would worry about the consequences of that when she came back to the real world with the proof the Tony Guillardo was the Mako Bandit. Enough to put him away for good.

“So what are you going to do with it?” One of the girls, taller, older than Sophie asked. Emma wasn’t too thrilled about being called ‘it,’ but it did mean that her disguise, and the spell, were working.

“Hang on, you want me to put a spell on you?” Evangela, the witch, had asked in disbelief. She ran a little shop downtown specializing in fortunes and tarot. Emma hadn’t believed in magic until she met her during an investigation. Since then, she had become a useful asset.

“I need it to help keep me immobile while I’m shipped from the toy maker to Tony’s, and a little while after. Then, it will need to wear off so I can do my investigation. Can you do it?”

“Emma, magic isn’t some kind of programming. It’s alive, it’s tied with the fates. Karma is built into it, and it likes irony. As someone who knows magic, this isn’t a good idea.”

Emma rolled her eyes. “I’m trying to catch a bad guy, magic should be on my side. I’ve already planned how I’m going to replace the doll. I just need a little magic to help the illusion along. Or would you rather it if I call my friends at the IRS, see how interested they are in a magic shop?”

The witch had slumped. “I’ll do it. But you can’t say I didn’t warn you.”

One of the girls looked away for a moment, gazing back into the living room, not at Emma, but close enough. It took the detective by surprise, as she suddenly stiffened up, faced forward, and put a smile back on her face. It all happened automatically as she was seen. That was…something. And while she stood there, smiling like a pretty little thing, Sophie answered.

“Probably just have Dad take it back to the toy maker tomorrow. It’s a bit of a hassle, though. He’ll probably complain the whole time.”

Emma, silently, breathed a sigh of relief. Tomorrow was fine. By tomorrow, she would be done. The spell was keyed to break twelve hours after she was unwrapped and gifted to Sophie, but it was location-based; she had to remain in the house for that time. There were rules about these things, Emma had been advised, though the reasons eluded. Twelve more hours in this house and the spell would break. Twelve hours and she could move again.

Sophie sat, considering a moment. “Kellie, do you still collect dolls?” She asked.

Emma’s mouth went dry. Wait, no…

The taller girl, sat up, her eyes suddenly alight and excited. “Yes, I’ll take her. I mean, if that…I mean, I do still collect dolls. If you’re offering.” While she had an added sheepishness to her, blushing around her friends, Kellie still looked hopeful.

But Sophie laughed and calmed her friend, Emma paled. The detective wanted, needed to do something. To come alive, to move, to run out of here, even in felt slipper shoes. But the spell held her fast. It forced her to remain the doll she had asked to become.

“Well, since you’re moving soon, consider it a going away present.”

Maybe this is a sleepover. Or, she’ll take me tomorrow, or…Emma had faced down men with guns, and yet the feelings bubbling in her now were worse than that. Not fear, but a queasy, stomach-twisting embarrassment.

Kellie rushed over. Emma wasn’t exactly short, just below average. But Kellie was already above average and growing. There was something about that difference that already made the detective feel less than. Play-sized. And play Kellie did as she took Emma’s arms and raised them in a graceful arc above her head.

Emma had already spent a few hours as a doll, but that was time she could endure; a temporary inconvenience. She could even laugh at the foolishness of those around her who thought her a plaything. Now, she wasn’t laughing. Emma wasn’t being treated like a doll because she was successfully pretending; she was being treated like a doll because that’s what she was until the spell wore off. And now, the spell wouldn’t wear off. Not as was placed into a moving box, or put in the car to Kellie’s house, or taken away from Sophie’s house.

For days, Emma held out hope. Maybe the spell would fade regardless. It didn’t. In fact, it felt stronger somehow after Kellie wrote her name in sharpie on the bottom of Emma’s ballet shoe feet. The little moments of furtively moving her eyes, and of turning her smile into a frown, were gone. But the moments of embarrassment continued ever after.

Weeks later, as Kellie set about packing, she heard the news: Tony Guillardo had been arrested; the reign of terror of the Mako Bandit was ended. Good old police work worked in the end. Unfortunately for Emma, Evangela was right; magic had a sense of irony, a sense of karma. Emma had asked to be made a doll, and once made, magic saw to it she would always be one.