The next few days were a blur of people parading through his apartment. George was sitting on his couch catching up on his day job. Some time in the afternoon he realized no one had come to the door today. It was the first quiet day since it had all begun.

Then the doorbell rang. As he approached the door, he heard his neighbor call out. “You in there George.”

He opened the door. Tammy Pommelson was at the door. She was a lovely young college student who had moved into the apartment building on the very day he got his powers. “Hi, Tammy,” he said as she breezed in.

“Turn anybody into something weird, today?”

“Nope. Today was quiet. You're the first person to knock. Do you need my services?”

Tammy had visited George nearly everyday since first knocking on his door. She had been curious why so many people were visiting him. She discovered his newfound powers that same day as a couple showed up shortly after she had. She watched George turn the man into an evening gown for his wife. “I do not. But you might need mine,” she said running her eye over the sad state of uncleanliness in the apartment.

“I just did laundry,” George said, indicating basket the sofa overflowing with clothes.

“And you just ate six pizzas?” Tammy said, pointing at the stack of pizza boxes on the floor and two other boxes on a table.

“The last few days were hectic.”

“But you just said today was quiet,” she said picking up a shirt from the basket and folding it.

Margaret entered the room and hopped onto the couch. Her head bobbed with the movement of the shirt before she swatted at it with a paw.

“See, even Margaret doesn't think you have to do that.”

“Hello, Kitty,” Tammy said, unaware that the cat was once a woman. “I don't mind. I love cleaning. I was born to be a maid or something.”

Margaret hopped next to George and meowed at him twice.

“Really?”

“Yeah, I had a dream about it last night,” she said. “I was wearing one of those French maid outfits and I had a feather duster. It was cool.”

George felt a spell forming in his mind and suddenly he was casting it. Tammy was now standing in front of George at attention. Her clothes were replaced with a corseted black and white French maid's uniform: a plain black dress with white sleeves, a lacy petticoat skirt. A white apron with lace trim hung over top of the dress. She was wearing black nylons and black, patent leather, stiletto, high-heeled shoes. Finishing off the outfit was a lacy, white hat.

“Mon Dieu!” Tammy said.

The cat meowed sullenly then hopped down and left the room.

“Tammy?”

“Oui, Monsieur?” Tammy curtsied. “Should I not fold ze clothes?”

“No, um, carry on if you like.”

She curtsied again and continued folding his clothes.

George got up and went to his bedroom where he found Margaret sitting by the box where her charm was stored. He opened the box and grasped the charm in his fist.

“You really don't know what your doing?” She thought and he could hear it.

“I thought I made that clear when we met,” he said.

“Yes, but in this form I sometimes forget until it is too late, as happened just now.”

“What did happen just now?”

“Your friend there just volunteered to be your servant. All witches have servants. Just like they have familiars. The servants are usually chosen by the witch but sometimes they arrive like the dreams of her clients.”

“How many servants do witches have?”

“Two, three, sometimes more. It depends on their power. And as you have the power to turn people into mannequins. You are rather powerful.”

“So I can expect to acquire more servants.”

“Well, if you don't want to acquire them accidentally, you will need to be more proactive.”

“What do I do about Tammy?”

“What do you mean 'do?' She is your servant. She will do whatever you want.”

“Whatever I want?”

“Yes, whatever you ask, she will do. She may look like a maid. But she is yours. There is very little you cannot tell her to do that she will not do and then thank you afterwards for the opportunity to serve.”

Tammy entered the room. “Monsieur, there is someone at ze door.”

George put the charm back in the box and got up. “Thank you, Tammy.”

She curtsied, “Oui, Monsieur.”

He returned to the other room and found a burly man, well over six feet tall, wearing denim overalls and a plaid shirt. He stood among the pizza boxes, seemingly unaware of them.

“Hi, John Tucker,” the man said extending a hand, looking down at George.

“George,” the witch said shaking hands. “What can I do for you?”

“You know what a LARP is?”

“A role-playing game played live action.”

“Yes, good. I was hoping you could enchant these slippers.” He pulled a large pair of slip on shoes from a pocket. “I usually play the elf princess in our game and it's hard to convince people I'm the short, lithe, ageless Princess Eleandra at my size. So I'm hoping you can make it so when I put on these shoes, I look the role better.”

“Interesting. Describe the princess. And describe an elf. There are many different kinds of elves in literature.”

“I brought a picture,” he said pulling out a hand drawn picture of a auburn-haired elf maiden wearing a forest green gown with gold trim. “I'm hoping to look like this and having a voice a couple octaves higher than my normal voice. A voice that sounds like a musical instrument.”

“Okay. Put on the slippers.” George said. When they were on, he got down on the ground and put his hands on them. Words bubbled forth from his mouth, “Zeldaamo alhu rodden....”

When he was done, the gold-trimmed hem of a green dress brushed against his hands. He looked up. “Princess?”

“Arise, good wizard. You have done well.” John's voice was gone. The princess' voice was very pleasing to the ear, musical, and slightly commanding.

George stood up. He was at least a head taller than the beautiful elf woman. Now he remembered the dream. The princess had sought him out for help. John had not appeared in the dream as himself.

“This is perfect, George. Thank you so much.”

“The magic works only when you wear the slippers.”

“Good to know.”

“Très belle, Monsieur.” Tammy said, appearing in the doorway to the bedroom.

“Thank you, fare... maid,” John said with an ironic smile. “Farewell, good wizard, miss.” John nodded in their direction and left the apartment as an elf princess.

“Tammy, good. I was just going to call you. Come here.”

Tammy rushed forward, curtsying as she stopped in front of him.

George looked at her closely and found a charm on her hat. “Hand me your hat.”

“Oui, Monsieur.” As soon as she removed the hat, the rest of the maid uniform disappeared and she was wearing the clothes she had arrived in. “Oh.”

“Feeling more like yourself?”

“Yes, and no,” Tammy said. “I loved being your maid. Will I turn back if I put this hat on?”

“Yes, but I wanted to make sure you knew you had a choice.”

She put the hat back on and as soon as she tied the strap she was wearing the French maid outfit. “Bien sûr,” she said. “Et j'adore knowing le français.”

He laughed.

She curtsied again and resumed folding his clothes.

George's laptop chimed indicating the arrival of an email and he became engaged with work once again. A couple hours passed before he was interrupted by Tammy, “Monsieur, s'il vous plait, j'ai fini ze laundry and cleaning. It is close to evening and I am not your cook.”

“What?” George said and then he realized what another servant might involve. He looked around the room and it was clean. No stray bits of trash, no pizza boxes, no laundry. He guessed she had put the latter in his bedroom.

“I said I am fini for today. I will come back tomorrow to dust and tackle ze bathroom.” Tammy said with a French accent. Then she took off the lacy hat and was wearing the clothes she had arrived wearing. She looked down at herself. Her words were no longer accented when she said, “That was so cool.”

“Do you really not mind being my maid?”

“I knew French, the uniform was perfect, I made those beautiful curtsies. It was almost perfect.” She tied the hat to one of the coat hooks near his front door.

“Almost?”

“No feather duster. But don't worry. I have one in my apartment. I'll bring it with me tomorrow. See you, George.” She let herself out.

Margaret meowed and pointed her head toward the kitchen.

“So I need a cook, too?”

The cat sort of nodded.

“But I should actually find a cook and not let one drop into my lap.”

The cat meowed and went into the kitchen area by her bowl.

“All right, all right, I'll feed you.” George got up and changed the water in the water dish and put fresh food in the food dish.

* * *

Typical traffic moved through the mall. Teenagers laughed boisterously. Mothers called their children to roost. The sound of many muffled footsteps could be sensed by anyone paying close enough attention.

A normally attentive woman paid none of that any heed. She could sense something was off: not amiss, not a feeling to dread, just something was out of place. She was an older woman, yet her age was hard to pinpoint.

The woman's clothes were a little dull. She wore black: black shoes, a long black skirt, a black vest over a gray blouse, a black overcoat. All of this was trimmed in scarlet and if you looked closely you might see words in a cursive script running along some of the hems.

She moved through the mall with purpose and arrived at a clothing store that did not cater to her monotone wardrobe. But she did not enter the store. She stopped at the window. In the window was a mannequin displaying fashions for girls in their teens and very early twenties.

“You,” the woman muttered. “You don't belong here.” She spoke some incomprehensible words causing her eyes to glow red briefly. Revealed to her was a thin red tether connecting the mannequin to something: something outside of the mall. “Amy. Where lies at the other end of this rainbow, Amy? Who did this to you?”