The tinkling of silverware on plates and the murmur of conversation filled the air in the Proud Vaults, a very spacious, moderately upscale restaurant. Lots of high balconies in white with lush green ferns arched overhead, and skylights let in the sun at 3pm on a bright Thursday afternoon.

"This is really nice," said Terrence Michalik, flapping his linen napkin once before tucking it on his lap.

The woman across from him, Kitty Lassalle, nodded enthusiastically. "I used to come here all the time, when Pete worked in the kitchen. It was great: he'd make 'mistakes' and have someone box it up and cart it out to me." She knocked back a large mouthful of red wine. "That's how I got my love of chicken alfredo, as my thighs show." She laughed.

Terrence smirked. "No, no! You look great, Kitty. How long's it been since we hung out?"

She rolled her eyes in recollection. "Two years... two and a half. I dated Pete for just under two years."

"You're not with him now?"

"Nah, ditched him. It was a good two years of getting high and playing Nintendo, but I grew out of it." She shrugged and studied a couple at the table beside theirs. "I hear you're still with that woman..?"

"Yeah, Phoebe. You introduced us at that office luncheon back in '13, when you were working at that law firm−"

"Castillo, Schneider & Schwartz. They were kind enough to wait until after the holiday season to fire me, I guess." One crimson lacquered fingernail ran along the stem of her wine glass. "I really sound like a winner, huh? Fired from a second-rate law firm, dated that idiot stoner for two years." She looked up at her friend. "It all went downhill when I dumped you, didn't it?"

He cleared his throat. "It sounds like a rocky streak, but look at you now. You're doing great, working at that fashion store you always used to lust after. You've taken care of yourself. Never stopped working out?"

Kitty stretched out her legs to the side, wrapped in tight jeans, as though admiring them for the first time. "No matter what. I always worked out, no matter what else was going on in my life. Can't believe I stayed with stupid Pete Leehy so long! Just sitting on his ass, bag after bag of nachos... man, I wish I could go back and do some things over." She looked up at him and blushed a little. "So, how's you and, uh..."

"Phoebe. She was your friend back then," he said with a little firmness in his voice.

"Phoebe, right. I dunno, lost touch with her, guess I forgot about her. How're you two doing?"

He showed her a basic, unadorned ring in white gold. "We're engaged, for one."

Kitty choked on her ice water and mopped up her face with a pistacchio-green napkin. "Well, congratulations, Terry! Really, I'm happy for you. That's what you want?"

He smiled but looked down at his plate, avoiding her eyes. "It's what I've always wanted. You knew that."

She tried to laugh the tension off. "Yeah, well, sorry you caught me in my wild-child phase. But do you ever−" A waiter rushed up with a refresher of breadsticks and two salads. Terrence tried to eye the food appreciatively while Kitty gave the interrupting staff a hairy eyeball. "Terry!"

"Yeah?" His knife kept smearing butter-product down the length of a breadstick.

"Do you ever think about us, about what we used to be like?"

"Well, sure. I think about the past." He laughed a little. "But that's what it is: the past."

Kitty bit her lip and ran her fingernail around the rim of her wine glass. It was her second, and she never had been a heavyweight drinker. "I think about us a lot, Terry. I think we were good together."

He looked up, no smile on his face. "Until you dumped me because I wasn't enough of a bad-ass, you mean. I don't want to get into this, Kitty, let's just have a nice lunch."

If she heard him, she ignored that. "I loved what you could do with your hands. Pete had weak hands and he lost interest way too soon. Do you still give massages?"

This got a long sigh from him. "Only to my fiancee, not that it's your business. How's your salad?"

"Fuck my salad, Terry. I miss you. Tell me you miss me."

He tried to rebuke her but the words choked in his throat. All she got was the start of an angry expression, then a slack jaw, and then he returned to his breadstick.

"There's no shame in missing me, you know, Terry." She grinned, bright teeth gleaming between her red lips. "I—this'll sound silly—I kept myself in shape for you. That's what I told myself. Every time I went to the gym, even in winter: 'This is for Terry. Gotta look good for Terry.' Silly, right?" She rubbed her shoe against the side of his leg, and he didn't pull back soon enough.

"Kitty, seriously, knock it off."

"Tell me you don't want this, Terry." She leaned back in her chair to knock back the rest of her wine, proudly showing off her round, firm breasts. They weren't large but they were perfectly shaped and stood out beneath her sweater-blouse. "Remember my nipples? You used to−"

"For fuck's sake, Kitty!" His iron chair scraped against the tile floor and he tossed his napkin onto the seat of his chair. "I'll be back. I gotta... I'll be back." The angry clopping of his leather shoes was lost in the ambience of the restaurant.

Kitty sat up and watched him go, a deep frown forming on her face. Some of the other patrons watched Terrence storm off, then looked back at her with delighted grins, tremendously entertained. She flipped them off and sulked over her empty wine glass for as long as it took an attentive waiter to zip over and offer her third drink.

Halfway through it, she looked up and saw Terrence wasn't returning yet. He had to come back, his jacket with his iPhone and wallet was hanging on his chair. Glancing around the room, she noted that all attention had drifted from their little drama. She leaned in her chair and tugged her large purse out from under her chair.

"Better be worth it, dammit," she muttered, simultaneously fishing around for something in her purse with one hand and tugging her ex-boyfriend's salad in front of her with the other. "For $35,000, you better be worth it," she told the little blue bottle, freshly retrieved, "and you better be worth it," she told Terrence's salad, over which she sprinkled three or four drops from the bottle. She'd gotten it capped and hidden again before Terrence returned from the restroom. He found her well into her third glass and sighed.

"Is it going to be like that, Kitty?" he asked, seating himself. "Because if it is, I'll just leave you with some cash, and don't bother calling me again."

"Come on, I'm sorry, Terry," she slurred. "I know you'n Phoebe are a thi-i-i-i-ing."

Absently he pulled his salad back from where Kitty sat and dug in. "Look, of course I miss you. Do I think about you? Yes, sometimes. Were we good?" He looked up at her, sucking in a leaf of arugula. "In many ways, you were fantastic. Happy? I miss our sex." He broke her gaze and returned to his salad. "But that was a very long time ago. You hurt me, I've picked up the pieces, and I'm moving on. It's high time you did the same."

She made acknowledgment noises but watched him carefully, as he was careful not to look up at her.

"You've got a lot going for you now, Kitty. You're not that thrill-seeker you were back then. You've kept in shape, you've got a job you love, you booted that stoner out your life." The side of his fork broke up a large clump of bleu cheese, half of which he pushed onto a slice of chicken. "I'm sure things are turning around for you. You'll find someone awesome, I'm sure."

Then the fork slipped out of his hand. He swore and looked at it, and then he slipped beneath the table's edge. Kitty's eyes widened: before her gaze, Terrence's body started to reduce, diminish... shrink. Normally 6'2", he reduced to the size of a large child before his little head went down beyond the tablecloth.

Laughing, Kitty leaped out of her chair and rounded the table. There was a pile of Terrence's clothes and, amid them, a tiny little Terrence. He was stark naked and staring up at her, his tiny brown eyes blinking.

"Well, what do you know," she said, slipping his jacket off the chair and scooping up his clothes. "It was a reasonable investment after all." She chuckled as she stuffed his garments into the oversized purse she brought for this occasion. "Oh, Terry, I told myself before I came here that I was going to have you no matter what. I just wish it−"

When she returned to his chair, where she left him, she caught a glimpse of his tiny naked butt flinging itself over the opposite side of his chair. A customer had been walking by, a young woman in boots and fishnet, and Terrence sailed briefly through the air to clutch the top of her shirred leather boot. In two easy strides, the woman was past the table and heading out the door, with Kitty's minuscule ex-boyfriend hanging onto the top of her boot for dear life.

"Fuck!" said Kitty.

Kitty felt a dozen eyes train upon her: after her drunken revelry, the customers of the restaurant were more than ready for any other amusements she might provide. She tossed back her frizzy mane with a casual laugh, attempting to drape her arm nonchalantly over the large shoulder bag stuffed with Terrence's clothes. Muttering about how she didn't need to impress anyone, she jogged in stilettos after the young woman with her stowaway.

Terrence clung in terror to the lip of a gigantic woman's boot. His naked body swung freely with every racing stride and every thunderous footfall. "This is a nightmare, this is a nightmare," he babbled. "Wake up, Terry!" He tried biting his cheek to startle himself from slumber, but he only succeeded in creating stabbing pain to deal with on top of everything else.

"Just wake the fuck up!" He tried looking at where they were headed, he and his giantess taxi, but the world was a sweeping, swooping blur. It was easier to study what was in front of him: an enormous, pale calf sheathed in wide-gapped fishnet stocking. Eyes wild, he began to reach for the leg as high and around as an old-growth redwood. His palm lay against soft, warm skin and one black rope of the stocking. "Incredible," he breathed. His gaze ran up the long leg above him, powerful thigh pulsing and relaxing with every stride. The woman's thigh disappeared within the shadows of a stiff, black leather skirt. Conceivably he could climb the thick strands of her stockings, but then what? Crawl inside some strange woman's skirt? Is that the appropriate behavior for someone about to be married?

Then again, nothing about this situation was appropriate or reasonable. And if it was a dream, why shouldn't he enjoy himself while he was here? Chuckling nervously, he grasped the black rope and reached up for another.

"Hey! Hey, you!" Kitty's voice echoed throughout the plaza, accompanied by the frenzied clatter of her fuck-me heels. "You, in the black skirt and boots!" The young woman failed to recognize she was being talked to and strode on. Kitty could see the tiny form of her ex-boyfriend beginning to scale her leg, pushing off the rim of her boot and lying against her knee. Cursing, Kitty paused to peel her shoes off, then doubled her running speed and caught the girl by her elbow. "Hey, excuse me!" she shouted, spinning her around.

The woman was visibly alarmed. She tugged an earbud out from under her long blonde hair. "What the hell do you want?" she said, jerking her arm free.

Kitty laughed ingratiatingly. "Look, I'm sorry to startle you. I just... there was an accident back there, and I think have something that belongs to me."

"I don't know what the fuck your problem is, lady." The woman glanced over Kitty's shoulder and turned away.

Infuriated, Kitty wrapped her fist in the woman's long hair and jerked back. The woman screamed, and heads of bystanders in the plaza sharply turned toward them. Kitty lunged at the woman's leg; the woman danced away defensively. "Get the fuck away from me!" she screamed. "What are you trying to do?"

Kitty looked around at the people staring at her. "Look, just hold on, there's something stuck to you." The woman looked down at her own leg. Kitty made another lunge, and then a hand wrapped firmly around her upper arm, hauling her back.

The maître d' of the Proud Vaults was a tall, imposing man, balding but with tastefully slicked hair around his solid skull. He glared imperiously down his nose at Kitty. "I beg your pardon." His tone was quiet, yet it bore into the core of her body. "Perhaps madam has forgotten the small matter of the bill of fare."

"Not now!" Kitty shrieked, attempting to pull her arm free. The maître d' had a grip of steel, however. The young woman behind her removed both earbuds, and a sparse circle of onlookers gawked without trying to hide their fascination. Looking around herself, Kitty softened. "Ah, yes, of course, my good man," she said breezily. "My wallet is just in here, if you'll allow me." She began to open her shoulder bag to dig out Terrence's cash, then looked up at the maître d' in mild horror: on top of pulling a dine-and-dash on a fancy restaurant, she was carrying a bag full of a man's clothes. She licked her lips and again begged for one moment, ransacking Terrence's shirt and pants blindly with one arm through a narrow aperture in the zipper. The whole world seemed to freeze in place, people staring, the woman eyeing her suspiciously, the maître d' presenting an imposing force, while she felt around for solid objects, until...

She yanked out a thick, brown leather wallet and held it aloft in victory. "Ah, here we are! Now, how much was that bill, my good man?" He cited a number in a respectful tone. Kitty gaped at him. "But we didn't even get the steaks! We just had the salads!"

"I regret to inform you," he said, with darkening tones, "that it is not the fault of the kitchen to accept your order in good faith, trusting that you will remain long enough to receive that which you've requested."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Oh, very well," she muttered, fishing out a couple large bills. "There you go, and choke on it." The maître d' had the good taste to simply fold the bills and palm them, excusing himself with a slight bow. Kitty looked back at the woman in the leather skirt, flipped her off, and marched out of the plaza.

The woman watched the crazy bitch stomp away, stiletto heels in one hand, her other arm wrapped around an overstuffed shoulder bag. She looked down at her leg, then back at the woman, and then she began to follow the woman.

*   *   *

After the muffled, rolling thunder of a car starting up and racing through the twists and turns of the city, a long, angry unzipping noise and blast of light let Terrence know the ride was over. He lay upon his own rumpled shirt and stared up at his ex-girlfriend.

Kitty towered over him, blocking out the ceiling light in a room he didn't recognize. She parked her fists on her hips. "You are in a lot of trouble, little man," she growled. "Do you know how much embarrassment you cost me? I mean, caused me. Fuck! You've got me so pissed off!" She threw up her hands and spun away, out of view.

Terrence's heart pounded in his chest. "This is a dream, this is a nightmare. Wake the fuck up, Terry." He looked around: he lay upon the collar of his rumpled white shirt. Overhead were the jagged steel edges of the zipper to Kitty's shoulder bag. Far overhead was a popcorn stucco ceiling and a frosted glass globe light fixture. None of this was familiar. If this was her place, it was wherever she ended up after dumping Pete the former Proud Vaults cook last year. He was torn between a mild curiosity to peek around and see what kind of place this was, and his burgeoning instinct to burrow under the clothes and hide from the crazed giantess.

For her part, Kitty was a maelstrom of emotions. That fucking maître d'! How dare he lay a hand on her! She should go back with that eye dropper and teach him a thing or two, now that she knew it worked. And there was that! Yay! It was a lot of money but the special order from Saghir Chemise absolutely, absolutely lived up to its reputation! She hadn't been sure that it would, it was just such a ludicrous claim, so she wasn't really ready for this. She bundled up armloads of dirty clothes and dumped them in a laundry basket by the basement stairs. She rarely had guests over, and when she did, they were friends from the bar and already trashed after a night of hard partying. They didn't care what her place looked like. But now that she had classy-ass Terrence Michalik in tow, suddenly she regarded her flat with a critical eye. She collected pizza boxes and stuffed them under the sink; she rounded up dirty, crusty plates and glasses and hustled them to the sink. Not for the first time, she wished this rat-hole apartment came with a dishwasher. She grinned: with the gift of Terrence's fat wallet, she could pay off the last two months of rent and start making demands of her shitty landlord.

Or, she thought happily, she could stop by his place with her little blue bottle. What an incredible investment this was! It was worth shirking all her bills and rent; it was already paying for itself!

Kitty stared at the large, lumpy bag on her couch. Inside was Terrence's clothes and a version of Terrence too small to wear them. A Terrence she had reclaimed and could keep for as long as she wanted. Smiling, she opened the cupboard beside her: there was an olive-green lazy Susan holding salt and pepper shakers, a bottle of vinegar, other condiments, but also a purple eye dropper bottle, the one with the growth potion. The Saghir Chemise sales rep was inflexible on this point, that there was no discount for only the shrinking potion: the bottles of Al'Qazr were a matched set and had to be sold together. "Without the purple formula," she'd warned in a thick Arabic inflection, "the shrinking effect is irreversible."

"Well, what in the world am I going to need you for?" she crooned at the innocuous purple bottle on the shelf. Still, she couldn't quite bring herself to toss it out. It had cost too much, for one thing. And if she were to ever get the blue formula on herself, she'd need the antidote. Pursing her lips, she closed the cupboard and returned to her messy living room. Terrence would just have to deal with her squalor, she figured, but then again... they wouldn't be spending much time in the living room, after all.

Smiling toothily, she opened the shoulder bag on her couch and drew a breath to welcome her former lover into his new home.

Except there was no tiny lover. There was just a pile of his clothes.

"What the fuck!?" Panicked, Kitty began tearing the clothes out of the bag until it was empty—completely empty. Her head snapped left and right, her frizzy mane bouncing furiously. "You little fucker! You're here somewhere, I know it! You can't get far!" Immediately she began tearing the cushions off her couch, knocking over a glass of water on her coffee table. "Shit!" She glared at it and stormed out to get some paper towels.

Terrence watched her high heels stab the carpet farther and farther away until they disappeared. He had precious seconds to run out from under the couch to a better hiding place. But where?

And outside, a yellow sports car paused across the street. The woman in the leather skirt checked the plates of the car in the driveway with the number she'd written down when Kitty tore out of the parking ramp. She noted the house address before slowly pulling away and heading home, as it was nearly time to start her shift at the bar.

Something especially strange was going on, starting with the shrunken man she felt climbing her leg, and Shelia Fox was going to find out exactly what it was.