McKenzie found the shop at the end of a long, barely used corridor in the mall. A faded "Going Out Of Business" sign still hung in the front window, along with a collection of junk, knick-knacks and sundries. The sign over the door read, "Spells R'nt Us." A large sign on the door proclaimed in larger letters, "No Spells Here. That Means You. Under New Management."

Pushing his way through the door, McKenzie heard the tinkle of chimes overhead. The store had a wide array of goods, mostly used and all of it marked down for quick sale. He picked up a porcelain horse.

"Hi, McKenzie, how can I help you today?" said a young voice from behind.

The man turned and found a small boy, dressed in a gray business suit standing about a foot behind him. "How did you know my name?"

"All part of the whole Spells R'nt Us shtick, you know. I know, you were expecting someone older, dressed in a bathrobe, but the old dude is gone and I'm here now. Meet my guard dog," the kid said pointing to a puppy that looked a lot like a wolf cub.

"Oh, nice dog. Listen, I need something for my girlfriend, well, my ex-girlfriend, that might get her to change her mind about me. Heck-er, gosh-I just want her to love me."

The kid reached up and pulled on McKenzie's shirt. "Hey, mister, how old do I look to you?"

"Ten, maybe eleven," McKenzie said with a shrug.

"Good guess. I'm eleven, but do you really think I know anything about girls and what they want? Get real, here. You're supposed to wander through the shop, find something that you absolutely adore, give it to her and then have her laugh about how hideous it is. That's what usually happens. Look over here," the boy said and motioned McKenzie to follow. "See, we have an almost new Beauflex machine. You know you are a bit of a porker, there, mister. Twenty minutes a day and maybe in thirty years it will give you real twelve-pack abs. Wouldn't that impress your girl?"

"That's supposed to be six-pack abs."

The boy laughed. "You know anyone that has those in real life? Most guys that buy these things work out for twenty minutes, throw the machine away and spend the rest of the day pounding down twelve packs-like my dad. Forget six-pack, in thirty years you'll find out what twelve-pack abs look like. So, shop all you want, mister. Ring the bell when you're ready to check out."

Smart-assed kid, McKenzie thought as he walked down the first row of shelves. Nothing there, he thought as he headed down the second row, then the third. Eventually he made two complete circuits of the store before he noticed the doll. The toy looked to be an antique, with a pale-white porcelain head, a brown wig and white hands. A touch of rouge was painted on each of the doll's cheeks and it was dressed in a flowing white dress with lavender bows. Barbie would love it, he decided. She collected old dolls, after all.

He carried the doll to the counter and rang the bell. The wolf cub yipped a couple of times until the boy in the suit came out of the backroom. He took one look at the doll and nodded his head.

"Good choice, McKenzie. She might actually like that. Now how much do you think a priceless antique doll like that would cost?"

"Priceless antique? Please, kid, don't make me laugh. I'll give you twenty for the doll."

"Done-Sold American!" The kid snapped and grabbed the offered twenty. "That has to be exactly what your girl friend wants. Have a good afternoon, mister. Come back anytime."

McKenzie cradled the doll as he walked out the door. Something about that transaction didn't seem right. The kid hadn't put up any sort of fight over the price. Too young, or perhaps the doll really wasn't as valuable as he thought. In any case, he thought as he settled the doll on the front seat of his car, he would take the doll home and work on finding the best time to give it to Barbie.

Over the next week, McKenzie relaxed by brushing and arranging the doll's hair. He bought several, old fashioned outfits for the doll to wear, and he found that he liked dressing her-so much so that by the end of the week the doll had a pretty outfit for each day. He especially liked the frilly white dress he had picked up for Sunday church services.

Sunday morning came. McKenzie spent time primping himself, brushing his freshly washed hair, shaving very close and even clipping the hair in his nose. Finally, at ten that morning someone knocked on the door.

He walked over to the door and opened it. Barbie walked in, still as pretty as ever.

"This has better be good, McKenzie. I had hoped I would never see you again."

Fighting the sudden cramps in his stomach, McKenzie nodded, and managed a nervous smile. "I know, Barbie, and I know that we can never be any more than good friends now, but I do want to be your friend. I found this for you."

"What?" she asked, less than impressed.

McKenzie walked over to the doll, picked it up and hugged it. This was crazy; he couldn't give up his doll. She was his, not Barbie's. Not sure what to do, he stammered out, "Uh, uh, I…."

"Oh, what a beautiful doll," Barbie exclaimed. "I love her."

"No, she's mine," McKenzie shouted. He felt the doll tingle in his hands. "I love her. She's mine."

"Then what was it…oh, my God," she said as the man visibly shrank five inches in front of her. He shrank again, and his face grew younger. McKenzie's hair stood out from his head as it grew longer, blonder and curly. He had no chance to pick at his oversized shirt, before he shrank again. This time, his clothes changed with him.

"What?" he managed to blurt out as his shirt and pants flowed together to make a little girl's party dress. His shoes changed to Mary Jane's complete with white ankle socks, and a large pink ribbon tied itself in his hair. McKenzie, now the size and shape of a five year old, closed his eyes as the world shuddered.

Melanie opened her eyes, and held her dolly tight. "Oh, thank you, Mommy, she's beautiful."

"That came from an old friend of Mommy's, Precious. He will never know it, but he gave me you and you were exactly what Mommy wanted. Let's go get in the car, and go home."

"Yes, Mommy."

The wolf pup whimpered as the kid closed up the shop.

"What?" the boy asked.

Another whimper, followed by a whine.

"So? I know it's traditional, but this is my shop now and I don't do bimbos."

-=-=-=-=-

Interlude Seven

"Yes!" thought McKenzie, as he read the latest batch of messages from the list. They still love me. Even Igor seems to have forgiven me. Maybe it was the wolf pup in this latest story. Maybe it was the one less donut McKenzie had eaten today. Mac really didn't care why the dog was paying attention to him again as long as he was doing it. With Barbie nothing more than a digital fantasy, Igor was his only real-life friend.

Of course, he had more friends on the 'net. There had been three different messages of support, or to be more accurate, messages chastising his critic, Wally the Weasel; whoever that was. Boy that felt good; another one or two and it would probably turn into a full-blown flame war. Changing identities, Mac happily typed away. Before he was done, not one, not two, but three new messages were flying through the electrons of the Internet to help the war along.