Lisa Bannis slammed the door to her room, threw down her backpack, and collapsed on the bed. She was twelve years old, with blonde hair in two braids, and she was crying very hard. "I hate Amanda," she shouted at her pillow. "She's the reason nobody likes me. Everyone thinks she's soooo cool. She's just mean and ugly and. . . and stupid!"

There was a knock on the door. "Lisa?" her mother called.

"Go away!" Lisa yelled back.

Her mother sighed. "Lisa, you're getting too old for this kind of tantrum."

"I said go away! I hate you! I hate my life!" There was another sigh, and Lisa heard her mother's footsteps recede. Just then a sparkling ball of light came in through the window. Lisa had her face buried into her pillow and didn't notice. The ball shifted from side to side, as if looking around the room. It noticed a robotic stuffed dog on the nightstand, brightened, and darted into it.

The dog opened its eyes and shifted its weight experimentally, making a soft mechanical sound. He'd never done one of these before. It was easier to move in than your standard teddy bear, at least. He opened his new mouth, about to get the girl's attention, but before he spoke she picked her head up and addressed him. "At least you love me, right, Poochi-tron?"

He froze. This was not how it was supposed to go. "Um. . . yes?"

"Good." She reburied her head in the pillow. He blinked. Delayed reaction, maybe? But ten seconds later there was no change.

"You know," he said tentatively, "most girls think it's a little odd when their stuffed animals start talking to them."

She looked up again. "Why? I talk to you all the time."

"Oookay. Fine." He hastily skipped past the "calm hysterical teenager" portion of his usual speech. "Actually, Lisa, I'm a spirit of goodness sent by the Powers Who Are. I've animated this stuffed animal to give you a familiar shape to relate to."

The girl blinked vacantly. "Oooooh," she said finally. The crying had stopped completely.

"Ah, right. You see, there's a dark power moving in this town of Bright Hills. A sinister force is attempting to bring demons into this world." Lisa sat up, wiped her eyes, and looked attentively at him. The dog's eyes narrowed - could anyone possibly take news like this quite so calmly? "I'm quite serious, you know."

"Okay. Go on, Poochi-tron."

"Actually, Lisa, I have another name. It's. . ."

"Oh, I like Poochi-tron, Poochi-tron." He sighed. He'd spent an entire extended campaign with five magical girls who all called him Snuggle-wuggles; he could certainly handle a few weeks as Poochi-tron.

". . . fine. Where was I? Oh, yes, demons into this world. Now, the Powers Who Are have chosen you to stop this menace." A form made of pure light appeared on the bed in front of the girl. It solidified into a thin gold rod about two and a half feet long, with one end encrusted heavily with large pink and red gemstones. "This is a Love Scepter. With its magic power you can stop the demon-callers and return peace to your town."

The girl brightened. "Magic powers?"

Poochi-tron tilted his head and spoke slowly and clearly. "Magic powers to fight the evil demon-callers."

"Great!" Poochi-tron slumped his mechanical shoulders. This couldn't be a good sign. Sure enough, she reached into her backpack, pulled out a notebook, and opened it to a page titled "What To Do If I Ever Have Magic Powers" in pink bubble-letters. "Come on, Poochi-tron!"

"Lisa, we have evil to fight."

"There'll be time for all that later. I've got this whole list to get through." She shoved him into the backpack and grabbed the Love Scepter. "Let's go!"

-O-

The next morning was a strange one at Bright Hills Middle School. The hallways were festooned with pink banners and filled with heart shaped balloons, all printed with variations on "Lisa is our Queen." The teachers were all standing in the hallways handing out sugar cookies with confused looks on their faces. All the female students were plainer than they'd been the day before, and all the male students were handsomer, and everyone seemed to be talking about Lisa.

An eighth grader named David Langton was standing just inside the door, taking all this in. He was tall and dark haired, wearing a black trench coat, and talking to himself. "It's not my problem," he muttered. "I'll just chuck my phone, and go home, and tell the school I'm sick. If I didn't see it, and they can't call me, it won't be my problem." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a cell phone. Just as he was cocking his arm back to throw it in a nearby garbage can, it rang. David winced. "Damn."

He flipped open the phone. "Hello?"

"This is Central." The voice on the other end was gruff, the voice of a middle-aged man who smokes too much.

"Oh, hi, sir!" he said with false cheer. "You've got great timing!"

"I know I do. By the way, Langton, it's against regulations to discard your service phone. In case the issue were to come up," he added as an afterthought.

David ignored this. "We've got a bit of a situation here, sir. You might want to send down a Magic Containment Team right away."

"Nice try, Langton. I want this locked down by the end of the day, and don't come whining for backup. We've got better things to do."

David's shoulders slumped. "I hate you, sir."

"Duly noted. Central out."

David sighed. "Damn, damn, damn." He walked through the halls, surveying the situation. It was as bad as it had looked at first - everything changed, reeking of magic, and every spell massively overcharged and clumsy as hell. "Evil Mr. Reevil," the history teacher, was standing outside of his classroom with a plate of gingerbread men. He was smiling merrily, and looked extremely unhappy about this.

David spotted a short, scrawny eighth grade boy in glasses attempting to open his locker. When he noticed David approaching, he managed somehow to close his pencil case in the door and then trip over the spilled contents. He ended up collapsed on the ground in a cloud of paper and writing utensils. He sat up, surveyed the wreckage, pushed his glasses higher on his nose, and said, "Oh, dear" in a whiny, nasal voice. Even in their altered state, the other students backed up and laughed at this.

David walked into the clearing and squatted down beside the other boy. "Don't you think you're overdoing it, Stan?" he whispered as he started picking up pens.

"Cover is everything, Mr. Langton," Stan said quietly in a superior, precise tone completely unlike his earlier whine. David rolled his eyes. "And in any case, a touch of overacting might be warranted today. There seems to be a bit of a problem around here."

"You noticed?" David asked sarcastically.

"Indeed. And I gather from your continued presence that you've been detailed to solve it." David needed to find himself a new techie - this one knew him too well. Except Stan was the best around, and knew it. "Will you need my services?"

"Doubt it. This has magical girl written all over it, and if I can't handle one brain-dead cheerleader with a shiny stick on my own, I'll turn in my staff."

Stan raised an eyebrow. "You have a staff?" he asked, sounding amused.

"Figure of speech, Stan. Either way, I'll meet you at the lab after school."

The two of them had now cleaned up Stan's things. "Very well. Good luck, Mr. Langton."

"Thanks." David stood up and continued on his way, snorting in disgust at each ludicrous alteration. "Queen Lisa" herself seemed to be fashionably late this morning. It didn't matter - she'd certainly be visible at lunch, and David would find her then. Fortunately, he didn't have far to go to reach his first class, though he had to duck under a mass of bunting to get in.

Once class had started, he pulled out his cell phone. Nobody noticed - the teacher had a decidedly dazed look to her, and half the students were talking anyway. (The topic of choice, unsurprisingly, was Lisa.) He dialed the number for the Powers Who Are from memory.

"You've reached the office of the Powers Who Are, how can I connect you?"

"Department of Magical Heroes, please."

"One moment, sir." There was a click. "Magical Heroes. How may we save your world from darkness?"

"It's not darkness that's the problem. One of your magical girls has run amok."

"Magical girls do not run amok, sir. They are forces of goodness and light in the universe."

"Well, I'm afraid she's gone 'goodness and light' all over the school."

"Sir, I'm sure a little goodness never hurt. . ."

David gave up on being polite. He was never very good at it anyway. "Look," he interrupted. "You don't understand. It's disgusting over here. The principal is dancing the Macarena in the lobby, under a twenty-foot banner reading 'All Hail Queen Lisa.' Right now, I can see three girls who are green with envy - literally green, mind you - and six boys who are going to have to lie down if they think about this girl any harder. If prepubescent females had wet dreams, they'd look a lot like this."

"Sir, I'm sure this magical girl has been provided with a Guide Spirit. It generally falls to the Guide to curtail any slight excesses that may crop up."

"Well, he's doing a damn poor job of it! Can't you. . ."

"I'm sorry, sir, but the conduct of magical girls is the sole jurisdiction of their Guides. There's nothing we can do."

"There'd damn well better be something you can -" He stopped talking when he heard the click. He growled and dialed the number again.

"You've reached the office of the Powers Who Are, how can I connect you?"

"Department of Magical Threats and Menaces," he said shortly. There was another click.

"Good morning," said an emotionless, genderless voice. "You've reached the Department of Magical Threats and Menaces. If you know the true name of the evil by which you are being threatened and/or menaced, press one. If you. . ."

Fortunately it was a secretary-spirit, and not a computer, which meant David could reason with it. Sort of. "How about you connect me to a human before I press you with a fireball?"

"You have pressed fifty-four, 'speak with a threat response representative,' " the spirit responded promptly. "Thank you for calling the Department of Magical Threats and Menaces. Have a nice day." There was a pause, then a new voice came on the line. "Threats and Menaces, can I help you?"

"Look, my school's in a real mess, here. If you could. . ."

"Where are you?"

"Bright Hills Middle School."

"There's already a magical girl dispatched to Bright Hills."

"It's your bloody magical girl that's the problem! She's turned the place into a pink saccharine nightmare!"

"Take it up with Magical Heroes, that's not my department."

"But I - " Click. David clenched his teeth. Okay, one last time. . .

"You've reached the office of the Powers Who Are, how. . ."

"Internal Affairs."

There was a now-familiar click as he was connected. "Internal Affairs, 'We Watch the Watchers'!" came the voice of a cheerful young woman. "Can I help you?" David realized he needed to be careful here. This one would actually be competent, and not nearly as nice as she sounded. If it was a she.

"Hi, I'd like to report misconduct on the part of a magical girl."

"Have you spoken to her Guide?"

"It looks like the Guide doesn't have much influence over her, ma'am. I was wondering if there's anything you can do."

"What is your concern with this matter, sir?" Damn. He'd been hoping to avoid that question. Well, no use lying - she would have a truth-detection spell on her phone.

"I'm an AIW associate on field assignment," he admitted.

"I'm sorry, sir. We can't accept complaints from within other organizations."

David thought he detected a hint of hostility. He decided to get off the line before she decided to complain to AIW Central. "Thanks anyway, ma'am." He cut the connection himself, this time. It looked like there would be no help from The Powers Who Are. He had one other idea - he dialed the number for the Center for Magic Control.

"CMC. Is this an emergency?"

"Not unless she put hydrogen in the damn balloons," he growled, rubbing his temples.

"Pardon?"

David reminded himself that none of this was this person's fault. "Sorry, no emergency. It's just a magical girl who's misusing her power. Severely."

"Ooh, we've been hearing about more and more of those, lately. Is the Guide still with her?"

"As far as I can tell, yes."

"Sorry, there's nothing we can do, then. The Powers get really snippy when CMC interferes with what they call 'normal operations.' Have you tried calling the AIW? They handle cases like this sometimes."

"I am the AIW."

"Oh. I think you're out of luck then."

"I was afraid of that. Thanks anyway."

"Good luck." David ended the call and put away his phone. He hadn't really expected to solve this over the phone, anyway. He'd tried, on the off chance that it would work, but this was the exact sort of stupid problem that no one else ever bothered with. There was nothing he could do now until lunch. He returned his attention to his Algebra teacher - only to find her mumbling incomprehensibly about times tables. Apparently this Lisa wasn't big on math. David was unsurprised.

The rest of David's classes were much the same, and despite the irritation involved they went rather quickly. This disturbed David more than anything else so far - balloons and cookies could be undone, but if this girl was messing with time. . . He was being paranoid, of course - Stan had modified his watch more than once, and among its abilities was to automatically correct itself to Greenwich Observatory; if Lisa was messing with time he'd be able to tell. If something was going on, the effect was entirely mental. Still, the idea was upsetting enough that he showed up at lunch feeling nervous and irritated.

The scene he found in the cafeteria did not improve his mood. Most of the people were still sitting at tables and eating, if only to give the scene a sense of realism, but their attention was still on Lisa, seated right in front of a window across the room. She was wearing a tiny blue pleated skirt and white blouse - more or less the standard Japanese schoolgirl look; she must have asked the Guide for advice - and was holding her Love Scepter casually in one hand. Around her was a gang of burly boys, doting on her. It looked like the entire football team, which David thought would fit with her general level of creativity so far.

At the edge of the crowd, looking pitiful, was a girl who might once have been Amanda Sewell. She seemed to have a pall hanging over her; she looked ugly and unkempt, and her face was streaked with tears. She looked plaintively at David as he approached. "Oh, that's disgusting," he muttered. "It couldn't have happened to a generally nastier person, but even you don't deserve this. Go wash your face, everything will be okay in a minute."

Lisa, however, had heard him. "Who's there?" she asked. "Oh, you're David, that goth guy." David glared. Goth? Goth? Since when did one black trench coat make you goth? He would have liked to protest this aloud, but meanwhile Lisa had leapt directly to the wrong conclusion and continued on at a full run. "You're not changed!" she gasped. "You. . . you must be one of those demons! Um. . . um. . ." She suddenly remembered the football team, and pointed at David. "Get him!"

The team immediately charged. David rolled his eyes. The two out in front he simply sidestepped, letting them go careening on. The rest came in a bunch; he slid an empty chair among their onrushing legs and they all tripped and fell in a pile. David vaulted over a nearby table and ended up on the other side of the heap. He glanced back and snorted. " 'Get him,'' she says." He walked up to Lisa, stared at her for a moment, then slapped her.

"Ow!" she said. "What was that for?"

"For being a brainless ditz. Come on, we need to talk outside." He reached for her wrist, but she backed away and held up the Scepter.

"Stay back! I've got magic!"

"Put that away, I'm not a demon and I'm not afraid of magic." Afraid or not, he turned sideways, out from in front of the Scepter. The girl had absolutely no sense of weapon safety.

"What are you?"

"I'm a wizard. Come on, the less we say in here the less they'll have to forget later." He successfully grabbed her wrist and led her toward the door to the exterior. "Tell them to stay here," he added, as kids started to stand to follow them out.

"Stay here," she repeated shakily, and her followers sat back down. When they were outside, she asked, "Are you a good wizard or a bad wizard?"

"I'm a ticked off wizard. Do you know how much trouble you've caused?" As he talked, he absently sketched a symbol with his finger on his left palm.
"I didn't hurt anyone."

"What about Amanda?" Lisa looked away. "Look, just change the school back to how it was, okay?"

"It was just for fun. I wasn't going to leave it like this, really. I guess it is a little bit silly."

"And I thought Stan had a gift for understatement."

"Huh?"

"Never mind. Just fix it." She raised the scepter. "Whoa! Watch where you point that thing." He caught her wrist and pointed the scepter away from himself.

"I thought you weren't scared of magic."

"I'm not scared of machine guns, either. That doesn't mean I like to look down the barrel. Point it that way. At the school."

She raised the scepter again, and paused. "What about Mr. Hampton? Can I just keep him?"

"No. If the principal were meant to do the Macarena, he'd have been born with a sense of humor. Or at least a sense of rhythm. Just change everything back."

"Why do you care so much, anyway? It didn't work on you."

"If you must know, I was ordered to do this. I'm in the AIW."

"Aaiwa? Aiwoo?"

He sighed. "It's not supposed to spell a word," he explained patiently. "It stands for 'Association of Independent Wizards'."

"Oooh. Who are they?"

"Basically they're a bunch of lazy old men who got together to get rid of stuff that irritates them. And when clueless scientists and conspiracy theorists show up to study the 'unexplained phenomena' every time some novice with more power than brains does something big and obviously magical in public, it irritates them. And so here I am. Irritated. Change the damn school back."

"Okay, okay. Don't get your robes in a bunch." She pointed the rod at the building. "Magic of beauty and love, answer my call! Make the school the way it was before! Make everyone forget what happened!" Red sparkles shot out of the end and covered the school building.

"That," David said, "is the stupidest incantation I've ever heard in my life."

"Well, soooory, Mr. Great and Powerful Wizard. I don't see you doing any magic."

He rolled his eyes, and reluctantly snapped his fingers, producing a small flash of blue light. "Happy?"

"But it was so small."

"What did I just get finished saying about stuff that's big and obviously magical?"

"Whatever. What's your name, anyway?"

"David Langton."

"I mean the name you use for being a wizard."

He stared at her. "Uh, David Langton."

"No, I mean, don't you have like a wizard name? Like my superhero name is 'Power Girl'?"

David snorted. "What?" he laughed.

"Power Girl," Lisa repeated, absolutely straight faced. "Every superhero needs a superhero name. And you need a wizard name." She tapped her chin for a moment. "Give me a number."

"What? Uh, eight."

"All right, then, from now on you're 'Mr. Eight.' "

His jaw dropped. "Where the hell did that come from?"

"Well, you're sort of like a secret agent, with the black and the mysterious organization and stuff. And secret agents go by numbers, and the number you picked was eight. So, you're Mr. Eight."

"That's absolutely inane. I refuse to be called anything of the sort."

"Why not? It's a perfectly good wizard name."

"I don't need a wizard name! My name is -" he stopped, and rubbed his temples. "Look, I don't need this. I've done my duty. I'm just going to hand you back to your Guide, and then you can fall off a cliff for all I care, as long as you don't change the school again."

"My who?"

"The thing that gave you the Love Scepter. Probably one of your stuffed animals that started talking."

"Oh, you mean Poochi-tron."

He raised an eyebrow at her. "You do realize he has his own name."

"Yeah, but I like Poochi-tron better."

"You would. So where's Poochi-tron?"

"I left him in my locker."

"From now on, don't," David growled. "Aside from the fact that he just might be able to keep you out of my hair, you've been given these powers for a reason. If you suddenly get attacked by - what did you say it was? Demons? - if you suddenly get attacked by demons, you're going to need his advice."

"Oh, yeah. I didn't think of that."

"Besides, he's probably going crazy in there. I hope he's not claustrophobic." He started back into the building. "Come on."

"I think the bell rang a minute ago. Won't we get in trouble for walking around the hall during classes?"

"Nope. I put an unnoticability spell on us when we first came out here."

"So no one will notice us?"

"Wow, you figured out what an unnoticability spell does in one try. Congratulations."

"Does everything you say have to be sarcastic?"

"Yes," David answered flatly.

Lisa tilted her head to the side and stopped short. "But that wasn't sarcastic. So you must have meant no. But if you meant no, then you were being sarcastic, and then. . ."

David rolled his eyes. "Just come on," he said, pulling her forward by the arm. "The sooner I get you to the Guide, the sooner I can be done with this. . ." As he turned a corner, his shoulders slumped and his eyes closed. "You missed a spot."

"Oopsie!" She pointed the Love Scepter at the ten-foot stretch of hallway still filled with bunting and balloons. Evil Reevil with his plate of gingerbread men (no one had wanted to take them from him, for some reason) was bouncing back and forth between the invisible edges of the un-reverted patch. "Magic of beauty and love," she shouted again, "answer my call! Put the hallway and Mr. Reevil back the way they were!"

The balloons shriveled into points and vanished, the bunting rolled itself up into nothing, and Reevil's plate and smile both faded away. The history teacher scowled down the hallway in their general direction, then stalked off the other way.

"Do you have to say that every time?" David asked.

"Of course! To make magic work, you have to say the magic words."

"You do realize I've cast two spells right in front of you without saying a thing?"

"Well, they weren't very good. Reevil almost noticed us."

"But he didn't, did he? Despite the fact that you were shouting gibberish and pointing the Crown Jewels of England at him in the school hallway in the middle of sixth period. Now where's your locker?"

"Right down there." She went over to her locker and opened it, and sure enough sitting on the little shelf at the top was a Poochi-tron, "The Happy Little Dog That Really Talks!" squinting in the sudden light.

"Oh, Lisa!" it said. "You reversed the changes to the building. Very good." It's voice and accent were completely normal - David had been half-expecting it to talk in Poochi-tron's usual voice, which was something like Scooby-Doo might have sounded if Shaggy had gotten him fixed.

"Yeah, Mr. Eight made me turn everything back." She indicated David, who gritted his teeth at the name.

"Oh!" Poochi-tron turned to David. "Greetings, wizard. I am a. . ."

David finished the sentence. ". . . Guide sent to aid Lisa in the name of the Powers Who Are A Pain In My Ass. I know the drill."

"Ah. Very good," said Poochi-tron, though he managed to look disapproving at the reference to his superiors. "Thank you for advising Lisa, Mr. . . .Eight, was it?"

"The name's David Langton, AIW. Mr. Eight is her stupid idea of a name." He jerked a thumb at Lisa.

"I know the feeling," the dog sympathized.

"I didn't know you guys did robot toys," David said. "I thought you stuck with normal stuffed animals."

The Guide shifted its servos self-consciously. "One must use the materials at hand. Speaking of which, Wizard Langton, we are currently engaged in a mission of great importance. The aid of a trained magician would be most helpful, if . . ."

"No dice, Fido. The job I've got is bad enough, I don't need another one." He checked his watch - it read "1:14 PM - Late For English - Radiation Count Normal." "Crap, I've gotta get to class. Good luck with the demons, you two, and if you get into trouble don't hesitate to call someone else. And the unnoticability is centered on me, by the way, so you're on your own getting back into class." He strode quickly down the hall, trench coat billowing behind him.

"He's interesting, I guess," Lisa noted after he was out of sight, "but he's not really very nice."

"I'd noticed that," Poochi-tron agreed.

Lisa thought for a moment. "Cute, though."