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What a strange case Lizzie seemed to be. He could detect the spells on her but didn't fully understand them or the motivations behind them. This way, he could study her in a controlled environment, not just in brief snatches at work, with little danger of her running off, and hopefully get to the bottom of things. She sat in the shotgun seat next to him, clutching her head and moaning. As he started the engine, he noted that she was beginning to appear smaller. "What's... what's happening to me?" she blubbered softly, clearly in terrible pain. He didn't bother answering. He started the drive to his house. They hadn't yet used up their lunch hour, and he'd made sure nobody saw them leave together. And as for the patrons at the restaurant--well, a small spell he'd cast would ensure that none of them remembered either of their faces. He could not possibly be implicated in her disappearance. And he could easily magically mimic her voice to call in sick, so that at least nobody would ask questions until tomorrow. She was disappearing into her floral dress by the time he pulled into his garage. She was probably about twelve by now. He took her small form up into his arms and carried her inside, heading straight for the small bedroom he'd prepared. He made the call and then stayed with her for the remainder of his lunch hour, though it didn't take nearly the whole time for the de-aging process to be complete. When it was, Lizzie was roughly the age of
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