As I watched Phaedrus looking out the window at the moonlit sky, I smiled and shook my head. If he'd only asked ... but then, I had other things to do. Carefully balancing my plate on my right hand, I pulled open the door to the hall and headed for the hotel office. I knocked gently.

"Come in."

I backed through the hydraulically-closed door, being careful not to spill any of my soon-to-be meal. The woman's face fell, but she remained polite.

"Ah. You're with the TSA party. Nice to meet you, mister ... ", her eyes sought my nametag. A brief look of puzzlement flashed across her face before being replaced by a transparently phony smile. " ... Wanderer. How may I help you?"

"Actually", I said, a slight hesitation in my voice as I looked meekly at the hotel's manager, "I just wanted to apologize for the trouble we've caused. I know this can't be easy for you ... "

"It's all right, sir, really", she said with a tired look on her face.

"These things do happen, after all."

"Yes", I said with a smirk. "And more often around us. Well, I just figured I'd give you our best wishes and an apology. Now, I'd better get back to the party."

Her gaze lit on my plate at last. "I didn't know you had chili in there."

"Oh, yes", I told her. "There's quite a buffet. You might try nipping in later and getting something."

As I walked back to the room, I mentally crossed my fingers. If she got into the magic cuisine ... but there was plenty of good stuff on the main table. Hopefully, she'd stay out of the "good stuff".

As I entered, Bob was standing by the mirror, waiting for the cat's head he now had to wear off. Since he'd only eaten about half of the biscuit, I expected him to revert around midnight.

"Hey, Wanderer", he called out when he saw me, "Sorry there weren't any werewolf goodies."

"Hm? Oh, but there were. In fact, I brought one myself." I held up my plate to show him.

"Chili? What can that turn you into?"

"What else?", I said ... and ate the messy conglomeration with a little cheese.

By the third bite, my pants and underwear were sliding down my waist as my tail pushed them away, my shirt buttons straining gainst my deepening chest. As my muzzle lengthened, I dumped my plate in the paper sack nearby and readied my new front paws for touchdown. It wasn't long in coming.

Bob quietly helped me out of my shirt, then leaned in to ask me, "How'd you do that? Chili doesn't sound like werewolf."

I sniffed the sack where I'd dumped my prep materials and dug out the spare can I'd brought. Bob carefully took it from my mouth and read the label.

"Ah, so that's it", he said as realization hit.

Website Copyright 2004,2005 Michael Bard.  Please send any comments or questions to him at mwbard@transform.to