THE PERFECT ASSISTANT.

1. The volunteer.

“Tonight,” the magician announced, “I require a gentleman with a little courage.”

Frank raised his hand from the middle row. Moments later, he was standing beneath the spotlight, inspecting a wooden cabinet painted midnight blue and decorated with golden stars.

Solid sides. Solid back. No obvious trapdoor.

Expecting only a clever illusion, he stepped inside.

2. The wrong page.

The doors closed, leaving Frank’s face and one hand visible. The magician glanced at his spellbook, lifted his wand and began.

Frank felt a tingling in his fingertips. His broad fingers became slender; his nails lengthened into glossy red points.

Inside the cabinet, something tightened around his waist.

His smile disappeared.

3. The transformation.

His hips pressed against the wooden sides. An unfamiliar weight settled against his chest, supported by a close-fitting garment that had replaced his ordinary clothes.

“Hang on—”

His voice rose into a soft, breathless tone. Golden hair brushed his cheeks and spilt over his shoulders.

The magician finished with a flourish.

The cabinet doors swung open.

4. Thunderous applause.

Frank stood beneath the lights in a scarlet sequinned leotard, fishnet stockings and glittering heels. Its fitted waist emphasised the generous curves of his new figure.

He caught the cabinet door, looked down and whispered, “Oh, good grief.”

The audience erupted into applause.

Frank turned towards the magician, blue eyes wide beneath long dark lashes.

“Very clever. Now change me back.”

5. The first failure.

“Of course.”

The magician closed the cabinet and revolved it for the audience.

“No doubles! No hidden passages!”

Frank braced himself against the wall. The wand tapped the wood. The magic words rang out.

He waited for the tingling.

Nothing happened.

The doors opened. He was still blonde, still curvaceous, still wearing the scarlet leotard.

“Why am I still like this?”

6. One more try.

The doors closed again.

This time, the magician pronounced every syllable carefully. His wand struck the cabinet twice.

Frank squeezed his eyes shut.

Please.

When the doors opened, neither man spoke.

“Best trick all night!” someone called from the audience.

A stagehand offered Frank her arm.

“This way. Mind the step.”

Behind them, the show continued.

7. The office mirror.

The office contained a battered desk, theatrical posters and a full-length mirror.

Frank wished the mirror had been somewhere else.

Eventually, he approached it. A beautiful blonde woman stared back, her sequins glittering with every breath.

He raised his hand.

She raised hers.

He touched his cheek.

So did she.

“Oh, Frank,” he whispered.

The voice belonged to her too.

8. The permanent spell.

“I’ve found the problem,” the magician said.

The temporary transformation was on the left-hand page.

Frank looked at the right.

THE PERFECT ASSISTANT.

Beneath the heading were two dreadful words:

Permanent transmogrification.

“There must be a reversal.”

“I’ve checked.”

“Check again.”

Beyond the office, someone wheeled the cabinet away. For everyone else, the evening was almost over.

For Frank, it had only just begun.

9. A new life, on his terms.

Reports, forms, and interviews came from the magical incidents department. Frank established that he was still Frank, despite his unfamiliar face and voice.

The magician paid for clothes, legal advice and specialists.

None could reverse the spell.

When the magician offered him a job, Frank considered it for a long time.

Then he named his salary.

The magician swallowed.

Frank named his conditions.

The magician agreed to those too.

10. The perfect assistant.

These days, Frank appears onstage four nights a week. He can walk confidently in heels, descend the illuminated staircase and produce a dove from an apparently empty hat.

The posters call him the magician’s glamorous assistant.

Frank calls himself the reason the act now has proper insurance.

Every spell is checked. Every page is marked.

Whenever the magician reaches for his wand, Frank takes three deliberate steps back.

The audience always laughs.

They think it is part of the act.

Sorted. Here’s the proper sequence, with the matching text.