I pulled the rental-car to a stop in the tiny lot next to a small park. Beyond that was a stretch of beach, then the Southern Ocean. Or maybe it was the Tasman Sea? Tasmania was off that way in the distance somewhere, but it was a little too far for me to see it from here. Also I might have been looking the wrong way. My sense of direction depended entirely on the car's GPS and you couldn't drive to Tasmania, so the car didn't know where it was either.

Which was fine, I wasn't actually here for the view or to try and drive across the Bass Strait.

I turned off the car then picked up my tablet from the passenger seat. Resting it against the steering wheel I opened up my copious notes and took a few minutes to review the last three months of my life.

It all began at the end of March. Or at least, that's when it started for me, when my editor offered me this assignment. Near as I'd been able to put together, the story actually began almost six years earlier.

Six years ago and sixteen thousand kilometres away, back in St. Catharines, Ontario, Canada.

That's where my research began too, in early April. I interviewed a few people in St. Catharines, a couple more in Toronto and around southern Ontario. For every interview I got, I must have had at least a dozen rejections. Most were polite, but I had more than a few doors slammed in my face. I even received a few threats, but nothing ever came of those.

I'd also spoken with people in Vancouver, I met people in the south-west and along the east coast of the USA, and still more in the UK. I followed leads from Shropshire and into Wales. Of all the people I'd met in my travels, most of those who claimed to have met her spoke positively of the encounter. A few were ambivalent. And a handful cursed her name.

While I was in Wales I also visited the now-famous gravesite just outside a small town in Ceredigion. The grave was less than seven months old and it was already a pilgrimage destination.

In that short time it had been vandalized, repaired, the body exhumed by the UK government, the site was repaired again, and finally some of the faithful set up a near-constant vigil.

And now my quest brought me here to Australia. A few days ago I landed in Melbourne, where I met and interviewed a British ex-pat who'd recently become a successful author. This morning I rented a car, and after lunch I headed south along the Great Ocean Road. This was my last lead. From Welland, Ontario, Canada to Wye River, Victoria, Australia.

I'd been tasked with documenting the life and death of Cindy Talbot. For someone who allegedly only lived five years, she had a tremendous influence. Assuming it was all true, her grave marker wasn't exaggerating when it said 'she changed the world'.

There was no denying that someone introduced the world to magic. What people now referred to as the 'First Wave' was a little over two years ago. At the time it was almost obscure, only a couple thousand people worldwide. Their claims and results were mostly ignored, ridiculed, and swept under the carpet by the mainstream media. Only four or five months later, just about everyone on Earth knew the truth. By the time of the first anniversary, several dozen countries had already been forced to change their laws regarding ID, while the United Nations were re-evaluating how Human Rights laws were applied and worded. Science, medicine, and religion were all impacted.

What allegedly started out as a solution for transgendered people was suddenly being hailed as a cure for everything from cancer to diabetes to lost limbs to paralysis to old age. In two years the entire health-care industry had nearly collapsed. They wouldn't go away entirely, people would always get hurt or hurt each other and need emergency treatment, but the number of people requiring long-term care was dramatically reduced.

All that from a single spell that was meant to allow trans people achieve their ideal body.

Cindy's second spell received a lot less coverage and fanfare, but it was remarkable in its own right. Magical birth-control, available free for any woman who wanted it. All it took was reciting a simple cantrip for a few days in a row, once a month. And unlike the first spell, when she released that one she already had it translated into dozens of languages. She made sure it was available to as many women around the world as possible, right from the start.

Both spells were an affront to most of the major religions. Almost like they were designed to deliver a solid blow directly between the legs of the patriarchy. Giving everyone control over their own bodies, and especially making sure women had control over their reproduction, and doing it by giving magic to the world sent more than one preacher into apoplectic fits. And more than few right-wing politicians too.

Then there were all the stories of Cindy directly intervening in people's lives. Stories of her throwing magic around like it was nothing. Hundreds of people claimed she helped them out, that she directly used magic to help them out of tough situations after they'd used her spells. On the other hand, there were allegations she used her magic to strike at those who hurt or tried to hurt her faithful. That was the darker side of the story.

No-one would forget a certain nation's president transforming in the middle of a live 'State of the Union' broadcast last October. And given the fire-and-brimstone nature of his speech and the policies he'd enacted, it seemed highly unlikely it was his choice to change from a loud brash bully of a man to a small meek weasle-girl.

Not to mention the two authoritarian regimes that were mysteriously toppled last year. No coincidence both were in countries which imposed a death sentence on anyone who used either of Cindy's spells.

It was no wonder she was being venerated, no wonder her grave had become revered like a holy shrine.

And my last three months of research, the dozens of interviews I conducted, all my digging finally brought me here.

This tiny community on the opposite end of the world from where the story began was where it seemed to end. The final sightings were here, on this little beach in this little community. Last November a few locals and a couple tourists reported seeing Cindy, or someone who matched her description, walking on the beach and talking with a small black-haired child.

The child may have been Ciara Laughlin. According to my research she was an associate of Cindy's, though I hadn't been able to find out how the girl became involved with the enigmatic teen. I did know that Ciara lived here with one Sidney Metcalf, another known associate of Cindy's. Sidney was a widower and retired school teacher, who's seventieth birthday was just last week. Or it would have been, except about eighteen months ago Sidney used Cindy's spell and became a young woman.

This community was also home to Cindy's closest friend and companion, Zoe Zaitsev. The purple-haired catgirl was frequently seen in public with Cindy long before that first spell was released to the world, and many people speculated that Zoe was the first one to benefit from Cindy's magic. And that either she helped Cindy develop her spell, or she volunteered to test it.

That's where my notes ended, and that's where the story ended.

Nobody knew how Cindy died, who she really was, how she came by these fantastic powers in the first place, or what inspired her to share her talents with the world the way she did. In fact her short life was so mysterious and there were so many unanswered questions, a significant percentage of the population still didn't even believe she was a real person.

After exhuming the body last December, the UK government confirmed the grave contained a teenage girl who matched the description of Cindy Talbot. They refused to provide any more details though, and as far as I could determine the body was never released or reinterred. Whatever Her Majesty's Government had been able to glean from that exercise was withheld from the public under their Official Secrets Act.

Naturally that didn't stop the wild conspiracy theories. If anything it fanned the flames and inspired a dozen more theories. Many of the faithful believed Cindy was still alive, that she changed her appearance to escape the limelight.

That was just one of many things I was hoping to debunk or verify. One thing I'd uncovered this past week while I was in Melbourne was the fact that Zoe was married just last month. She and a young woman named Katrina tied the knot in a small civil ceremony in Melbourne. The name Katrina was new to me, I hadn't come across it at all in three months researching Cindy's life. I didn't even get a last name, Katrina took Zoe's name when they wed.

The description I got for Katrina was nothing like Cindy, but that didn't mean anything. If the girl really did give the world magic, changing her own appearance would be nothing. Even if she had to make use of her own spell, she'd had several full moons since her 'death' to do so.

And realistically, I doubted I'd actually see this Katrina, let alone speak with her. Or Zoe either for that matter. Nobody had managed to interview the purple-haired catgirl, and I didn't expect I'd have any success there when the biggest names in the business had already tried and failed. If I actually saw her I'd definitely try, but I wasn't really here for her.

I had my sights set on Sidney Metcalf and Ciara Laughlin. I had their address, and I was hopeful I'd be able to convince one or both of them to speak with me.

I finally turned off my tablet and tucked it away out of sight. I activated the audio recorder in my jacket pocket and watched the indicator on the screen as I said, "Sound check. Monday June thirtieth, three-thirty PM local time. Wye River, Victoria, Australia. I'll be attempting to speak with Sidney Metcalf and or Ciara Laughlin."

Everything looked good, the microphones hidden in the jacket lining were picking up properly, so I tucked the recorder back into my pocket. I finally emerged from the car, then crossed the road and started up the small hill. It only took a few minutes to locate the bungalow in question. There was an old jeep parked out front. There were blinds drawn across the big window on the front of the small dwelling, but they weren't entirely closed. I could make out a couple figures inside, and the television was on.

I approached the front door and knocked a couple times, then took a step back and waited.

After a half minute the door opened and I found myself face to face with Sidney. Even after meeting and interviewing countless users of Cindy's spell, I still had that reaction of wonder every time. I found myself staring at a person who appeared to be a young fit healthy eighteen year old girl.

She stood about five-foot-six, she was slim and had some lean muscle visible in her arms and legs. And she had noticeable abs on display. She looked athletic, like someone who routinely ran marathons. She wasn't modest either, she was wearing a pink bikini top, cut-off jean shorts, and pink sandals on her feet. Her blonde hair was short and rather messy, her blue eyes were dark and dusky, but they were sharp. Her skin was tanned, she obviously spent a lot of time in the sun showing it off.

In fact considering we were basically in Aussie winter, I was surprised she was so sparsely dressed. The weather outside wasn't that cold to someone like me who was used to Canadian winters, but it was cool and the air was damp. The breeze coming in off the ocean had a bit of a chill to it. I certainly didn't look or feel out of place with my jeans, sneakers, and my autumn jacket.

"Yes?" Sidney asked as her eyes flicked up and down over me. "Can I help you?"

I held out my business card as I introduced myself, "Good afternoon miss Metcalf. My name is Tam Stevens. Sorry to disturb you, but I was wondering if I might come in and speak to you? I'm researching the life of Cindy Talbot, and I was hoping you'd grant me an interview."

There was a thoughtful frown on the blonde's face as she stared down at the business card in her hand.

While she was looking at that I stole a quick glance over her shoulder. From where I was standing I had a view of part of the living-room, including the TV and the two girls sitting in front of it.

They were playing some sort of video-game, or at least one of them was playing it. The other seemed to be just watching. The game looked like a first-person shooter in a second-world-war setting. My heart skipped a beat though as my attention was drawn to the girls. Both had their backs to me as they focused on their game.

The girl on the left was a little taller, she had short messy black hair and from what I could see of her clothes and size, I suspected she was twelve or thirteen years old. Her hair and age fit with what I knew about Ciara Laughlin. She seemed to be just watching the game, from where I stood I couldn't see a controller in her hands.

The girl on the right with the game controller in her hands was the one who really had my attention. She was smaller, younger, and her jet-black hair hung perfectly straight, partway down her back. I had no idea who she was, but from what I could tell she was a better match to the descriptions of the girl Cindy was seen with on the very last sighting back in November.

I was suddenly kicking myself for wasting too much time in Melbourne. If I had more time here in Wye River, I would have spent a day or two trying to talk with some other local residents first. If Ciara had a younger sister, or Sidney had another mysterious young girl staying with her, her neighbours would certainly know about it.

Nobody else I'd spoken with, none of the other reports I read mentioned a second black-haired girl. I assumed Ciara was the last person to see Cindy alive but now I realized this mystery girl might be the one I really needed to interview, and I had no idea who she was.

"You've come all the way from Canada?" Sidney asked. "Travelled all this way, just to speak with me? You could have picked up the phone and saved yourself a trip."

With my attention back on the attractive young blonde I gave her a friendly smile and responded, "In my line of work, it's always preferable to meet face to face. So what do you say? May I come in and speak with you?"

Miss Metcalf still seemed undecided. She looked at my business card again, then turned slightly and looked towards someone out of sight off to the left and asked, "What do you think? Do we want to speak with a reporter from Canada?"

Once again I was kicking myself for not leaving myself enough time to do the job properly. There was a fourth person here and I had no idea who. I suddenly felt completely unprepared. It was the sort of rookie mistake someone with my experience wasn't supposed to make.

The mystery person sounded like another young woman as she replied, "Sure, why not. Let's see where it goes anyways."

Sidney looked to me and motioned, "Come on in. We'll go into the kitchen to talk, since the girls are playing their game and it's distracting."

"Thank you miss Metcalf," I replied with a smile. I stepped in through the door and immediately glanced to the left.

And I found myself face to face with none other than the purple-haired catgirl herself, Zoe Zaitsev.

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