Caleb finished typing the spell into the text editor and sat back to view his work. Ever since modern wizards discovered how to use computers to perform magic, everyone worked toward creating an easy-to-learn yet powerful cross-platform programming language that would perform spells quickly and reliably. Predictably, there had been little success.

Now Caleb thought he might have a good, workable chunk of code. It was, in fact, what he'd secretly wanted to do ever since finding out he had wizardry in his blood. All those stolen hours of reading fantasy novels inbetween classes or on his half-hour lunch breaks left an indelible desire in his brain, like magic marker on drywall.

Of all the creatures of myth and legend, Caleb most loved centaurs. He left the mundane elves, dragons and vampires to his trendy friends. To him, centaurs represented the consummate marriage of an animal's strength, grace, speed and power with the human mind and the vital opposable thumbs. Over the years, he went from just loving centaurs to wanting to be one. And now he had the means to do so.

Jokingly, he'd dubbed his automatic rune-generating code 'HTML'. Hippo-taur metamorphic language.

Of course, he knew it couldn't be a permanent transformation. Being a centaur in the modern world would be too troublesome. But he felt it was a perfectly acceptable double life to lead. After all, he deserved a little something. He was a good guy. He never smoked or did drugs, he treated people fairly and politely even when they behaved like utter jackasses, and he only spent his money on the bare necessities. This one harmless indulgence was his own way of letting go and enjoying life.

Once he confirmed that his code worked, he planned on purchasing some acreage outside the city, a private woodlands to run around in when in centaur form. And if he got lonely being the world's only centaur, he could always upload his work onto the internet. Then whoever wanted to download and execute the spell could join him.

But for now he wanted to keep it to himself. And before he went and bought the farm, he wanted to give his spell a little tryout in his apartment. Just a few minutes in his new form, to get his sea legs (so to speak) and iron out any kinks, should there be any.

Shivering in anticipation, Caleb switched from the editor to the preview program.

A shocking tingle shot through his rapidly transforming body as the HTML was read by the previewer. Backing away from his desk, he watched his metamorphosis avidly in the mirrors he'd mounted for just this occasion. He wasn't sure of the exact details of the transformation, and wondered if forelegs would come out of the front of his hips, or if the rear end of the horse would come out of his back end. In fact it was neither. A deep groove appeared on his legs, running down both the inner and outer sides. It deepened into a fissure. His legs split, amoeba-like, forming two complete sets of human legs. The doubled legs were pushed apart as a torso grew between them, shredding his lucky pair of silk boxers. He almost fell over when his legs suddenly shifted proportions and he found himself standing on four sets of tip-toes. A tail spurted from his new back end like one of those little party toys you blow through to make a raspberry. His toes - all 20 - melted together like wax, reforming into hard hooves. Lastly, fur swept across his naked equine torso like a cloud across the sun.

Caleb almost fainted on the spot from excitement. He was a centaur! His new equine portion looked sturdily muscled, with the broad hips and sloping shoulders of a quarter horse. He was pleasantly surprised to find himself a coppery palomino, the silver-blond of his tail and the mane running along his human spine perfectly matching his natural hair color. Caleb wasted several minutes just lifting his legs and swishing his tail, entranced by the fine control of his beautiful new body. He test his reflexes in the open, to hear his iron hooves pounding the sod, to feel his tail whipping out behind him. He would be glorious!

Too bad he was trapped in his office. Well, no matter. The HTML worked. When he next performed the spell, it would be from his notebook in a nice, big field where he would have ample room to run and stretch his muscles. Now all he wanted was wait until the transformation spell ended. Then he'd put on a new pair of boxers - a small sacrifice to make - and get online to spread the news of his achievement.

Yes, it should be wearing off any moment now.
Any minute now.

Caleb tapped a hind hoof impatiently. Stupid computer. He really should upgrade to something a little faster.

Ten minutes passed.

This was getting ridiculous, even for a Windows OS. Caleb typed Ctrl+Alt+Delete. The preview program snapped off.

Caleb remained a centaur.

A fine sheen of cold sweat broke out on both his man and horse anatomy. He was sure he'd written a definite end to the spell. Hadn't he? Feverishly, he brought up the editor again, scrolling down through the file. The HTML all seemed in order. Right up to the end . . .

Screaming in rage, Caleb reared up. His forelegs struck out, smashing into the computer screen. His neighbors below, caught in a sudden rain of plaster ceiling bits, screamed at him in Spanish.

Panicking, Caleb bucked and kicked, his flight-or-fight equine instincts overwhelming his human mind.

By the time Wizard Control arrived, Caleb's office was a shambles. The furniture had been kicked and stomped into kindling. Hoofmarks dented the walls. The computer was a sad pile of crunched plastic and smoking circuit boards.

The source of the disaster huddled in a corner. His eyes rolled widely, and he was dripping lather. All reason has fled him. A field operative distracted the rogue centaur while the cryptozoologist shot him with a tranq. Several burly enforcers hurriedly caught his two-ton body before it crashed to - and probably through - the floor. As soon as the cryptozoo control officer was assured Caleb's vitals had stabilized, the enforcers set to wrapping him up in an oversized tarp.

The field ops filtered out, leaving the scene intact for the forensic wizards to clean up. The ether specialist sat by the scattered bits of the CPU with a crystal ball, uploading his files as evidence. The Chief Paranormal Effects Administrator for upstate New York leaned over the specialist's shoulder, frowning. He shook his head sadly.

"What is it, sir?" One of the field operatives asked.

"Just a dumb mistake, Sargent. Something only a brash, inexperienced fool would have made. Unfortunately, our friend here won't get a chance to make another mistake."

The field operative gasped as she realized what the Admin was saying. "Garendafel's folly!"

"Otherwise known as 'Make me an ice cream sundae'," the Administrator agreed grimly. "One wizard can't undo another's spells. Only the original caster can reverse his or her own spells. And if a wizard is foolish enough to transform into a non-magical form, there he stays. Caleb failed to realize that centaurs aren't half-human and half-horse, but unique, integrated creatures, a separate species entirely. He transformed himself from a Homo sapiens mirabilis, a magic-using human, into an ordinary Kentaurus classicus with no more magical aptitude than an ordinary human, or a rock."

"Or an ice cream sundae," the specialist joked. "He must have thought he was doing something right."

The field op glanced out the window. The enforcers were lifting what looked like a large couch covered in a tarp into the truck disguised as a moving van. She snorted in contempt.

The Admin pointed to the crystal ball. "It was apparently meant to be a limited-time transformation, some sort of sick joyride. Too bad he forgot to close with a tag."

*end*