With Mike’s legal problems having pretty much vanished and the bombs dealt with, I supposed I could hope for a bit of downtime before whatever Tyz’vel tried next materialized.

I trusted the witches not to keep any of the bombs, either. I wanted those things gone and destroyed, before anyone else got hurt.

I wanted Tyz’vel gone, but not destroyed. At least, I figured, he wouldn’t try the same thing twice.

I was right. When I left school there was a call from the studio. The sunburn had, at least, healed to the point where I could hide it. Somebody had asked for me and a few other girls by name. I felt proud, but a little worried.

Was being famous a good thing? Well, I was a long way from famous, and it was definitely worth a bit of pride that I was starting to get a good professional reputation. People asking for you by name was good.

Monica was one of the others. Six of us, and it was going to be a dress up job. Prom dresses. It was the time of year for it, after all.

“I think this guy might be a creeper,” Monica warned.

I frowned. “I suppose it happens.” I went to try the fingernail test on the mirror, then remembered that had been debunked. But it was the designer’s place, so you could never be sure.

“You get rid of your stalker yet?”

“No, and he upset my girlfriend so much she had to take a day off school.” It was probably unfair to blame him for the bombs, but I liked blaming him for things.

Love and hate are very close together. But I was sure what he felt for me wasn’t love. Lust, maybe. Lust for me, lust for power.
Then I felt him. Very close. The other side of the wall with the mirror in it.

I glanced at Monica, glanced at the mirror. She got the message and we casually moved the rack of clothes to block the view.

“Good thinking.”

I pulled on the deep red dress I was supposed to be wearing. “I bet designers do that all the time.”

“And not just the guys, always. But you’d know about that, I suppose.”

I considered. “Yeah. I’m sure there are obnoxious lesbians out there too. And straight women who might do this to the guys.”

I got the dress settled into place. It fit perfectly…better even than most things I wore. I knew they used photoshop to fix the fit sometimes.

This fit perfectly and I hated it already. Quietly. “Monica, be very careful. We might be in real danger.”

She shot me a glance. “You’re weird.”

I nodded. “I know.”

I was one of the weirdest people around, after all. Not much I could do about it.

“But, oddly enough, I believe you. And I couldn’t run in these heels.”

“Looks like they kick off easily enough. Okay. Let’s do this.”

The other three girls had looked over at us when we moved the rack, startled. Monica was the only one of the five who didn’t vaguely look like me.

I suspected she was here because I liked her. Because she would make a good hostage. If Kanesha had signed up…she would have begged off because she was sick.

Monica, though, was somebody I would protect. Was I getting predictable?

Maybe I needed to be just a little bit more like my father. I glanced at her and we stepped out into the studio.

“Do you believe in magic, Monica?”

“I believe in…a strange universe. Maybe. I don’t know that I believe in God.”

“Then…” And I hesitated. “Do you trust me?”

“Absolutely.”

“Then if I say run….kick off those heels and run.”

I got a nod, and then we were out into the studio which, for once, wasn’t that much more brightly lit than the changing room.

With its two-way mirror.