Things settled down, though. I was obviously taking more work now I didn’t have school to worry about. Starting to build a bit of a name.

Which almost worried me. Did I really want to risk too many people knowing my face and name? Part of me wanted to be famous. Part of me, well, didn’t. At all. I worried that I would be too easy to track.

Then again, I made a pretty good lightning rod. When I was being attacked, somebody less able to defend themselves wasn’t. I pulled on the blue dress and frowned. “I don’t like the fit on this.”

“Let me take a look.” One of the designer’s assistants came over. “Let’s switch you out with Sarita over there.”

I knew Sarita’s name was actually Sarah, but she’d changed it to something more unusual. I shrugged out of the dress again. She handed me an aquamarine and yellow one. It fit, although I wasn’t sure it was my colors.

I didn’t argue with the designer, though. Not because I thought he knew better – I didn’t – but because I didn’t have enough of a name to diva just yet.

Of course, taking a few design classes would help with that kind of credibility, and I still planned to in the fall. For what it was worth.

Surtur was likely to try and kidnap me again before then, and if he succeeded, then I might have to kill him after all.

I didn’t want to, but I wasn’t going to let him rape me or something. No, I had the right to defend myself. Maybe that would protect me from the consequences.

I let the woman help me zip up the back of the dress and slipped my feet into complementary heels. I hated heels, even now, but they were necessary, and as long as I didn’t have to fight in them or something…

Pro tip: Fighting in high heels is really hard. Do remember that when drawing comic book characters. And, of course, I didn’t have a weapon.

I was starting to worry somebody would attack during a shoot just to catch me unarmed and in impractical clothing.

But I figured I could handle most things even in that state. I did miss Monica, though, every time I stepped out in front of the camera.

Every time, I saw her face, not the face of the Monica dying of cancer. But I knew she was okay. I knew she was in Asgard. That didn’t help as much as it might.

I didn’t know how people managed who had to take these things on faith. Who barely spoke to their gods.

Of course, Father Will got to speak to angels. Speaking of which, I was suddenly convinced Sarael was around somewhere.

Which probably meant trouble. He wouldn’t show up just to admire women in nice dresses – angels weren’t supposed to…weren’t allowed to leer at women. Or men.

Sarael might have a sense of humor but he also knew what would happen to him if he broke the rules. But he was here.

Which meant some kind of trouble. Or he was stalking me to talk to me once I was finished.

“Friend of yours?” one of the other girls asked as I stepped back.

“Which…”

“The guy with the black hair, bit Middle Eastern looking.”

“Yeah. He’s a friend.”

Maybe he had just come to admire. But I doubted it very much.