rainsreflection

Victoria took her hand from the necklace, and the silver fire vanished. "My ability makes beauty from fashion. Anything I can imagine, I can make happen by enchanting clothes, accessories, anything you'd wear." She smiled, an expression so contagious Miranda couldn't help but smile back. "I know you have something special inside you, Miranda, but I don't know what it is. Do you?"
Miranda took a deep breath. "I might be telekinetic," she said. "I deflected a bullet, once. And I tried to fight off those men that attacked me in that parking lot." Something about that memory tugged at her, trying to tell her something important. She shook her head slightly, dismissing it. Her vision seemed to blur slightly as she looked around the gym, so she focused back on Victoria. "It doesn't seem to be very strong."
"Let's try something," Victoria said. "Let's go back into the hallway." She led Miranda out of the gym, and into another room close by. This one was much smaller, though it was still a large room, and was filled with mannequins wearing an incredible variety of clothes, mens', women's, and children's all alike.
"These are all outfits I've created, but not enchanted," Victoria said. "Once I realized that my power lay in clothing, I started displaying everything in this room so that I could find something useful if I needed it. Do you see anything you like?"
Miranda walked through the mannequins, inspecting the various dresses, suits, blouses, pants, and shoes out for perusal. "They're all so beautiful...you must be a well-known designer!" she said. Miranda herself didn't really follow fashion, outside of buying clothes that she looked good in. Victoria laughed.
"Hardly that. I own a clothing store here in Lubbock, I just do some designing on the side," Victoria said, waving a hand gracefully. "HAs anything caught your eye?"
Miranda stood before an elaborate dress. It was blue, made of some very soft fabric that shone in the light. The basic shape of the dress wasn't anything out of the ordinary, but it had a white lace ruffle around the hem that had been drawn up almost to the knee, giving it an asymmetric look that evoked the finery of the Victorian age. The sleeves were divided into strips that came together around the middle of the upper arm, and tapered to points, and the neckline was framed in gorgeously complex dark blue embroidery.
"Ah, this is one of my favorites," Victoria said, coming up behind her. "I didn't design anything this intricate, I bought it at a show in Houston. Beautiful work. Would you like to try it on?"
Miranda nodded, staring at the beautiful work of fashion.
"Here, put this on," Victoria said, handing her a simple gold ring. Miranda took it, and looked at Victoria questioningly.
"The ring will make putting the dress on simple," Victoria explained. "One of the first things I did, once I figured out how, was make changing clothes a snap. No more of that fiddle-faddle with putting on every single strap!"
Miranda slid the ring onto her index finger, the only one thick enough to hold it. It shone with a sudden bright light, and suddenly Miranda was surrounded by a whirl of white fabric, blue sparkles, and golden light. Something struck her chest, sending her back a step, but when she'd caught her balance and her eyes had cleared, she was wearing the dress.
It fit perfectly, even though Miranda's healthy figure was nothing like the stick-thin mannequin. She assumed that was more of Victoria's power. She gazed down at herself, awed by how lovely the dress looked on her.
"Now, we shall see," Victoria murmured. Something sounded odd about her voice, and Miranda thought her eyes had looked strange for a moment. Victoria raised her arms, and a great blaze of golden light erupted around her. Miranda took a few steps back, her eyes round and startled.
Her dress exploded into a similar beacon of light, only hers was dark blue and white, to match the dress's colors. The room suddenly plunged into darkness, only her dress's radiance shining.
All around her, gray and black clouds boiled, shot through with occasional lances of lightning. She could smell rain, the scent powerful enough that she should be drenched. But the storm raging around her didn't seem to be real, just a representation of one. There was no sound, no feeling of wind, no rain striking her, just the sight and the scent of a storm in full blast.
Her dress winked out, and the room of mannequins instantly reappeared around her. Victoria was gazing at her, with a strange expression on her face, almost one of greed. As soon as she realized Miranda could see her, the kindly concern reappeared.
"Well, that was certainly dramatic!" Victoria said, smiling broadly. She stepped forward, and tapped the golden ring on Miranda's finger. There was another dizzying whirl of fabric and light, and suddenly Miranda stood in her old clothes, the dress back on the mannequin. She slipped the ring off and handed it back to Victoria.
"What did you do?" Miranda asked.
"I enchanted the dress to reveal your power," Victoria explained. "It seems your abilities are rooted in storms, rain and wind, lightning and thunder. A powerful gift, I'd say." She took Miranda's elbow, gently but firmly, and steered her back into the hallway and into the gym. "I think we should explore your gifts, find out what you can really do!" Victoria's hand gently smoothed out a wrinkle in the days-old shirt Miranda was wearing, and a glimmer of light seemed to flash across it.
Miranda nodded, agreeing vehemently. She wanted to know every inch of what she could do with these powers.

"That's it/The straw that breaks my back/I quit/Unless you take it back!"
Rachel and Matilda belted the song together, driving down the interstate toward Rachel's apartment. Rachel had been back at work for a few days, her new appearance astonishing everyone and making the end of the week a great one. Everyone kept asking what her secret was. She just waved it off. Probably everyone thought she'd had some kind of radical surgery, but Rachel didn't care what they thought as long as she was beautiful.
Matilda's voice died off mid-note with a curse. Rachel glanced behind her, and saw that a police car had lit up behind Matilda's minivan.
"Damn, damn, damn! I hate being pulled over on the interstate," Matilda swore, putting on her blinker. She changed lanes carefully, getting over to the right side of the road as quickly as she could. Once she was clear, she slowed down and got onto the shoulder, putting her hazards on.
The police officer pulled to a stop behind them, and got out of his car. He walked slowly up to Matilda's window, and gave them both a polite smile.
"Good afternoon, officer," Matilda said brightly, giving him a beaming grin back.
"License please, ma'am," the officer said flatly, his eyes hidden behind sunglasses. Matilda handed over her license. The police officer took it, but oddly didn't even glance at it. He peered into the cabin of the minivan.
"Are you Rachel Watson?" he asked, his voice maintaining that odd monotone.
Rachel's eyebrows knitted together. "Yes, is there a problem?" she asked. Anxiety began to build inside her. She hadn't ever been arrested, she paid all her parking and traffic violations, there shouldn't be a bench warrant for her...
"Step outside the car, ma'am," the officer said. Rachel looked at Matilda, who was giving her a wide-eyed look asking "what the hell!?" very clearly. Rachel shrugged, but got out of the car.
She walked quickly over to the back of the vehicle, not wanting to stand anywhere near the ridiculous traffic on I-20. The police officer came back to meet her. She heard a squawk of protest from Matilda, though she wasn't sure what had happened.
Before the police officer reached her, the screech of brakes and squeal of tires behind her made her jump and turn, flattening herself against Matilda's minivan. A red pick up truck swerved to a halt next to her, kicking up a cloud of gravel. She heard the police officer curse, and shot him a wild look; the gravel had struck him in the face.
"Get in the truck, now!" a man roared, sticking his head out of the driver's side window. He was tan, with shaggy blond hair and a stained t-shirt that screamed "do not trust me" to Rachel's big-city instincts. Rachel looked at the police officer, who'd torn off his glasses and was rubbing his face. Her eyes widened; golden flashes of light were swirling around his face, and the cuts and bruises from the gravel were vanishing before her eyes.
"Get in the truck, lady, he's trying to kill you!" the man shouted, gesturing wildly. Rachel hesitated, not trusting this wild-eyed man for a second, but wary of the police officer who seemed to have something bizarre happening to him.
The police officer looked right at her, and she couldn't stop a scream. His eyes were dead white, and his uniform was giving off a dark, ominous brown glow.
He reached for her, and almost grabbed her arm before she managed to tear herself away. She stumbled toward the red truck, and somehow was in it before she realized what was going on. As soon as the door shut behind her, the man driving slammed his gas pedal, accelerating into traffic and narrowly avoiding an eighteen wheeler.
Rachel realized what she'd done, and choked down another scream. "Let me go!" she shouted, scrabbling at the passenger door.
"Calm down, lady," the man said, his voice not terribly calm himself. "I'm not trying to hurt you, I'm trying to save you. My name's Chance, they're after me too."
"Who are? No one's after me!" Rachel snapped. She felt anxiety pressing on her, like a pillow on her face. She was about to go into a panic attack, she could feel it. She tried to take deep breaths, but the deeper she breathed the worse she felt.
"I don't know who they are, I just know I've been attacked three times in the last two days," Chance said, cutting through traffic recklessly. Rachel looked back, and saw police lights in a flood chasing after them. "I've gotten real lucky. We'll need some more luck to get away, from them, though." Rachel looked back at her kidnapper, and was startled to see him gleaming subtly with shimmers of white light.
"What do you mean, get lucky?" Rachel asked, panic making her voice all high and screechy.
"Just, don't distract me while I'm trying to save your life. And maybe text the girl that you were with that I'm not kidnapping you?" Chance replied, staring intently at the road. The white aura around him shifted and swirled like fog, until suddenly it froze, then swirled into nothingness.
In front of them, a double decker car transporter was cruising along. The very back ramp sparked, and crashed open. The metal dragging along the asphalt threw off a shower of sparks, but that didn't stop Chance. He mashed his gas pedal, driving his truck straight onto the truck. Rachel couldn't stop another scream from sliding out of her throat.
"Could you do something to throw them off, maybe?" Chance asked. Without being strapped in, the truck was bouncing around terribly. Chance's white aura was back, though every few seconds it depleted, as if something was drawing it away. "I can't hold us on this ramp forever."
Rachel shook her head. "I can't do anything without a mirror," she said, not even sure of what she was saying.
Chance closed his eyes, which sent Rachel's panic spiking even higher. His white aura flared brightly, and this time it stayed that way, shining brilliantly even in the sunlight. The bouncing of their truck grew worse, and Rachel started to be seriously afraid they would fly right off the top.
Chance was groaning, like he was trying to lift a weight far too heavy for him. His aura pushed out a little further from his body, and sweat stood out on every part of his skin Rachel could see. A feeling of tension, like the way Rachel had always heard lightning strikes made the air feel, began to press down on Rachel's skin.
The truck jolted, and leaped clear into the air. Rachel bit down on another scream, Chance made a sound like the weight he'd been lifting had either been lifted or crashed down on him, his aura vanished with an audible pop, and most bizarrely of all, a huge sheet mirror landed directly in front of them, reflecting the truck, the highway behind them, including at least five police cars caught behind traffic that was desperately trying to pull over, and Rachel's terrified face alongside Chance's exhausted one.
Rachel immediately imagined the truck vanishing, becoming invisible to the police chasing them. Green light flowed out of the mirror, washing over the truck and everything inside it. To Rachel's eyes, everything became almost completely transparent. Chance's eyes remained closed.
"Okay, I think they can't see us now," Rachel said, her voice still trembling. "I'm going to call my friend."
She pulled her phone out of her pocket and dialed Matilda. Her friend answered on the very first ring. "What in fucking hell just happened?" she demanded, her stress exceedingly apparent in her voice. "Why the shit did you get into that truck?"
"I can't really explain, Matilda, but I'm okay, and I'm pretty sure Chance isn't going to hurt me," Rachel said, trying to make her voice soothing. She wasn't sure how successful she was. "I'll try and keep you updated, but I'm fine. He's not doing anything to hurt me."
"Okay, honey, I trust you, but the first sign of trouble and you call the police!"
Rachel tried to keep rueful laughter out of her voice as she agreed, and hung up on her friend. She turned to look at Chance. "Okay, what is going on?"
Chance kept his eyes tightly shut. "I'll tell you when we're someplace safer, I promise. Right now, keep whatever you did going, and tell me when you're done?" Rachel realized the tension in his voice was the sound of someone trying mightily not to throw up. "Looking at it...I don't wanna look at it," he finished. Rachel couldn't tell if his white aura, whatever it did, was glowing right now, but they were no longer rattling around like beans in a maraca.
She looked back. There was a police car behind them, but its lights weren't spinning. The other cars looked like they'd dispersed, and traffic was returning to normal. She reported what she saw to Chance, who nodded, keeping his eyes screwed shut.
They rode in silence for awhile. The carrier they were riding eventually took an off ramp, and the last police car continued onward. Rachel said as much, and looked at the mirror, miraculously unbroken still in front of them. This time, the green light flooded back into the mirror, revealing the truck and the two of them again. Chance relaxed, opening his eyes finally and leaning back into his seat. When the carrier stopped at a traffic light by an overpass, he quickly negotiated the truck off the ramp, his white aura briefly flashing when a car honked behind them. Once they were free from the carrier, he drove slowly into a gas station on a corner and parked.
"You want anything from inside?" he asked, pointing at the convenience store with his thumb. Rachel shook her head mutely. Her panic and anxiety had started to dial down, and she no longer felt like everything around her was pressing on her, trying to push her over the edge, but she definitely needed some time to wind down. Chance shrugged, and walked into the convenience store.
Rachel's phone vibrated, still in her hand. She glanced at the screen. It read, "REMINDER: do laundry." She snorted, wondering what the likelihood of ever seeing her laundry again was
After a few minutes, Chance came back to the truck, holding a Pepsi in one hand and a shiny red peanut butter Twix package, one of the large ones designed for sharing. He got into the truck, and offered her the candy. She shook her head, and made a negative noise.
Chance shrugged, and twisted the Pepsi open, taking a swing. Rachel glanced at him, admiring despite her shakiness. He was trashy looking, but handsome for all that.
"So, I owe you some answers," he said, startling her. "When did you notice your ability?"
Rachel looked down. "A few days ago. I looked in the mirror, and I was...thin," she forced out. She glanced up at the rearview mirror, and felt something that had been straining inside her ease. Green light spiraled around her, and she was suddenly her large, disgusting self. Chance didn't really react, outside of a slight pursing of his lips, like he was impressed.
"That's a really useful ability," he said. "Can you do anything else?"
Rachel looked up at him, startled. "What's that supposed to mean?" she asked, anger breaking through her fear and sadness. "Like illusions aren't enough?"
"No, no, not what I meant!" Chance said, his voice becoming animated for maybe the first time since they'd...met. "I just...sometimes superheroes have more than one power, you know?"
"Superheroes?" Rachel asked, disbelief in her voice. A tiny speaker in the back of her brain reminded her, you thought it too.
"Well, if you want to be I guess. But we both have superpowers, you know? Isn't that what we're supposed to do?"
"Maybe," Rachel said, doubtful. She was definitely no superhero. "So what's your power? Telekinesis?"
He grinned at her, the first real expression she'd seen on him other than strain. "You are a superhero nerd!" he said triumphantly. "No one else just pops off with a word like that!"
"Answer the question," she said, smiling back in spite of herself.
"I can bend probability," he said. "I noticed it when I got a winning lottery ticket at the same time a bird dived in front of me, stopping me from walking onto a street and getting hit by a car."
Rachel's eyebrows climbed into her hair, but he had a totally straight face. It probably wasn't really any more unbelievable than her ability to make fat vanish by looking into a mirror. A thought came to her.
"So you, Chance...can control the laws of chance? What kind of cheesy comic book is this?"
Chance snorted. "I hadn't really thought of that, but yeah. Anyway, I've been attacked by folks like that police officer. Scary white eyes, acting like they're zombies. I was driving down the interstate and I got lucky, saw that officer's eyes when he was walking toward your car."
"That's a super convenient ability," Rachel said. "But I guess I'm grateful to it."
"It's got more limits than you think," Chance said. "As far as I can tell, I can't change anything that's being acted upon. I throw the dice, all sixes. You throw the dice, anything could happen."
"You made that mirror just fall into that truck," Rachel pointed out.
Chance laughed. "Yeah, and I nearly passed out. That's the biggest thing I've ever done. I don't think I could make a coin land heads up right now. I feel...burned out, I guess."
Rachel nodded. "That makes sense."
Chance turned to look at her, the first time their eyes had met. His eyes were a cloudy blue, unsurprising under his blond hair and eyebrows. "I'm going to Lubbock," he said. Before she could react to the non sequitur, he held up a map. There was a sloppy red slash on it. A closer look showed it was right over Lubbock, a city about six hours west of Fort Worth.
"What the hell is out there in oil land?" Rachel asked.
"No idea. But I've had this feeling lately, like I'm supposed to be doing something. Something more than just changing the oil in cars," Chance said, his voice suddenly filled with an emotion Rachel recognized instantly: passion. He sounded just like the teenage kids she counseled, full of fire and a desire to change the world, just without the knowledge or opportunity to do it. "So I pushed as hard as I could and threw a marker at this map. I'm gonna follow it. I figure, you've got a power, you could probably help me. What do you think?"
Rachel looked at him, at his blue eyes filled with drive, at his truck, which was surprisingly comfortable for something so ragged looking. She met his eyes, and nodded. "I'm in."

"You've gotta practice more if you wanna be a superhero, man!"
Anthony's voice echoed in his head as Andrew viciously attacked the scarecrow dummy in front of him. He had been here for days, maybe. Time was blurry, and thinking was hard. He knew he wasn't good enough, wasn't strong enough, wasn't fast enough. And he knew Anthony was dead.
The thought sent a pulse of hot anguish though him. He'd never really thought about anguish, what it really meant. It was like a pit of coals inside his stomach, and a fist around his heart, and burning acid beating in the veins of his face. It was pain, all the time, knowing that his friend had died because of his failure.
But it was strength, too. It was motivation. It kept his focus keen. He whipped his hands through the air. By now, he'd mastered the timing of flexing and relaxing his fingers to send his chains exactly where he wanted. He could wield them as precisely as needles, piercing a spot no larger than a quarter, or he could sweep with them like bludgeons, clearing out huge swathes of space around himself.
Multiple targets popped up around him. This gym was somehow magicked to give him constantly evolving practice conditions. He liked it that way, it kept his mind too busy to think about anything other than getting stronger, faster, harder, better.
He withdrew his striking chains, and took an unusual stance. His left hand he put in front of his right shoulder, fingers splayed, and his right hand he extended over his head, fingers cupped like he was holding a ball in his fingertips. His chains elongated, undulating gently around him, surrounding him with a field of metal ready to intercept anything.
"You have to learn how they work so you can defeat your inevitable nemesis!"
Anthony's words shot through him, leaving ripples of despair deep enough to drown him. His chains burst into motion, heating up to a red hot glow and slicing through the air as he moved. A single motion, left hand raised high and right hand pushed down, then a rebound, crossing his elbows in front of his face.
Searing metal hissed through the air, piercing target marks on ten scarecrows. Just as quickly, Andrew relaxed his hands, instantly withdrawing, and passed his flat palms over his face. The metal engraved in his skin took on the same red hot glow, but after a moment the light left the metal, keeping the angular shapes but leaving his face unscarred. The trick had taken him a few unfortunate attempts to master.
He extended his arms, palms flat and facing up. The angular heat blades flew threw the air, slicing the two remaining dummies in half.
"Wonderful, Andrew," an alluring female voice called. Andrew's muscles relaxed, and all the sizzling heat in the air around him radiated quickly away. He turned to face his trainer/captor/savior/nemesis.
The words battled in his mind, the first conscious thoughts he'd had since he began his practice that day, other than memories of Anthony's last words. He clutched his head, pain growing in his temples.
A gentle hand caressed his forehead. Coolness followed the fingers as they traced an aimless path across his skin. A rough hand grabbed his forearm, and his body suddenly felt as if it had plunged into a freezing bath, cold slicing him to the bone. The metal etched in his face burned worse than anything.
The cold vanished as quickly as it had come, and Andrew's mind was clear. He opened his eyes, and faced Victoria and her henchman/assistant Ben.
Ben was an imposing figure. Even though he wasn't terribly tall, he spent way too much time in the exercise portion of Victoria's enormous gymnasium. His dark hair was cut razor short, and his dark eyes were always cold and evaluating, like he was watching for the first sign of weakness. Andrew had seen him practicing swordplay, which a week ago would have made him shake his head with disbelief. Now, when Andrew was becoming an expert in magical fire-chain fighting, it seemed practically mundane.
Though Ben's physical prowess was intimidating enough, his ability was what Andrew truly feared. He was a healer, and was the only reason Andrew's face wasn't a huge mass of scar tissue after the first few mishaps with his experiments. But Ben wasn't the typical compassionate, forgiving type healers always seemed to be in fantasy and comics. He was vicious, cruel, and unforgiving of any shortcomings. He healed, and did it without complaining, but Andrew had heard rumors he could turn his healing against someone, opening old wounds or blinding them with pain. He would put nothing past those glittering eyes.
"Victoria," Andrew said calmly, not wanting to offend his host. He'd awoken under Ben's touch, with Victoria standing over him. She'd given him the outlet for his grief, and had used her powers to show him what his own capabilities were. He didn't trust her/She'd saved his life.
The flash of a headache flickered through him, but it vanished after a moment.
"You've become a remarkable warrior in such a short time, Andrew," Victoria said. "I'd like you to meet someone else who's been working here. Would you follow me?"
Andrew fell into step behind Victoria, and Ben waited to fall behind him. Not one to let anyone see his back, was Ben. As they walked through the gym, Andrew had the notion that they were walking through smoke, or water. The whole gym seemed to be blurry, as if he could see something if he only knew how to look. He felt the metal in his face heating, and drew his fingers across the angular glyphs, drawing the heat into his rings.
Victoria had shown him, through her enchanted clothing, that his power over metal was an extension of a power over fire. His facial decorations generated heat energy, which he could use a number of ways, and his rings drew on that energy to give themselves the flexibility and strength to be vicious weapons. He could draw on heat from the air, or from other sources around himself as well.
Victoria stopped, and he came up beside her, Ben staying right behind him. In front of them, a young woman stood inside a steel ring in the wooden floor that had to measure at least thirty feet across. Inside the ring, heat haze blurred Andrew's vision, though he could see the woman without any problems. Somehow, Victoria had created a storm cloud in the gym, and the climate inside that steel ring was completely divorced from that outside.
The young woman, a Latina woman with curly brown hair, with wide hips and strong shoulders, stood confidently in the center of the circle. Lightning flashed, illuminating her determined expression. She thrust her arms powerfully through the air, and ripples left her fists to strike dummies that popped out of the ground, much like those Andrew had been systematically destroying.
A dummy behind the woman animated itself, reaching for her with clumsy arms. She whirled, and the rain itself whirled around her, and lashed the dummy like a shimmering, liquid whip.
Liquid it may have been, but it was sharp as any of Andrew's chains, lopping off the threatening arms of the scarecrow without any apparent resistance. Once the dummy had fallen, Victoria clapped her hands.
The storm dissolved, and the heat haze around the steel ring drifted out, joining the general blurriness of the gym. The more Andrew thought about that strange distortion, the more his face heated up and his head began to pound. He focused on the young woman to distract himself.
"Miranda, if you would come here," Victoria called, gesturing gracefully. Miranda walked toward them, stopping a few feet away. From the cautious look she gave Ben, she'd learn to respect the man as well.
"Miranda, this is Andrew. Andrew, Miranda. I brought you both here for the same reason," Victoria explained. "Miranda, you've been doing so well, I thought you might be up to a little spar with Andrew. What do you say?"
"I don't spar," Andrew said, before Miranda could open her mouth.
Victoria's eyes narrowed, though Andrew might have just imagined it. She laughed gaily, and touched Andrew's shoulder lightly. The leather jacket he wore, a gift from her, kept him from feeling her feather touch, but he relaxed anyway. Victoria was a manipulator/wonderful lady.
"For me, Andrew?" she asked. "I want to see my two best fighters against each other, before we start to do the real work."
Real work?
Pain unlike any he'd felt before seemed to crush his skull. He fought to keep it from showing on his face, not wanting Ben to see something weak in him. "Fine," he grunted. He stepped into the steel ring, ignoring Miranda.
When his back was turned to the three of them, he put a hand on his face, covering the triangular frame around his right eye. He thought of Anthony, of Anthony's still face, lying on the ground, of the glittering emerald claw that had stopped his heart.
Flame exploded around his right hand, and he drew it away from his face. A fireball danced over his palm, burning merrily without any fuel other than his desperate loss. He turned back to Miranda, who was looking at him with a worried expression, though she set herself into a confident stance and brought her hands up into a fighting position.
Andrew struck first, throwing the fireball, then flinging his arms out wide. Chains flew through the air, arcing out, then in toward Miranda. He heard her yelp, but she reacted quickly. A gray dome of light burst outward, shattering his fireball and intercepting his chains, making them rebound crazily.
Andrew retrieved them and sent a single right hand probe flying again, while drawing another flame from his face. Miranda deflected his probe the same way, then threw a force blast at him. He shot two more chains into it, splintering the blow.
He glanced over Miranda's shoulder and saw Ben and Victoria. She was toying with a ring on her right hand. An ethereal green claw extended briefly from her fingers. She frowned, and flicked her wrist. The claw vanished.
The pain in Andrew's head, which hadn't ceased since he stepped into the ring, abruptly vanished. The heat haze in the gym went with it, revealing hordes of people, men and women, dressed in the black jacket and dark pants of those who had attacked him that night.
And, worst of all, next to Victoria was the blond man, smirking as he watched the duel, arms crossed and hip jutting out at a cocky angle.
The sight of that man, who had so easily taken him out, took the despair and anguish inside him and ignited it, filling him with a burning hate so strong it left no room for anything else. He roared, and barreled toward Miranda, hoping to disguise his attack so that it went uncountered.
Miranda's eyes widened at his sudden ferocity, and her hand went to her waist, where several blue orbs were attached to her black belt. She grasped one and pulled it from the belt, squeezing it tightly. Blue light began to swirl around her hand, and she pulled back as if to throw a punch.
Andrew passed both hands over his face, drawing out blasts of heat, then thrust them toward the ground. The sudden pressure, combined with the strongest leap his legs could generate, hurled him over Miranda's head. He swung his arms, sending silvery death hurtling toward the blond man and Victoria.
The blond man, however, reacted faster than anything Andrew had ever seen. In the blink of an eye, Victoria was sprawled on the ground, and the blond man was on the other side of the steel ring. Andrew's chains crashed into the ground, cutting through the wood and starting a blaze that quickly spread, eating the wax like candy.
Miranda's sudden gasp was lost in the roar of flames. Andrew flung one hand desperately up, channeling shades of Spider-Man as he threw his chains upward to grab a ceiling beam, slowing his descent. He landed gently, and turned to face Victoria.
The blond man seemed to move like lightning, even as time slowed for Andrew. He couldn't move, but he could see the punch aimed directly at his forehead, sure to knock him out cold.
Then, there was a sense of pressure, and a burst of gray light. The blond man sprawled on the ground, as unconscious as Victoria, and Miranda was standing next to him.
"We have to get out of here," she gasped. "Hurry, let's go!" The swirling blue light still enveloped her fist, though it seemed to be smaller and less violent that it had been. She pelted across the gym, and did something, shooting a burst of blue light into the wall and opening up a hole that led to the outside world.
The two of them ran out, leaving the gymnasium to go up in flames.

​“Ma’am? Ma’am, are you all right? Someone call 911, I think she hit her head!”
​Rachel blinked, the remnants of unconsciousness fogging her mind and making thinking difficult. Voices all around her were talking, some yelling, all sounding concerned and frightened.
​“She’s awake,” a nearby voice said. “Ma’am? Can you talk to me?”
​“What happened?” she mumbled, reaching up to touch her face. She brushed a spongy-feeling lump on her head and sent a flash of pain screaming through her, eliciting a low moan of agony.
​“You look like you fell on the treadmill and hit your head. Can you look at my eyes?” Rachel tried to focus on where the voice was coming from, but all she could see was bright light and dizzying shadow. She started to shake her head, then stopped when her stomach violently protested the movement.
​“Okay, I have an ambulance on the way, ma’am. We’ll get you checked out. Try to just stay still and calm, okay?”
​Rachel tried to laugh. Moving in any way was very likely to make her throw up, and she’d already embarrassed herself enough today. She was quite content to quietly lie on the floor of the gym and die a slow death of humiliation on the inside.
​After some time had passed, she realized she had drifted off again, and she was being lifted into the air. She was in a stretcher, which meant paramedics must have arrived. She kept her eyes closed, not wanting to see the disorienting swirl of brightness and darkness as she was moved. She felt the jolt as she was transferred into an ambulance, and heard the sirens start as they began to move. She noticed someone was talking to her. She gently turned her head toward the voice.
​“…often work out?”
​“Yes,” she croaked. “Five days a week, 5:30 am.”
​“Have you ever had a fall like this before?” the paramedic asked. She heard the scratching of a pencil against paper. “Dizzy spells, problems with your vision, headaches, or nausea while you worked out?”
​“Just regular fatigue and soreness,” she answered. “I’ve never fallen like this, ever, at the gym.”
​“Do you have any history of falls, loss of balance, or hallucination?”
​“Not recently,” she whispered. Memory flickered, and she answered honestly. “When I was in high school, I had a few bad falls, but they were because I was attacked, not because I got dizzy or passed out.”
​“Were you sexually assaulted, ma’am?”
​“No, not that kind of attack. Just regular bullying.” Talking of the incident was no longer accompanied by panic or tears, after years of therapy and gradual acceptance. “I’ve never had the kind of experience I did today.”
​“Can you describe it to me, ma’am?”
​She tried to remember the series of events exactly. “I was running on the treadmill, and I was almost done. I think I saw some weird lights, and I saw something weird in the mirror before I woke up on the floor.”
​“Can you think of anything else that might have contributed to this? Recent illness, weight loss, change in your eating habits, stress at work or in a relationship?”
​“Do I look like I’ve had weight loss?” Rachel snapped. She immediately regretted it; the man was just doing his job. The dimness in the ambulance seemed to be helping her vision. He looked like he was middle aged, with dark skin and close-cut hair. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have yelled at you.”
​“It’s all right, ma’am,” he told her. “We’re just about to the hospital, a doctor will be able to look at you here. If you feel any worse sing out, we’re here to help you.”
​She agreed to let him know if she felt any change, and he opened the doors to the outside world. The bright light startled her, and she squeezed her eyes shut again. She felt herself being rolled in. Right after she noticed the light through her eyelids getting dimmer, she was lifted and placed onto a solid surface, which she assumed was a bed.
​She cracked her eyelids, and was relieved to see a blue curtain around her. She didn’t try to sit up, knowing she’d just give herself more nausea. She was content to lie and breathe slowly, trying to ignore the pain slowly building in her head, centered in the top of her forehead.
​The curtain suddenly slid back, revealing an Indian doctor in a dingy white coat and blue scrubs. “Good morning, Ms. Watson,” she said, tucking a loose curl of springy black hair behind an ear. “I’m Dr. Safer. Are you feeling any better?”
​“I’m in some pain, but I can see and I can talk now, so yes, a little better,” Rachel replied. “Morphine would be lovely, if you’ve got any.”
​The doctor laughed. “I think I can get you some painkillers, though I’m more of a Vicodin kind of gal myself,” she said, stepping closer to Rachel’s bed. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to get a closer look at this lump.”
​“Go right ahead, Dr. Safer,” Rachel told her. “Anything to get me some pills.” The doctor chuckled again, and gently grasped Rachel’s head with both hands, examining the lump on her forehead. As she looked at it, she muttered a series of observations about its color, size, and location. Rachel was long used to doctors examining injuries she’d acquired over the years, and tuned it out easily. After a few moments, Dr. Safer pulled away and scribbled on a clipboard she pulled from the foot of Rachel’s bed.
​“It looks nasty, but you’re responsive, so I think you’ve managed to avoid a concussion,” the woman told her. “I’m going to prescribe some painkillers for you, and you should avoid any kind of strenuous activity for about a week, but it seems that you just have a spectacular bruise. The only thing I want to ask you about is your weight loss.” Before Rachel could say anything, the doctor showed the clipboard to her. “Your most recent medical chart shows you at two hundred fifty pounds, but I’d put you at right around one hundred thirty. That’s a very dangerous amount of weight lost in such a short time. Have you been doing anything drastic to cause such a huge drop in weight?” The doctor looked at her with concern and compassion practically dripping from her face, which just made Rachel’s shock and outrage at being made fun of grow.
​“I can’t believe you would say something so hurtful,” Rachel snarled. “I will be speaking to your supervisor, Dr. Safer. You’re a professional, you shouldn’t make fun of a woman because of her weight.” She swung her legs out over the bed, and got to her feet, ignoring the way the room spun around her. Just like you’ve been at a bar for a few hours, she thought. Center, find your balance, and stalk gracefully. Thank god I’m wearing sneakers. She marched out of the curtain, ignoring Dr. Safer’s sputters, and strode purposefully through a double door into a waiting room. She knew her outrage would soon turn into tears, and she didn’t want to be in a waiting room with a dozen people staring at her when it did. She pulled her phone from her pocket and turned on the voice command feature as she stormed through the waiting room and out into the parking lot of the hospital.
​“Call Matilda,” she ordered the phone. It beeped pleasantly, and the image of Rachel’s best friend and coworker at the Highland Park school district appeared on her screen. She answered quickly.
​“Rachel, what’s up?”
​“Matilda, I’ve had a little accident and I’m at the hospital. No, no, I’m fine,” Rachel said, riding over Matilda’s worried questions quickly. She kept walking through the parking lot, hoping to avoid the hateful Dr. Safer. “The doctor said I didn’t have a concussion, but I need a ride. Could you come get me?”
​“Absolutely, babe,” Matilda replied. “Are you going to call in, if you’ve been in an accident?”
​“Oh, no, I feel fine. I’d rather be at work than stuck at home bored, you know me.”
​“You’re right, girl. Okay, I’ll be there in five minutes.”
​“Thanks, Matilda, you’re the best,” Rachel said, hanging up the phone. Behind her, she heard the doors open, and someone calling her name. She didn’t stop or look back, and the calls stopped after a moment. Her phone buzzed, and an unfamiliar number displayed on the screen, but she hit the “do not answer” button to dismiss what was surely the hospital trying to reach her.
​True to her word, Matilda pulled into the parking lot of the hospital after barely a few minutes. Matilda was a stocky woman, though next to Rachel she looked unremarkable, size-wise. She was dressed in flannel pajama pants and a gray hoodie, though her makeup was already in place. Rachel gratefully opened the door to Matilda’s roomy minivan, settling into the front passenger seat and pulling the seat belt around herself.
​“So what happened?” Matilda asked, checking her rearview mirror as she pulled onto the road in front of the hospital. She smoothed down a stray clump of her frizzy brown hair. “What kind of accident were you in?”
​“I was running on the treadmill and I guess I just pushed too hard,” Rachel explained. “I had some kind of attack and I fell and hit my head. You can see the bump, it’s here on my forehead.” She prodded the lump experimentally; it still hurt, but not in quite a world-shatteringly intense way.
​“What do you mean? I don’t see anything,” Matilda said, looking over at Rachel for a moment.
​Rachel gave Matilda an odd look, and pulled down the sun visor to check herself in the mirror. Sure enough, her forehead looked totally fine, though her questing fingers still felt the slightly-squishy lump of flesh just to the left of her right eye, on her hairline.
​“Are you sure you hit your head?” Matilda asked, trying not to stare at Rachel as she wove through the increasingly-thick morning traffic toward Rachel’s apartment.
​“I wouldn’t make that up, Matilda!” Rachel snapped. Matilda gave her a hurt look, and she sighed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to yell at you. The doctor was making fun of my weight, and it got to me.”
​“Oh, honey,” Matilda said, reaching over to pat Rachel’s knee. “You’ve had a really rough morning. You need to just stay home today, I’ll cover for you, don’t you worry.”
​“Matilda, I’m really fi-” Rachel protested, but her friend rode right over her attempts to argue.
​“Not a word, Rachel. You’re staying home today, and that’s it. Don’t you argue with me,” Matilda told her, her tone brooking no argument. Rachel sighed, and relaxed back into the seat, letting her friend drive her home. She glanced once more into the sun visor’s mirror, and saw the purpling lump on her forehead.

​“Blow my whistle, baby, whistle, baby/Let me know/Girl I’mma show you how to do it/And we’ll start real slow”
​“Antonio, do you have to listen to that crap while we’re at work?”
​Antonio, who was waiting on the results of a blood test, had turned his Pandora radio up to distract him while he waited. He turned to look at his complaining coworker, an older German woman named Sarah who had no sense of humor. He got out of his chair and started dancing to the song, which he actually didn’t really like. It was always fun to get a rise out of Sarah though.
​“Antonio, seriously, I’m trying to work,” Sarah complained, twitching her white lab coat a little straighter. “Could you please at least turn it down?”
​Antonio stopped his gyrating and turned down the volume knob on his speakers. He was thickly built, with broad shoulders and wider hips, though it was muscle, not fat. He was wearing professional clothing now that he was at work, a plum colored polo under his white lab coat. The lab where he worked, part of the Covenant Hospital network in Lubbock, had plenty of large windows, letting in lots of sunlight during the day. Since he was on the night shift tonight, he had a good view of the full moon, though the stars were too dim through the city air to see.
​“Thank you,” Sarah said, heaving a dramatic sigh as she turned back to her centrifuge. Antonio gave her a mocking bow.
​“De nada, senorita,” he told her, sliding back into his chair and tapping a few keys on his computer, pulling up the test that was being run. It was, predictably, not finished, so he swiveled to take a look around the lab. He had a few potted plants on the windowsill closest to his station, though they were currently closed for the night. He kept slowly turning, appreciating all the expensive equipment they had at this lab. Before he’d come to work here, he’d gone to school in El Paso, where they’d had to make do with old and worn out equipment. It was like a dream come true to be in a hospital lab as well-equipped as this.
​The door to the lab opened, and a woman walked through. She was mid-twenties, right around Antonio’s age, with long, silky black hair, golden brown skin, big dark eyes, and an easy, welcoming smile. Her name was Katie, and Antonio was more than half in love with her. He was grateful for his dark skin, which helped disguise the blush that heated his face every time he saw her.
​“Hi, Antonio, Sarah,” Katie said, dropping down into her chair. “How’s the night shift going so far?”
​“Antonio’s listening to tasteless music, so about the same as always,” Sarah groused. Katie looked at Antonio over her shoulder, narrowing her eyes at him in a playful glare.
​The flush that Antonio always felt around Katie seemed worse than ever tonight. He could probably fry an egg on his face. He tried to play it off, waving a hand casually, as if to say who, me? Listen to tasteless crap? It probably came off as Huh huh huh, herp bederp.
​“Oh, Antonio, your cactus is blooming!” Katie exclaimed, pointing to the plants on his windowsill. Antonio’s brow furrowed. Hadn’t he just noticed that the plants were closed up? But, sure enough, the pink flower at the top of his little cactus had opened up, and seemed to be even bigger than it had been before. He heard Katie gasp, and nearly did the same himself. As he watched, all the plants on the windowsill, from his tiny African violets to the sunflower, were opening up and growing before their eyes. The flush he felt burning his face vanished in the face of this bizarre spectacle.
​“They’re so beautiful,” Katie said, getting up and walking over to stand next to him, placing one graceful hand on the arm of his chair. He felt her finger brush against his arm for a moment, and his face started burning again. “Oh, my!” Katie gasped, taking a step back. Antonio looked at her, then followed her gaze.
​The flowers were literally growing and expanding before his eyes. The cactus was sprouting new blooms in what looked like fast forward, and a second sunflower was uncurling from the soil it was potted in. Antonio’s jaw dropped. At this point, Sarah had come over and was staring in wonder as well.
​“What do you put in their soil, Antonio?” she asked. “Is your garden at home like this?” Antonio could only mutely shake his head. If his home garden randomly began growing at hundreds of times its natural speed, at night, he’d probably never touch it again. This was unnatural, and more than a little intimidating.
​The computer on Antonio’s desk space began emitting a shrill beeping, letting him know his test had finally finished. He swiveled away from the miraculous plants, which also broke his contact with Katie. He wasn’t sure if he was glad about that or not. He began tapping keys on the keyboard, printing out the report his program had generated.
​“Anyone else have a report to deliver?” he asked, as the lab’s printer began to whir. “I’ll take them all this run.”
​“Give me one minute,” Sarah said, walking back to her own work station, though she kept glancing over her shoulder at the plants, which had slowed down noticeably but were still growing larger.
​“Antonio, we should run some tests on those plants,” Katie said, her voice worried. “What if…this is going to sound so stupid, but what if they’ve been exposed to some kind of radiation? It’d be terrible if our lives turned into the next awful Sy-Fy movie, wouldn’t it? Sharkcactus?”
​Antonio chuckled, and he shrugged at her question, but he could never work up the courage to talk to her, even if she was speaking directly to him. The silence grew awkwardly long, until Sarah, oblivious to the tension that Antonio felt singing in his skin, announced her report was printing.
​Antonio got to his feet, glanced at Katie and shrugged, trying to communicate Oh, well, I have to go deliver these reports now! As soon as he did it, he started berating himself mentally. He hurried over to the printer, grabbed his sheets and the sheets it had spat out for Sarah, and hurried out of the lab to the nurse’s station.
​The nurse’s station was up a few floors from his lab, so he got into the elevator and hit the button he wanted. He hoped no one else would get into the elevator; it was so late he doubted the hospital was busy, but there was always the possibility of a late-night accident that could cause a rush of mobility.
​He reached the floor he wanted with minimal hassle, and got out of the elevator without being mowed down by someone who just had to get in right this second. He walked calmly toward the nurse’s station, which was just to the left of where he’d come out. Standing behind the counter, typing away happily, was one of his least favorite nurses, a man about his age named Ernesto. He didn’t mind the fact that Ernesto was gay, and he was sort of flattered that the man kept flirting with him and asking him out, but he really wished that he would just respect Antonio’s lack of interest in other men.
​“Hola, Ernesto,” he said. “Como estas?”
​“Oh, I’m doing just fine, Antonio,” Ernesto responded. He was tall and heavily built, though he never seemed to be ashamed of his weight. And Antonio was always startled by the guys Ernesto dated; he seemed to have an uncanny ability to get guys that really should have been completely out of his league. But maybe gay men had different standards? Antonio shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts.
​“I have some reports for you,” Antonio said, holding the sheets up for Ernesto to take. “Do you have any new tests you’d like us to run?”
​“Let me check for you. I’ll be back in just a second,” Ernesto told him, walking down the hallway behind the station. Antonio leaned against the counter, trying to sort out his thoughts. He wasn’t sure exactly why, but he couldn’t seem to think straight. Not only was he still reeling from what he couldn’t stop thinking of as Sharkcactus, he couldn’t stop thinking about Katie and how she’d touched his arm. It was like being in high school all over again.
​Ernesto reappeared from the hallway, holding a manila folder stuffed with charts and a small black case that would hold several vials of blood and urine. “All the new tests we need, right here,” he said, holding them out to Antonio. “Since you’re here. Can you sign this for me?”
​Antonio scribbled his signature onto the chain of materials form, took the folder and the case, and bid Ernesto good night, getting back on the elevator.

​“Andrew! Andrew! Oh my god, what happened, Andrew!”
​Andrew’s eyelids fluttered open. He was lying on his back in the studio. His face felt like he’d been in the sun all day. He blinked, and the way that made his face scrunch up burned.
​“Oh thank god, you’re awake. Andrew, what happened?”
​Anthony was kneeling over him, gripping his shoulders and gently shaking him. “Andrew, what was that? The sculpture just exploded, and you screamed, and the you passed out and it was gone, Andrew, the sculpture is gone!”
​“Calm down, Anthony,” Andrew said, his voice hoarse and painfully raspy. “Let me up, please.”
​Anthony rocked back onto his heels, helping Andrew get up into a sitting position. His face and hands felt odd, outside of the intense sunburn he seemed to have acquired. There were cool strips all over his face, like he had some kind of metal resting on his face, and his fingers felt the same way. He glanced down at his hands, and couldn’t stop a surprised inhale.
​His fingers, which were supposed to have a steel ring on each, were now encased in wild strips of silvery metal. The rings seemed to have moved down to the base of his fingers, and sinuous lines of metal wound up each finger, coiling around his digits. He wiggled his fingers experimentally, and the metal flexed right alongside his skin.
​“Christ, that’s weird, Andrew,” Anthony breathed, his eyes wide in a pale face. “Holy crap, your face, what the hell,” he added, after looking directly at Andrew.
​Anthony looked around, trying to find a mirror, but there were none in the room. He reached into his pocket, and pulled out his phone, turning on the camera feature and turning on the setting that would let him look at his face.
​His nose ring, eyebrow ring, and lip ring were gone. Now he had what could only be described as glyphs of metal etched into his skin. Symbols were arranged on his forehead, down his nose, on each cheek, and framing his mouth. He wriggled his face, and the metal easily shifted with his muscles, just like his hands.
​“Andrew, what the hell,” Anthony said.
​“You’re repeating yourself,” Andrew said absently. He set the phone down, and took a closer look at his hands. He recognized the symbols on his face, and he wanted to see if he could decipher the metal on his hands as well. Anthony leaned closer to him and accidentally bumped foreheads with Andrew.
​Andrew flicked his hands at Anthony, trying to tell him to get off without touching the other man. Heat sizzled into his fingers from the metal, and glowing silver threads of light shot out from his fingers, slamming into Anthony and throwing him back several feet, before swirling around him and losing their glow, revealing themselves to be extremely fine silver chains. Andrew and Anthony stared at each other in disbelief, before Andrew looked back down at his hands.
​The rings at the bases of his fingers were still unchanged, but the coils of metal had all hyperextended themselves, revealing their nature as very compressed chains. Andrew nodded, exhaling softly.
​“Andrew what the shit get these off me!” Anthony shrieked. Andrew shook his head, and tried twitching his hands experimentally. There had to be a way to control what was going on.
​He tried closing his fingers, making plucking gestures, making fists, and even clapping his hands and snapping. Each time he pulled on the chains even a little, they jerked Anthony several feet in that direction. “They seem to magnify the force I exert on them,” Andrew observed.
​“That is very fascinating can I please not be wrapped up in your magic chains,” Anthony hissed.
​Andrew calmly continued trying various gestures. After several more fruitless variations, he flopped back to the ground, trying to think. As he fell backward, he realized he was probably about to throw Anthony to the other side of the room and tried to abort his motion, but ended up just hitting his head against the floor. As soon as he could, he levered himself back up, to see that Anthony was sitting where he had been, and the chains had retreated.
​“What did you do?” Anthony asked. Andrew shook his head. He looked around the room, and saw a chair. He flicked his right wrist at the chair, and the chains on his right hand shot out again, neatly wrapping the chair up. He let his hand fall limp, and the chains withdrew rapidly, leaving the chair unharmed.
​“Andrew,” Anthony said, sounding very serious. Andrew turned to his best friend and raised his eyebrows. “I know I’ve said this already…but what. The. Hell.”
​Andrew could only shrug.

​“Tonight/We are young!/So let’s set the world on fire-”
​“Antonio we get it!”
​Antonio stopped mid-song, hurt. He, Sarah, Katie, and for some reason Ernesto were all walking through the parking garage, and Ernesto had convinced them to go out to one of the bars in Lubbock for some well-deserved drinking. Sarah, being the only one who didn’t speak Spanish, had insisted they stay with bars on the west side of town. Antonio didn’t mind, as long as he got nice and drunk.
​“Who’s driving?” Sarah asked, as they reached the level where they’d all parked.
​“I’ll DD,” Katie said. Antonio carefully didn’t look at her, but he really didn’t want to be drunk in front of her and ruin her opinion of him. They were all decent friends at work, but they'd never gone out all as a group before. He was surprised Sarah even drank, as uptight as she always seemed, but she’d been the first to agree when Ernesto poked his head into their laboratory.
​“Where should we even go on a Tuesday night?” Katie asked.
​“I know a place,” Ernesto said airily.
​“Not Heaven,” Sarah said wearily. “I don’t wanna see a bunch of guys grinding on each other.”
​“Heaven isn’t gay tonight, but that’s not where we’re going,” Ernesto said, flipping his wrist at Sarah playfully. “It’s a well-kept secret, and yes it’s a straight bar,” he added, rolling his eyes. “Anyone need to stop at an apartment to get pretty?”
​Antonio looked down at himself. He always kept a pair of jeans in his car, but he was happy with the plum polo he was wearing. “I’m fine,” he said.
​“Me too,” Katie added. Without her lab coat, she was wearing a blue t-shirt with tiny rhinestones sewed on in fanciful patterns, and expensive-looking blue jeans. She looked amazing. Antonio knew that he should probably compliment her, but he couldn’t get the words to come out of his mouth.
​“Fuck!” Ernesto shouted, stopping cold. Antonio nearly plowed into him. “What the hell?” Ernesto continued, pointing in front of him.
​Antonio peered around Ernesto’s bulk, and saw the source of his distress. The asphalt of the parking garage had split, and grass was growing out of the crack, at visible speeds.
​“Okay, we’ve seriously become a target of some kind of government experiment,” Katie said, her voice deadpan but slightly shaky. “What is up with all these crazy plants?”
​Antonio stumbled backward, fetching up against a concrete pillar. His legs didn’t feel like they could support him. He slid down until he was sitting on the ground, staring at the unnatural grass that had stopped growing as quickly as it had started.
​“Antonio, are you okay?” Sarah asked. Katie was crouched down, poking at the grass with one finger. Antonio saw she had an elaborate gold bracelet on her wrist. Did she keep an outfit at the hospital just for going out?
​“Si, si, estoy bien,” he muttered. Sarah huffed at him, but gave him a hand and pulled him to his feet. He walked over to the shoot of grass, and knelt down next to Katie.
​She turned her head and smiled at him, making his stomach flutter distractingly. He looked down at the grass, and sucked in a breath. Now, a small, pale purple flower was blooming delicately in the middle of all the grass.
​“How did grass seed even get up here?” Katie asked, reaching out to run a finger along the tiny petals. “It’s not like it could just float up here and sit on the asphalt. Is there even soil under here for it to have roots?”
​“Hey, girls, we need to get going. It’s already after midnight,” Ernesto drawled. “Magic grass isn’t really that interesting unless we can smoke it.” Sarah sighed ostentatiously at the weed reference, but Katie and Antonio got to their feet. Antonio put his hand under Katie’s elbow, trying not to touch her without her permission but there in case she needed it. She shot him a grateful smile.
​Katie pulled out her remote key and pressed a button. The lights on a white Acadia blinked twice, and she walked around to the driver’s side seat. Ernesto went to get in shotgun, and Antonio held the back door open for Sarah.
​“Why, thank you, Antonio, you’re such a gentleman,” she laughed, touching his shoulder lightly as she got in. Antonio felt his face flush again, and scurried around to the other side of the car to get into his seat.
​Sarah made a big fuss out of getting her seat belt adjusted just right, and making sure all her various vents were set the way she wanted them. As soon as Katie turned the radio on to what sounded like a contemporary Christian station, Ernesto made a disgusted sound and twisted the dial to the local frequency for Kiss FM, the pop station. The song that started pumping out of the car’s speakers was Rihanna’s We Found Love, one of Antonio’s favorite songs. Ernesto started singing loudly, and Antonio joined in, glad he wasn’t alone for once.
​To his surprise, Katie sang along as well. The simplicity of the lyrics made it a fun song to belt out as a group.
​Katie got them out of the multi-level parking garage, and pulled onto the street that ran by the hospital. “Okay, where are we going?” she asked, slowly rolling up to the stoplight.​
​“Avenue Q,” Ernesto said. “Down by 19th.”
​“Oh, are we going to Belly’s?” Katie asked. “That’s not a secret, Ernesto, it’s a college bar!”
​“It’s cheap and the food is good,” Ernesto said, his voice making no secret that he was impatient with these trivial details.
​“It’s also not really a straight bar,” Katie added. “And there’s no place to dance!” She glanced at Antonio. “Antonio, you like to dance, don’t you? Where’s a good place to go?”
​“Um,” Antonio said charmingly. “I’m okay with Belly’s,” he stammered. He did like to dance, but he was terrible at it and didn’t want to make a fool of himself in front of Katie. Or Ernesto, for that matter; he was vicious when he was drinking.
​Katie rolled her eyes. “Sarah, do you dance? Back me up here, girl!”
​“I don’t really care where we go
​Katie threw up one hand and fell back against her chair. “At least Belly’s has karaoke,” she said.
​“Oh, honey,” Ernesto told her, looking over his shoulder. “Have you heard baby Antonio do karaoke yet?” He winked broadly at Antonio, who hunched his shoulders and looked down at his lap. “It’s quite the sight,”
​“Stop being bitchy, Ernesto,” Katie said. “I like Antonio’s singing.” She smiled over her shoulder at him. “He’s passionate when he sings.”
​Antonio couldn’t stop the smile that spread across his face, and he made himself look up at Katie’s face. “Do you sing?” he asked, managing not to stumble over the question.
​“I’m not great but it’s a blast when you’ve been drinking,” she laughed. “We should do a duet! We could do Journey!” Antonio’s smile became a grin, Katie’s enthusiasm infecting him.
​“Ay, Dios mio,” Ernesto muttered. Sarah made an agreeing sort of sound.
​A few minutes later, they reached the bar. It was a small sort of café, with lots of local art up on the walls and a small stage in the back, near the restrooms. The four of them grabbed a table near the front door, since the speakers in the back where the singing happened were always turned way too high up. On a Saturday night, there’d be a big crowd of college kids taking advantage of the food and the cheap drinks before they went someplace to drink more heavily, but on a Tuesday after midnight there was hardly anyone there. The few remaining were all in small groups, obviously just enjoying a quiet night out.
​An older white woman walked up to them. “Evening, y’all,” she said. “Can I get you anything to eat, drink?”
​“I’ll take a vodka sour, double,” Ernesto said immediately. “And a BLT on white, mustard and cheddar cheese.” The waitress scribbled quickly on her pad, keeping up without any effort.
​“Rum and coke for me, and a patty melt would be great,” Sarah said.
​“You guys have some kind of house margarita, don’t you?” Katie asked.
​“Yeah, I make the mix myself,” the woman replied. “You want one?”
​“I’m getting his,” she answered, poking Antonio in the ribs. “I just want water, please.”
​“Puedo comprar mis bebidas,” he said under his breath. Katie made a dismissive gesture at him.
​“If I let you buy your own drinks, you’ll never get drunk enough to sing,” she said. “Is there karaoke tonight?”
​“No one’s been doing it, but I’ve got the machine out on the stage, yeah,” the woman said. “Anything to eat for you two?”
​“I’ll just take some fries,” Katie said. “Antonio?”
​“Fries sound fine,” Antonio said, still a little upset about Katie’s commandeering of his drink order.
​“I’ll be right back with all of that,” the waitress said, heading over to the window next to the bar.
​“Well, this is going to be a fun night,” Ernesto announced. “I’ll be back, I need to use the little boy’s room.” He got up and strutted toward the back of the café, walking like he was the sexiest man in the room. Suddenly, Antonio understand how he got guys that looked so much hotter than him. Confidence really was sexy.
​“Antonio, are you really upset? I was just trying to be nice,” Katie said softly, touching his knee for a moment. He jerked away at the unexpected touch, then blushed again. He really needed to get over that.
​“Just let me buy your fries,” he said. A corner of his mouth quirked up into a timid smile, and Katie smiled back at him.
​“Oh, Christ, I can’t handle you two sober,” Sarah groused. “Where’s my drink?”
​The waitress quickly returned with the drinks, and Ernesto reappeared as if by magic. They each took their drink, toasted each other, and took sips, looking for all the world like they were four best friends in a sitcom.
​For Antonio, the night went by in a happy blur. Sarah and Ernesto were surprisingly good company, Sarah’s uptight humorlessness transforming into a kind of impatient, dry humor as alcohol loosened her up. Ernesto, of course, seemed to drink like he had a hollow leg, and Antonio was being careful not to get terribly smashed while Katie was sober and would remember every stupid thing he did. He somehow found himself up on stage with her, belting out the chorus to “Don’t Stop Believing”, and suddenly all he could think was how much he wanted to kiss her.
​The last note of the song faded away, bringing much grateful applause from the pained audience – neither of them were what you would call adept singers – and they had a brief moment when they were sliding their microphones back into the stands where their eyes met and their fingers brushed against each other, and all Antonio could think about was how soft her skin felt and how good her hair looked and how close her face was…
​“Holy shit!”
​Katie’s eyes widened right before she stumbled backward. Antonio felt the ground beneath him shudder, and he fell backward as well, right off the edge of the stage.
​He fell and rolled, and saw the reason why people in the room were suddenly screaming. All around the café, small potted plants were placed on windowsills and tables, and they were all exploding with growth, vines whipping about the room and wrapping around chairs, tables, arms and legs as people scrambled away from the sudden greenery. In the center of the stage where Antonio and Katie had been singing, what looked for all the world like Jack’s beanstalk had forced its way up through the wooden planks, explaining what had forced Katie and Antonio apart.
​Antonio got to his feet, a little dizzy from the alcohol. He’d had…three? Four? Margaritas, and they were getting to him. He stumbled over to where Katie was lying on the ground.
​“Katie, are you okay?” he asked, kneeling down and grabbing her shoulders. “Katie?” he asked, shaking her gently. She lolled in his grip, and fear like an icy hand grabbed his heart. “Katie! Ernesto!” he bellowed, reaching to her throat to check her pulse. “Ernesto, necesito ayudar!”
​Ernesto was next to him in a moment, just when Antonio felt a pulse beating in Katie’s throat. “She won’t wake up,” he said. “I don’t know what happened.” His voice was getting high pitched with panic.
​“It’ll be okay, Antonio. Just call 911,” Ernesto told him, every trace of his normal, flirty, devil-may-care self buried in an emergency room nurse’s calm control. “She probably fell and hit her head.” He felt her skull carefully, thoroughly examining for any lumps or blood. Antonio fumbled his phone out of his pocket, punching the numbers to call the emergency line with extreme care. He put the phone up to his ear, and felt all the strength in his body flow out in a rush. He fell on his ass with an inglorious thump, and sat there dumbly while the phone rang.
​“911, what’s your emergency?” the voice on the phone suddenly said. Antonio’s stupor kept him from speaking for a moment, but when the woman repeated herself with considerably more irritation, he shook himself and started talking.
​“I’m at Belly’s on Avenue Q, and my friend fell and hit her head,” he said. “I work at a hospital and I’m here with a nurse, but we still need an ambulance.”
​“I’ve got one on the way. Does your friend have a pulse?” the woman on the line asked.
​“She’s unconscious, she has a pulse…Ernesto, ella esta esperando?” he asked.
​“She’s breathing shallowly, but yeah,” Ernesto said. “She doesn’t seem to be bleeding but she needs to be checked out by a doctor just in case.”
​Antonio relayed everything Ernesto was saying to the 911 operator, who calmly asked a few follow up questions. Antonio told her what he knew, and she kept trying to soothe his obvious panic with her calm demeanor, but it didn’t really penetrate. He somehow knew this was his fault, if he hadn’t agreed to come here Katie would be okay, maybe if he hadn’t had so much to drink they wouldn’t have been up on stage…
​The sound of sirens had never been so reassuring. When paramedics burst through the front door, Antonio stood up and waved at them, trying to get them to move faster without telling them what to do. Paramedics resented lab techs telling them what to do.
​They loaded Katie up onto a stretcher, listening to Ernesto as he brought them up to speed on what had happened. He didn’t sound like he’d had anything to drink. Antonio followed the paramedics out to the ambulance, and looked at Ernesto when they loaded her into the bay.
​“You go, Antonio,” Ernesto said. “They don’t need me anymore and you two are closer than I am.”
​“Gracias,” Antonio said, climbing into the back of the ambulance with one of the paramedics. He sat on the tiny seat on the side of the bay, and grasped Katie’s near hand between both of his own.

​“Honey, I’m fine, I swear. I wasn’t even hurt, no one was hurt, he just shot the wall.”
​Miranda strode down the mall’s walkway, talking to her best friend on her phone. She was engaging in some retail therapy, hitting up some of her favorite stores. She’d already perused Express and Hollister, and she was on the way to JC Penney and then maybe Aeropostale. A new t-shirt or three would be nice.
​“Oh, crap, I left my JC Penney card in my car,” she said. “I’ll call you back, okay?”
​“Okay, have a good time,” her friend said, before the phone call clicked off.
​Miranda looked around, trying to get her bearings. It was the day after the robbery, and no one was going to be working for at least a week while the lobby was a crime scene. They were getting paid vacation time, which was a luxury Miranda had never expected. She saw the Dillard’s where she’d come in, and headed that way.
​Once she was out in the sunshine, she decided that she wanted something to drink. She was debating the merits of an iced coffee over a smoothie as she walked toward her car when something struck her in the back and sent her sprawling on the asphalt.
​“What the hell?” she spat, pushing herself up. She turned around, but before she could see what happened, something hit her in the shoulder and sent her back down on the ground. She rolled and quickly got to her feet, shedding the bags of newly-purchased clothing and getting into a more stable stance, simultaneously thanking god for her choice to wear sneakers and the self-defense classes she’d taken. She wasn’t a black belt but she wasn’t an easy target either.
​Once she realized what she was dealing with, though, she started to get scared. She had four men surrounding her, and they weren’t ordinary guys. Each was wearing some kind of uniform, a black leather jacket over tacky black denim pants, and each had a differently colored wrist band of some kind of woven cloth Miranda couldn’t identify. The most obvious clue that they weren’t ordinary was the white fog clouding their eyes, like the way bad movies portray blind people.
​“What the hell is going on?” Miranda asked, not really expecting an answer. The man in front of her, white, bald, and slightly older, moved suddenly, and Miranda shifted her weight to meet a rush or a grab, but he didn’t move. Instead, he thrust his hand toward her, and his wristband burst into glowing blue light. Streaks of the light shot toward her, swirling around her. She felt pressure building on her skin as they swirled faster and faster, and fear built up inside her in response. Along with the fear came anger, and a sort of bubbling heat that filled her skin.
​The blue streaks that filled the air around her suddenly froze, and shattered, falling away into tiny sparkles, and a wave of barely-visible gray light ripped through the air, rushing through the four men. Cars all around her rocked, and several alarms started going off, but the men surrounding her were barely disturbed. Each of their jackets suddenly burst into light, as shining glyphs traced themselves across the leather, and gray sparks exploded off them.
​Miranda focused on the man who had sent the…the light at her, and another rush of bubbly heat flowed through her head. A smaller, denser, and more visible gray wave arced through the air, striking him squarely on the chest. The yellow glyphs glowing on his jacket coruscated again with gray sparks and tiny bolts of electricity, and several of the glyphs flickered, like light bulbs on their last few minutes of life.
​From her right, a green flash caught her eye. She turned to face it, and barely saw new streams of green light coming from that man. These didn’t swirl around her, they just struck her in the head, chest, and legs, sending her spiraling into darkness.

​“I think I’ve got the hang of it, Anthony.”
​“You’ve gotta practice more if you want to be a superhero, man!”
​Anthony and Andrew were in an empty field. There were patio chairs and stacks of aluminum cans scattered around them, and several glass bottles laying on their sides. Anthony was gesturing excitedly, but Andrew was just standing calmly.
​“I don’t want to be a super hero, Anthony,” Andrew said. “I just want to figure out what’s going on.”
​“But Andrew! It’s so classic! A supernatural event gave you these powers, you have to learn how they work so you can defeat your inevitable nemesis!” Anthony said, enthusiasm evident all over his body, from his voice to the excited way he was gesticulating wildly.
​Andrew raised an eyebrow. “My inevitable nemesis? Is Alan Tudyk my dialogue director?”
​Anthony threw up his hands. “Why am I cast as the unpowered but brilliant sidekick, O Masters of the Universe?” he asked dramatically, casting his voice to the heavens. “Why would you bestow your precious gift on one so unwilling?”
​“I didn’t say I was unwilling,” Andrew protested, though Anthony paid no attention.
​“Surely, ones so unknowable and unfathomable could change their minds! Surely, O Great Bestowers, you could do some Bestowing on one worthy and accepting of your magicks!” Anthony was at full roar, his much-neglected thespian side at the very surface. Andrew sighed, and let him continue his dramatic monologue. He turned to face another of the stacks of aluminum cans, and aimed at the center. With the proper application of force, Anthony insisted that the center can could be removed from the pyramid without knocking down any of the others.
​As he took aim, lining the top of his middle knuckle up with the center can, he saw something moving in the distance. The field was outside of town, and while there were roads all around them they were far from high traffic. It looked like someone was walking toward him, almost, but he could barely make out the figure. The sun was low in the sky but it was by no means dark out, and he should be able to clearly make out anyone walking toward them.
​A blur of motion from his right distracted him, and something struck him hard in the side. He tumbled to his right, landing on top of Anthony, who went down to the ground with a squawk. Andrew got to his feet, winded but not apparently injured.
​There were suddenly figures all around the pair of them, men all wearing a similar outfit, black leather jackets and dark pants. They were men and women, old and young, all races. Nothing seemed to link them together except for their uniforms and, Andrew suddenly noticed, their eyes. Glowing white fog floated across their eyes, making them look like some kind of badly animated zombie from a made-for-television movie.
​Andrew reached down and grabbed Anthony, pulling him to his feet without taking his eyes off the figures surrounding him. One man stood out from the rest. He was tall, and well-built, handsome and striking, with bright blond hair over tanned skin and piercing blue eyes. His face was attractive, but cast in an ugly, haughty glare. He alone wasn’t wearing the strange black jacket and pants combination, but instead wore a trendy black and white checkered button down shirt, tight blue jeans that showed off well-muscled legs, and a jaunty hat with – of all things – a blue feather proudly tucked into the hatband.
​“Someone’s practicing,” the blond man said. He gestured idly. “Take them both.”
​The man to the blond man’s left suddenly began to shimmer with otherworldly light. Andrew turned to face him, but as soon as he moved light sprang up around someone on the other side of the circle. Andrew and Anthony found themselves back to back, trying to keep everyone in sight.
​“Anthony, is this my inevitable nemesis?” Andrew asked, wriggling his fingers. Pleasant heat was building up in the metal attached to his fingers, and his face seemed to be getting warmer as well. They hadn’t yet figured out what any of the metal on his face did, and he definitely did not want to find out in the middle of a fight, possibly for his life.
​“It seems so,” Anthony said, all his earlier bravado gone. “They’re not supposed to show up until you’ve mastered your powers though.”
​The shimmering light was spreading between all of the men and women that had surrounded them, shades of orange and silver floating between each person. They seemed to be wearing glowing wristbands, but a few had shining necklaces and ankle bracelets as well. Andrew raised his hands, and tried to decide what he should do.
​By chance, he was looking in exactly the right direction when the trap sprang. All the light rushed around the circle into one person, the one who had started glowing first, just to the blond man’s left. Andrew flung both hands toward him, and all his chains lashed out, wrapping the man in a movement too quick to catch. Andrew yanked heavily to the right, and his chains threw the man to the right, knocking down figures like bowling pins.
​Behind him, he heard Anthony scream. He relaxed his hands, withdrawing his chains, and spun to see what was going on.
​A woman was standing next to Anthony, one hand with a large and gaudy ring placed flat on his chest. The ring was burning with an ugly green light, and streamers of it had arced into Anthony’s chest, like a sickly, ephemeral claw. Anthony was still screaming, his back arched like he was in unimaginable pain.
​Andrew swiped his hand through the air, and the metal coils around his fingers lashed out, slicing through the air. Instead of wrapping around the woman, whose face was still and impassive, the blank white eyes conveying only a sense of emptiness, the silvery lengths slammed down on her shoulder and sliced, sending a spray of blood into the hot, heavy air. The woman staggered and fell to her knees, but she maintained her contact with Anthony’s chest. His scream had died, and his face was pale and drawn. The wickedly green claw of green light was bright and solid looking, digging deeper into Anthony’s heart.
​Andrew snarled, his usual calm shattered by the threat to his best friend. He slashed at the air with both hands, slicing the woman with razor sharp strands of metal. The white light in her eyes dimmed and flickered, but that deadly green claw remained vivid and solid, until it finally winked out.
​Andrew fell to his knees beside Anthony, touching his face gently. His friend’s face was still and unresponsive. “Anthony?” he asked, heedless of the men and women closing in on him, still cloaked in shifting auras of delicate light. He shook his friend gently; Anthony’s head lolled lifelessly.
​Andrew closed his eyes, and stood. He did not scream his rage to the heavens. He did not look in the dead and unemotional eyes of his enemy and swear eternal vengeance. He merely stood, and thought of his best friend.
​Then he opened his eyes.
​Silently, without any warning, his arms glided through the air. The metal indelibly attached to his face began to give off a dull red light. As his arms floated through the air, delicate as leaves but implacable as meteors, silver threads darted out from his hands, each one plunging into one of the figures around him. At first, their clothing sparked and glowed, sudden glyphs shining on the leather, but each strike of Andrew’s metal projections made a glyph sputter out and die. The sudden speed of his onslaught was as unexpected as it was soundless, and the men and women closing in on him were caught completely off guard. The enchantments on their jackets soon collapsed under his attack, and they soon began to fall.
​Andrew no longer cared about disarming or incapacitating his assailants. His eyes shone with the same dull red light as his facial metal, like some sort of terrifying hell beast peering through him into the world.
​In a matter of moments, he stood in the center of ten bodies lying motionless on the ground. The demonic light on his face died, and his eyes returned to normal.
​“Very impressive,” a voice said. Andrew’s head jerked up moments before a blur of motion struck him. He crumpled to the ground, at the feet of the blond man, who had appeared as if from nowhere, hand extended into a blunt strike. “I should know better than to trust minions,” the man continued, rolling his eyes. He reached into the pocket of his jeans, and pulled out a pair of necklaces, each with a pair of charms hanging from it. He reached down and pulled the necklace over Andrew’s head; when it settled on the unconscious man’s chest, one of the charms shone with violet light, and he vanished. The blond man dropped the second necklace on his own neck, vanishing after a moment as well.

​“Nooooooooooo!”
​Rachel cursed and threw her controller down onto the floor. She was sitting on her couch in her living room, trying to relieve her boredom by playing a game on her PlayStation3, but she was terrible at gaming and she kept dying. She reached forward and slid her finger over the touch-sensitive power button on the console, simultaneously hitting the power button on her TV’s remote.
​She had been in her house for only a few hours, and she was already going off the walls. She was very attached to her schedule, and she hated not having her time carefully measured out into tasks. She had already cleaned every room in the house, caught up on all her laundry, and balanced her checkbook, a task she hadn’t done since online banking became a thing.
​She stood and walked to the bathroom. She put both hands on the counter and leaned forward, staring at her reflection in the mirror. She looked at herself and went through the same ritual she always did when she looked in the mirror.
​Pretty hair, pretty eyes. Mole on your left cheek, hair coming out of it, need to trim that. Double chin, wrinkles on your neck. Baggy shirt to hide your fat rolls, black is a slimming color on everyone but you. Need to lose twenty pounds by Thanksgiving, need to impress the parents.
​A green cloud, much like the kind she got when she closed her eyes and watched the play of light on her eyelids, washed over her vision. When it cleared, her reflection was nothing like what she expected.
​In the mirror, she saw herself, but the self she knew she could be if she only worked hard enough, dieted hard enough, had enough self-discipline. The mole was gone, and she slim, sexy, gorgeous. Her baggy black shirt and gray sweatpants were gone, replaced by a fetching black halter top that showed off the collarbones she hadn’t seen in years and tight white capris that drew attention to calves she’d never been proud of.
​In short, it was herself without any flaws.
​She stared into the mirror, stunned. She looked down at herself, and saw what the mirror was showing. She hesitantly reached down, laying her hands flat on her legs. They rested there easily. It was as if the fat had simply disappeared.
​She looked up again at the mirror, her mouth working soundlessly. Was she dreaming? Had she fallen asleep on the couch? Or maybe this was the last thing she’d ever seen, because an aneurysm had burst in her brain and she was dying.
​Another green wave washed over her sight, and when it retreated she was back to her normal, disgusting self. She shuddered, and the sight of the ripples chasing themselves around her body made her stomach clench so hard she turned around to kneel in front of the toilet, half convinced she was about to throw up.
​The moment passed, but she stayed down on the ground. Seeing herself as a goddess, as that beautiful person she knew was hiding inside under all those layers of fat, but having it ripped away was almost as bad as seeing the ugly duckling in the mirror every single day.
​She forced herself to her feet, and turned back to the mirror. “Something happened,” she said to the mirror. “You made me look beautiful. You can do it again.” She pointed at the mirror threateningly, glaring at it with her best teacher glare. “Bring back skinny me.” Her reflection stayed stubbornly fat. “Bring her back!” she repeated, more forcefully.
​No change.
​She sighed. It was pretty unlikely that she had a magic mirror that had waited this long to cast its spell. She turned to leave the bathroom, before she froze as a sudden thought hit her. Hadn’t she seen that same reflection at the gym, right before she’d fallen and hit her head? The moment flashed through her head, the green blooms of light and the brief sight of herself, but perfect.
​She turned back to the mirror, and there she was. Her hair, always her best feature, had been elevated even higher, into an elaborate, curled style that highlighted the cheekbones she suddenly had. She smiled, and put her hands on her hips, posing elaborately like the models she saw on television.
​Green light flickered around her, and where it flickered, accessories and decorations appeared. Her halter top gained patterns of rhinestones, and earring and rings appeared, all in matching shades of silver and green. A tiara appeared in her hair, deliberately askew.
​She smiled broadly. Even her teeth were blindingly white.
​“Whatever you are, magic mirror, what’s taken you so long?” she asked, reaching up to touch her new acquisitions. Her fingers met metal when she touched the earrings, and she could feel the tiara in her hair. Whatever magic was going on, she hoped it would never go away.
​“I guess I should find out if this works outside of the bathroom,” she said, turning to the door. She took a careful step toward the door, but it took a feat of extreme willpower to force herself through into the hallway.
​She immediately looked down and ran her hands down her legs. She still seemed to be skinny and gorgeous. She walked quickly into the living room of her apartment, and still no change. Every room she visited, the effect remained.
​She pulled her phone out of her pocket. It was unchanged, and she dialed her friend Matilda, who probably shouldn’t answer her phone while she was at work. That, of course, never stopped her, and her friend answered after a few rings.
​“Are you okay, Rachel?” she demanded. “Don’t tell me you’ve fallen again!”
​“Tils, I have incredible news,” she said. “How long til you get off for lunch?”
​“I can leave pretty much any time, I just have to be back at one. Why?”
​“Let’s meet. Where do you feel like eating?”
​“Um, I was going to go to Subway today?”
​“Great, I’ll meet you there in twenty minutes.” Rachel clicked the phone off and grabbed her keys. She walked out the door, locked up, and headed out to her car. She drove out of the parking lot to her apartment complex and merged into the pre-lunch traffic.
​She made good time and got to the restaurant. She saw Matilda’s minivan, so she checked her reflection in the rearview mirror, making sure it hadn’t faded like it did before. Tiny green sparkles floated around the side of her face, and she thought she could see a subtle change in the makeup that had applied itself to her face. All she cared was that she was still sexy and gorgeous…check. She got out of the car and walked through the parking lot, sure that every eye out on the street was suddenly fixed on her.
Rachel swept into the bright yellow sandwich shop, glancing through the room for Matilda. She spotted her friend at the end of the line, paying for her meal. She swept over to stand next to the soda fountain, already impatient with the desire to see her friend's reaction when she saw Rachel's transformation.
Matilda walked up to the soda fountain with her paper cup, and hovered there uncomfortably. Rachel waited expectantly, but Matilda never met her eyes. Eventually, she looked sort of at Rachel's shoulder and coughed awkwardly.
"Excuse me, can I get in here?" Matilda asked. Rachel shook her head.
"Look at me, silly," she said. Matilda's eyes widened at the sound of Rachel's voice, and she looked at Rachel's face.
"Rachel! Holy shit, what happened?"
Rachel's smile spread wide across her face. "Let's sit down so you can eat," she offered. Matilda looked down at the forgotten bag and cup in her hand, then laughed nervously and nodded. She quickly filled the cup with diet soda, then the two of them made their way to a booth next to a window.
Rachel filled Matilda in on her apparently-magical mirror. Matilda asked a few questions, but as Rachel didn't really understand what was going on any more than Matilda did, they didn't go far.
"So you look in the mirror and you just change," Matilda finally said, leaning back in her seat. "How long does it last?"
"I've been like this at least half an hour, maybe more," Rachel said. "The first time it was only a second, but this one seems to be staying just fine. Do you see anything changing?"
Matilda studied her carefully. "You look the same as you have since you got here. Do you think this magic mirror will work for other people?"
Rachel shrugged. "I haven't gotten to experiment with it, have I?" she asked. A thought struck her. "You know, when I looked in my rearview mirror, right when I got here? A similar thing happened. It was just my makeup, though. What if it's all mirrors? Like, some kind of crazy government experiment with mirror factory people?" As the words came out of her mouth, she lowered her voice so that no one could hear how crazy she sounded.
Matilda promptly reached into her purse and pulled out a compact mirror. "Make me gorgeous," she told it frankly, then stared expectantly. Rachel looked carefully, but she saw no telltale green light, nor any noticeable change in Matilda's appearance.
"Why don't you try it?" Matilda asked, after a few more seconds of waiting. She closed the compact and extended her arm to Rachel. Rachel took the compact and opened it carefully, looking into the tiny, round glass.
After a moment, a burst of sparkling green dust, almost like glitter, floated out of the compact and into Rachel's face. She sneezed, setting the compact down on the table and wiping her suddenly running eyes. She barely heard Matilda's sharp intake of breath.
"Rachel, look, you have to look at yourself," Matilda said, her voice shaky. "I think you did it wrong."
When Rachel's sneezes subsided, and she could see clearly again, she looked again into the small mirror, and gasped. Her face looked almost the same, except she was covered in horrific acne pustules. She flicked her fingers at the mirror, saying "Go away! Go away!" Tiny sparks of green light flickered in her reflection, and the acne vanished, leaving her face the way it had been.
"Rachel, I think it's you," Matilda said slowly. "It's not the mirror at all. Somehow, you're doing this to yourself."
"You've read too many bad vampire novels," Rachel said, trying for a dismissive tone of voice, but inside she was wondering the same thing. Did she have some sort of new, magical power over her own appearance? Could she change the appearance of others?
She looked at Matilda, and tried to imagine her friend with red hair. She focused on the image, staring intently at Matilda's hair. Slowly, at first so slow she almost thought she was imagining it, tiny sparks of green light appeared and vanished in Matilda's hair. One must have been bright enough that Matilda saw it out of the corner of her vision, because she made a strangled squeaking sound and started batting at the air around her head.
Rachel lost her mental focus, and the image she had been concentrating on vanished from her mind. Matilda's hair didn't seem to have changed color at all, but obviously the green light had really been there.
"What did you do to me?" Matilda asked, snatching the compact from where it sat on the table, looking at her reflection worriedly. "What did you change?"
"I was trying to see if your hair would change colors. I don't think it did, though," Rachel answered. "Do you see anything different?"
Matilda set the compact down and pulled the end of her hair out in front of her, though it really wasn't long enough for her to make any sort of careful study of it. "What color?" she asked. "Please don't tell me you were making me silver!"
"Why would I do that?" Rachel asked, stung. "I was going for red."
"Ugh, with my skin? I'm glad you couldn't do it," Matilda said, making a scoffing sound in the back of her throat. "Please don't do that again unless I ask, Rachel. That's kind of scary."
Rachel tried not to show the sudden sinking feeling in her stomach on her face. "Okay, Tils, I'm sorry. You're right, I should have asked," she said, trying to come across as remorseful and not hurt. "Has anything crazy gone on at school today?"
Matilda smiled at her, her eyes saying All forgiven! "Well, I heard someone talking about this thing in New York City last night, about a ballerina losing her temper and just taking the prima donna role, right there on stage, in front of God and everyone..."

"...her heart rate is stable, her breathing is normal, everything seems to be fine, sir."
Antonio was sitting in Katie's hospital room, listening to her doctor read off her stats. Her father, who had driven down to the hospital in Lubbock from Amarillo, listened to the doctor numbly. Katie's parents weren't in the medical field at all; her father was a truck driver for an oilfield and her mother was a secretary at one of the elementary schools in Amarillo. When the doctor finished listing her stats, h

Hello, my many and varied readers! It is November, and I thus have created this journal because I don't like Blogger very much and LiveJournal is hard. I will be posting weekly updates on my NaNoWriMo progress as well as various informational posts.

Here's the info on this year's novel!

Title: Evocation(working title)
Summary: Men and women around America find themselves suddenly able to control the world around them. A bank teller who can channel the power in a storm, a struggling waiter who can make the songs on his iPod reality, and a clothing store owner who can enchant anything that someone wears. Some can take the burden of power and contribute to society. Some would rather use their new abilities to take advantage of the world.
Genre: Urban fantasy