Author's Note: This is my third story in the Fifi series (fourth if you include Mockumentary), but not to worry, I've written things so that you don't need to have read the others to enjoy this little romp. It leans in heavily on the comedy, but since I patterned this "holiday special" after A Christmas Carol, it also touches on some heavier issues that weigh on our hero. I think you'll like it! However, a little warning: although I promise a happy and satisfying ending, I'm intentionally not wrapping up every loose thread, since those will play into future stories. (Which I have partially written already, so hopefully it won't be as long between episodes!)

Special thanks go out to Fraylim for both providing the artwork, and for suggesting the story with his terrific artwork below!

My Uncle Fifi: The Christmas in July Holiday Special

Story by Jenny North
Artwork by Fraylim

In order to fully appreciate the awe and wonder experienced by the characters in this tale, I feel obligated to point out that Santa Claus is not, in fact, real. Nor are magical elves. Nor for that matter are spirits. (Here I am referring to ghostly paranormal visitors from beyond the veil of death and not alcoholic beverages, which are indeed quite real. You may even wish to partake of one as you enjoy this story, if you feel so inclined.) Normally I would hope that all of this would go without saying, but given that the television show Ghost Hunters now spans 14 seasons and boasts over 250 episodes, one learns not to make assumptions.

To better illustrate my point, normally this is when I would make a lovely metaphor about the ghost of Hamlet's father just as Charles Dickens did in A Christmas Carol, except that I have to wonder how many of you have read the Bard. So, for the benefit of modern audiences, instead let me say that if we or Luke Skywalker had believed that ghosts were real at the beginning of Star Wars, then Obi-Wan Kenobi's third-act return as a Force Ghost would have been unremarkable, rather than being a sharp narrative device that emphasized the power and mysticism of the Force, guided Luke to blow up the Death Star, and locked Sir Alec Guinness into two more movies, by the end of which he no doubt dearly wished he had never so much as heard the name George Lucas.

That having been said, Terry Riley, the central subject of our tale, had recently begun to consider the possibility of powers greater than himself. Not that he actually believed in such supernatural goings-on, but to quote Calvin (the comic strip character, not the 16th-century philosopher), "SOMEbody's out to get me." Which, to be fair, was not a wholly unreasonable assumption on Terry's part. For in a desperate bid to get enough money to run from his copious gambling debts, Terry had earlier volunteered himself for what he believed to be some mundane medical experiments which instead had the unexpected and wholly improbable outcome of transforming him literally overnight into a busty and curvaceous specimen of womanhood...his remaining manhood notwithstanding.

Oh! What a buxom and shapely female did Terry make! Even more so when clad in the French maid's uniforms he soon found himself habitually wearing. A comely bit of mostly-female flesh that did not go unnoticed by the gangster to whom Terry owed a small fortune. Forced to pass himself off as a maid with the unlikeliest sobriquet of "Angelique Isabeaux," he swished his petticoats most girlishly as he attempted to distract the amorous mobster from discovering the surprise secreted inside Terry's ruffled panties. He—

"What the hell are you doing?"

...Um, it was Terry Riley who spoke. He was alluringly clad in a striking scarlet sequined evening gown, and his long chestnut locks framed his beautifully made-up face, which at the moment sported a rather incensed expression. His plush feminine curves filled out his dress in a fetching way, secreting his manh—

"Oh my God, are you kidding me with this? Knock it off."

I can't. I'm narrating. I'm the Narrator. I'm establishing the dramatis personae for tonight's performance.

"Really. Because I can't help but notice that you've gone out of your way to mention my dingus like four times. Way to put the dick in Dickens."

I take exception to that. I've met the Queen, you know. And I'll have you know that the unique tone of the narration is one of the distinguishing characteristics of A Christmas Carol.

"Also, the fact that it's in the public domain."

Ahem. Yes, well. However, I did also mention your beauty. In fact, Terry's magnificent heaving breasts, full and supple, were—

"Move it along, Shakespeare."

...

...Terry Riley was passably charming in an unsophisticated sort of way—

"Aaaand, you're fired. Right, we're doing this without Sir Patrick Stupid, here. 'Hire a famous English actor to do the narration,' they said. 'It'll class this thing up,' they said. Unbelievable. Ten seconds into this thing, and I'm already breaking the fourth wall..."

Terry Riley was having a fantastically bad day. Like bad on the grand epic scale. It wasn't, however, the absolute worst day of his entire life, because for that particular gold medal status there was some surprisingly formidable competition.

The second worst day of his life had taken place following his medical misadventure where he woke up to find his body transformed into a curvaceous feminine shape that would give a social media influencer bimbo a run for her money. That was of course the same day that he found himself unwittingly becoming the housekeeper for his brother's family. A housekeeper who wore a French maid uniform all the time. Which was also the day when he became "Angelique," a name he took from a stripper. And thanks to a case of mistaken identity (and a bit of arm twisting from a pair of artless FBI agents), that day Terry had also found himself becoming the girlfriend of Lucius Delgado, head of the Delgado crime family.

That had also been a particularly shitty day. But not, he reminded himself, the worst day of his life.

He didn't like to think about that day.

He pushed the thought out of his mind, contenting himself that this latest steaming crapcake of a day was at least mercifully winding to a close, and it would have to be satisfied with taking home the bronze.

But unfortunately for Terry, the day wasn't quite over yet.

It was nearly midnight, and he found himself curled up in the passenger seat of Lucius Delgado's sporty sedan. The stern-faced man was driving them home, and Terry quietly busied himself by fussing at the petticoats that adorned his skimpy and low-cut French maid's uniform. Although such outfits were de rigueur for his daytime duties, it was unusual for Terry to wear them in the evenings, especially on a date with Delgado, who tended to prefer Angelique in the tight minidresses that were scant practically to the point of non-existence. And Terry, eager to keep the gangster distracted and off-balance, wasn't shy about taking advantage, no matter how personally humiliating.

However, Terry's attire had hardly been the most unusual thing about the events that had transpired that evening. Not that Delgado seemed particularly keen to talk about any of them.

The silence in the car was making Terry crazy. In public, Delgado often tended to be a man of few words, but in private he could be quite talkative, especially when he was worked up about something. So the fact that he was obviously incensed and yet still not saying anything put Terry on edge. He'd said very little after the two of them had left his daughter Krystal's new art exhibit, but that in itself wasn't unusual since given the people in attendance, he likely didn't want to cause a scene. However, given what had happened, Terry fully expected the gangster to read him the riot act after they were alone in the car.

Except he didn't. And the silent treatment wasn't Delgado's style. Or at least it hadn't been until now.

"You're quiet tonight," Terry said, probing gently. "Did everything go well with your business meeting?"

Terry had made an effort to get intel on Delgado's gangland summit meeting that had also taken place that evening, but circumstances had worked against him. So normally he might have assumed that the gangster's taciturn disposition was the result of bad news at the meeting—and that was still a distinct possibility—but he had a sinking feeling that this sour mood was directed specifically at him, and for reasons that were a good deal more personal.

Delgado said nothing, so Terry attempted to sweeten the deal a little bit by reaching out for the man's hand in a supportive way, trying to play the part of the devoted girlfriend.

Delgado pulled his hand away.

"Fine," Terry said, his tone a bit more snippy than he intended. Desperate for something to fill the uncomfortable silence, he reached for the radio and turned it on. It was already tuned to an oldies station that Delgado favored.

"Turn it off."

"But—"

"Turn it off!"

"Okay, fine," said Terry as he turned off the music. "We'll just sit here in silence. I don't care."

A full five seconds passed.

"This is bullshit," Terry complained. "If you have something to say to me, Lucius, just say it."

Terry knew that he was treading on dangerous ground by taking such a challenging tone with the mob boss, but it was a calculated risk. He'd noticed that while his clumsy feminine wiles were only sporadically effective on the man, one of the things that Delgado appreciated about Angelique was her ability to talk to him directly, like a man. An irony that wasn't lost on Terry.

Delgado gripped the steering wheel tightly. "You think I'm a fool? You think I don't see what's going on right underneath my own nose?"

"Nothing happened!" Terry protested.

"Dammit!" Delgado hit the steering wheel in frustration and took a breath through gritted teeth. Terry wasn't used to seeing the man physically angry—and certainly never at him—and he suddenly felt very vulnerable in his skimpy French maid's costume. Even as a man Terry had never been the physical type, and the medical mishap that had turned him into a woman had also done a number on his male muscles. If this confrontation turned physical, Terry realized there might not be much he could do to defend himself. He did his best to put on a brave face, but he squirmed in his seat a little.

Delgado glanced over at Terry and then stared at the road. "Do you remember the first day we met?"

"Of course," Terry said, carefully omitting the fact that the day to which the man was referring had technically been the second day they'd met. The first time was when Terry had still been a man, and...it hadn't gone well.

"You told me that you didn't want there to be any secrets between us."

"I did," Terry said. His mind raced as he tried to catalog the copious secrets he was keeping from the man, wondering where this was going.

"And I told you that in my world, trust is everything. That I needed to trust you."

"You can! Lucius, if this is about me finding Terry Riley, I'll do that! I've already explained to you why he—"

"No!" he yelled. "Dammit, Angelique, I care for you, but we are running out of time. You've always got some excuse."

Terry's face flushed at the accusation. Ostensibly, he was supposed to be finding Terry Riley—finding himself!—for Delgado, although the gangster had never given him a clear reason for the urgency.

"And then there was what happened tonight..." Delgado said, as an ominous tone crept into his voice.

Terry sat up quickly. "Now that—that was not my fault!" he said, leaping to his own defense. "Nothing happened, I swear!"

"Well, which is it, Angelique? Nothing happened, or something happened and it wasn't your fault?"

"Ooh!" Terry steamed, feeling a bit of righteous indignation stir up within him. "Don't you dare make this about me! I have been nothing but loyal to you!" he lied. But since he'd worked up a good head of steam, he decided to press his advantage. "Oh, and on the subject of loyalty, are we not going to talk about that stunt that Krystal pulled tonight? She humiliated me and disrespected you!"

"You told me that you were fine with it."

"Well, I lied," Terry spat back. "How could I possibly have been okay with what she did? But do you know why I lied? Because I knew that tonight was important to you, and I didn't want you distracted. That's the kind of loyalty I have for you, Lucius! That's how much I care!"

It was a weak argument, but Terry's anger was genuine. He still bristled as he recollected what had happened earlier that evening, but he hoped that Delgado would be sufficiently swayed by the passion of his argument, even if his motivations were suspect. But he certainly didn't expect the reaction that he got.

"So what are you going to do about it?" Delgado asked.

Terry blinked in confusion. "What do you mean, me? She's your daughter."

Delgado let out a low grumble. "Angelique, I am...willing...to take your word about what happened tonight. But if you want to be my woman, then you have to abide by certain rules."

"Meaning what?"

"The women in my world enjoy having positions next to powerful men. And I have to accept the simple but unfortunate reality that such an arrangement inevitably gives rise to scheming, posturing, and infighting. But I need you to understand that I don't give a tinker's damn about any of that. In fact, the only time I will care is if that petty bickering somehow manages to interfere with my business. And if that ever happens, I guarantee that the people pulling that playground bullshit will be swiftly and painfully made to understand their place in the order of things."

"You want me to take care of it my own damn self, is that it?"

"That's right," he said as he took a hard look at Terry. "Angelique, you're a smart girl, and I want to trust you. But make no mistake, you being involved with me means you're applying for a job. And that job entails you keeping all of that bullshit out of my hair so I can do my job."

"So you're throwing me into the snake pit."

"No, you jumped into the snake pit with both feet. I'm just making sure you appreciate the magnitude of that decision."

Delgado took a final turn and stopped the car, and Terry peered out the window to see that they'd pulled into the driveway outside Terry's place.

Most evenings, Delgado would gallantly exit the car first and come around to Terry's door to open it, and offer his hand. He'd then escort Terry to the door and they'd share a goodnight kiss. Tonight, however, the gangster had simply pulled up in front of the house and waited for Terry to get out.

Clearly, Terry still had some bridge mending to do.

Terry welcomed the opportunity to miss out on the night's kiss and grope, but being in the gangster's doghouse was not something he was accustomed to or comfortable with, since it could have dangerous consequences. So instead, he gave Delgado a perfunctory kiss goodnight in the car, and then made a point to put some extra oomph in his step to give the man a little thrill at watching his swaying backside. As he reached the front door, Terry then summoned the last of his emotional reserves and faked a big toothy smile, looked back at the idling sports car, and blew a sexy kiss to the rugged mob boss with the silver-gray hair.

Delgado's expression remained inscrutable as he looked at Terry, not even bothering to wave back.

Through his forced smile, Terry muttered to himself, "Yeah, well, screw you, too. This wasn't how I thought my day was going to go, either."

The house was dark, and Terry retrieved his keys to open the front door. The place belonged to Dave and Bonnie, Terry's brother and sister-in-law, who lived there along with their two daughters, Claire and Madison. Dave and Bonnie were of course oblivious to all of the gangland shenanigans, so they'd bought into Terry's desperate lie that he was a transsexual who had overnight come bursting out of the closet, all lipstick, cleavage, and petticoats.

So, Dave and Bonnie were happy to have "Angelique" living there as their housekeeper.

Delgado, for his part, wanted Terry Riley's head on a platter since Terry owed him an exorbitant sum of money, and had enlisted Angelique to work at the Rileys until she could find out where Terry was hiding.

Meanwhile, the two FBI agents had enlisted Terry to get in bed with Delgado (figuratively) until he could dig up something suitably incriminating.

Everybody wanted something, and nobody was ever satisfied. And given what had happened that evening with Delgado, Terry was quickly running past the time where he could get by with a wink and a smile and empty promises. He was at the end of his rope...or more specifically, his apron strings.

He opened the door and went inside. He didn't even bother to look back as he closed the door behind him, but if that left Delgado frustrated, then he could damn well take a number.

Unusually, even for this time of night, the spacious foyer was pitch black, which only served to annoy Terry more. "Why not? I'm only the help," he muttered bitterly under his breath. Although as he reached over to flip on the light switch, he counted his blessings that at least with everyone in bed, all the bullshit was done for the day.

"SURPRISE!"

Hanging out with Delgado and his goons had kept Terry on a knife edge of anxiety in constant fear of discovery, so for the first time he was glad that his FBI handlers hadn't seen fit to give him a gun, or he might have come out shooting. As it was, he saw the smiling faces of Dave, Bonnie, Claire, and Madison looking right at him.

"What...?" he managed as they came out of their hiding places.

"Happy birthday, sis!" his brother Dave said. Terry was tired and the hour was late, but for some reason he always bristled at being called "sis." It had always bothered Terry how quickly his brother had adapted to calling Terry by female pronouns after his "coming out," especially given how Terry himself was still grappling with being called by said pronouns.

"Happy birthday, Angelique," Bonnie and the girls echoed. The girls sounded earnest, while the apparent lack of sarcasm from his sister-in-law suggested that Dave had likely sworn her to remain on her best behavior.

No one else was there besides the four family members, but behind them Terry could see that they'd set out a spread of food and drinks, a smattering of decorations, and a banner made up of individual hanging letters that spelled out, "HAPPY BIRTHDAY ANGELIQUE."

"I made the banner," the ten-year-old Madison volunteered.

"What are you talking about?" her teenage sister said. "You had nothing to do with it. I made that."

"Yeah, but I already took credit for it. You should call dibs next time."

Bonnie looked at Terry and broke out into a sly smile. "Wow, speechless? That's a side of you I could get used to," she teased.

Terry had so far said nothing, but his eyes were riveted on the female name on the banner. He tore his eyes away from it and shoved his way past them.

"Bah, humbug. I'm going to bed," he announced as he marched past them and up the stairs, leaving the startled family behind him as they looked at each other in bewilderment.

A few minutes later, Terry sat on the edge of his bed, having just slipped off the hated high heels. He let out a nearly orgasmic gasp of relief as he curled his toes into the carpet.

His eyes drifted upwards, and he caught sight of his reflection in the mirror. Even now, months after his transformation, he still couldn't believe he was looking at himself. Any trace of the male Terry had been obliterated under the layers of makeup, and what little remained was further obscured by all the other myriad distractions...the big teased hair, the glittering jewelry, the skimpy and skanky French maid's costume that hugged his transformed body. It was no surprise that Delgado had believed that Angelique was a stripper, because Terry certainly looked the part.

The sad thing was, Terry kind of liked the view. He just wished it wasn't in a mirror.

His eyes drifted downward to his big boobs that were pressed together into a fairly awe-inspiring cleavage, compliments of a push-up bra that Terry couldn't wait to remove. His nipped-in waist led down to an equally profound set of hips, and a prodigiously rounded ass. The one good thing—probably the only good thing—about wearing those stupid French maid's uniforms all the time was that at least his big butt was hidden under a froth of petticoats. It wasn't much consolation.

There was a soft knock at the door and Terry groaned.

"Claire, I'm really not in the mood," he said as he opened the door, figuring his teenage niece would be the one "volunteered" by the family to go check on him.

As a result, Terry was thrown off guard when he saw Dave standing there.

"Feel like talking?" he asked.

Terry narrowed his eyes and expelled a long, slow breath. "Look, Dave, I love you like a brother—"

"I am your brother."

"Exactly. And at the moment, I'm prepared to meet whatever legally required minimum threshold that entails. So if you need one of my kidneys or something, hit me up in the morning. But I'm really not in the mood for any of that psychological mumbo jumbo jiu-jitsu junk you pull on me."

"Oh. I didn't know I did that," Dave said casually.

"Don't you dare pretend like you don't remember. You pulled that crap on me when we were kids after you broke my model airplane, and then you silently guilted me for a week with those puppy dog looks when I wouldn't accept your apology."

"Oh, good, so you do feel like talking, then," Dave said. He edged past Terry to enter the room and sat down on the bed.

Terry let out a low grumble as he turned to look at his brother. Dave had a supportive but earnest expression on his face, as though seeing his little brother standing there dressed up in a frilly and lacy dress with a dangerously low neckline that showed off his big boobs was the most natural thing in the world. It was times like this when Terry felt particularly awkward in his impersonation. It was one thing to play at being the bubbly and sexy Angelique to try and win over Lucius Delgado, but it was something else entirely for his brother to see him like this. It made things more real, somehow.

"The girls are bummed. They were looking forward to your party. They put a lot of work into it, y'know."

Terry waggled his finger back and forth at his brother. "No. Nice try. Screw you with that guilt. I'm on to you. Your Jedi mind tricks won't work on me, boy."

Dave gave a little smile but said nothing. Terry squirmed uncomfortably under his brother's gaze, but then sat down next to him on the bed. He made a face as he wondered if that had been part of Dave's scheme to get him to open up. It bothered him that it was working.

"It wasn't much of a party, anyway," Terry grumped. "You didn't even invite anybody."

It was a cheap shot, and Terry knew it. As Angelique he didn't really have any friends since he couldn't risk Delgado figuring out that Terry and Angelique were the same person, so it wasn't like Terry had been keeping up with many of his old buddies.

"Yeah," Dave said. "I was going to invite your 'Sleazy Cindy' stripper friend, but I didn't have her number. And I'm pretty sure Bonnie doesn't want her in the house ever again."

Terry gave his brother a dubious look. "You're pretty sure?"

Dave cleared his throat. "I'm 100% sure," he conceded. "She was very clear on the matter."

Terry nodded. "Yeah, that's fair." It had been a disastrous dinner party, although the sight of the uptight FBI Agent Samm dressed up as a stripper looking to party had been a highlight.

"I, uh, take it that your date didn't go well?"

The question brought Terry up short. As Angelique, he tried to woo Delgado into giving up some incriminating information, but he'd kept it a secret from Dave and Bonnie. Partially that was to keep them safe from the gangster's notice, but also to cover his embarrassment. It was bad enough for his brother to think he was a transsexual, much less one with a fetish for older guys.

Terry snorted. "You have no idea."

"Sorry. I know you and Lucius are...close."

Terry couldn't help scoffing. In point of fact, he was outright terrified of the man. Delgado was a ruthless gangster, and every time he looked at him as Angelique, Terry thought that would be the moment when the mobster saw through the makeup to realize that the man he was hunting for was very much closer than he realized. But of course his brother Dave knew none of this. As far as he and Bonnie were concerned, Delgado was their next door neighbor and was just a middle-aged pizza baron...his legitimate business cover for his criminal enterprise. A man who his little sister Angelique was dating.

Dave broke into a knowing smile. "You know, before you did—all this—" he said as he gestured vaguely at Terry's body, "—I actually thought you had kind of a thing for his daughter Krystal."

A self-satisfied grin crossed Terry's face and he wagged his eyebrows. In a strange way the question moved him onto more familiar ground, reminding him of when he would have little man-to-man chats with his older brother when he would not so subtly brag about his sexual conquests.

"Huh," Dave said. But as he read Terry's expression, he said, "...But not anymore, right? I'm mean, now that you're... And of course she's... And you're dating her father...?"

"I'm still allowed to check out the merchandise," Terry asserted as he tried to ignore the fact that he was sporting very similar merchandise, himself.

Dave looked over at the clock on the dresser which read 11:59. "Fine, suit yourself. You don't have to tell me what's going on. But you can't stop me from wishing my little sister happy birthday one last time."

"Too late," Terry said, noting that the clock had just changed to midnight.

Dave put his arm around Terry's shoulders and pulled him into a loose hug as he kissed the top of Terry's head before getting up and heading towards the door. It had been a casual and carefree expression of support, so he certainly had no reason to expect Terry to bristle at the gesture.

But he did.

In Dave's defense, he had no idea just how much Terry hated being Angelique, nor to the degree he'd been objectified, patronized, condescended to, and ridiculed since his transformation. So while on any other evening Terry might have just quietly let it pass, after the night he'd had, he wasn't feeling nearly so charitable. Dave's seemingly infantilizing gesture managed to get on his very last nerve, and his brother had unwittingly marked himself as a convenient target for Terry to vent his ire.

Terry stiffened up and rose to his feet as he glared at his brother. "What the fuck was that?" he snapped.

Dave turned to face him. "I'm sorry?" he asked, bewildered to see Terry spoiling for a confrontation.

"I'm not a little girl."

"I never said that you—"

"I may run around in these stupid dresses with lace and petticoats, but I'm not some little girl," Terry repeated. "I don't need your pity. And I definitely don't need your condescending Father Knows Best pep talks like you'd give to Madison after she failed to make the soccer team or whatever."

Dave held up his hands in surrender. "Whoa. Hey, Angelique, I didn't mean anything by it. I'm just worried about you. We all are. Where's this coming from?"

"It's coming from the same place where I got these," Terry snapped as he gave his breasts a firm grope. "You're worried about me? One day I up and turn into a woman, and you barely raise an eyebrow. I run around dressed as a horny coed in a sexy Halloween costume, and you never once asked me why."

Dave folded his arms. "I didn't have to. You told us. You said that your therapist said this was good for you. Because as a guy you used to objectify women, and this was to give you some insight and make you a better woman now that you're transitioning."

"And you believed that crock of shit?"

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Terry fought to hide his wince. It was blindingly stupid of him to challenge Dave on this, and there were a million good reasons why the lie was preferable, not the least of which was protecting his family from the mess that he'd gotten into with the gangster who lived next door. But given the evening he'd had, all of the lies were starting to wear heavy on him. He wasn't even sure what he'd say if Dave took him up on his dare and asked him for the truth.

The question hung for a long pregnant moment as the two siblings faced each other. Eventually Dave let out a heavy sigh as he rubbed the back of his neck.

"I'm not a complete idiot, Angelique. I don't know why you do what you do, but honestly, I never used to know what the hell you were thinking most days as Terry, either. You were always looking for an edge or an angle. You want to know why I never asked why you decided to be a woman or why you dress the way you do? It's because I knew that whatever you told me would be just another lie. But I figured you'd tell me when you were ready. Are you ready?"

Terry maintained his glare, his prettily made-up eyes meeting his brother's gaze. "Maybe I just don't want to do anything to fuck up your perfect family, with your perfect house and your perfect marriage and perfect everything, where you're happy all the time."

Something changed in Dave's expression, but he quickly covered it up and nodded. "You don't mean that. Get some sleep, we'll talk in the morning if you want to," he said as he turned and opened the bedroom door. As he took a step through, he paused for a moment at the threshold and looked back. "I'm not perfect, Angelique. Nobody is. And nobody is happy all the time. That's just life," he said before pulling the door shut behind him.

Once the door closed, Terry found himself once again faced with the full-length mirror that was mounted there, confronted with the image of the sexy French maid with the perfect makeup and long chestnut hair in her skimpy dress. He violently tore the lacy hairband that was perched in his hair and threw it across the room and then pulled on his hair and let out a muffled cry of anguish. He stumbled backwards to the bed and sat down and held his head in his hands. His hair fell down around his face and framed his heaving bosom, and with every breath he could feel elements of the feminine prison he found himself trapped within. The tug of his earrings, the taste of his lipstick, the smell of his perfume, the soft touch of his petticoats and silk stockings.

"I can't do this anymore," he said to himself. "I can't. I can't. I can't do this by myself."

Terry took a ragged breath as he felt his emotions roiling inside of him. Dave had meant well, but now he felt even more like a slutty young woman who'd just gotten a patronizing visit from her father. Once again a power dynamic had changed, and once again Terry had gotten the short end of the stick. And tomorrow morning when he woke up, he'd dress himself up in yet another humiliating French maid outfit so that he could be bossed around by everybody.

He scowled as he stood up and headed for the bathroom to get ready for bed and scrub all of his makeup off. It was the one time he got a chance to see his male face anymore, and tonight more than most he wanted that reminder, because it seemed like everyone in his life had forgotten that Terry Riley ever existed.

Except for the gangster who wanted him dead.

Later that night, Terry started awake to the sound of the grandfather clock chiming downstairs. It was still pitch black outside, but even in the darkness of the room, the first thing that he noticed was the dwarf standing beside his bed.

Terry casually reached over and turned the bedside light on its lowest setting even as he blearily brushed his long locks of hair out of his face and calmly put his feet over the edge of the bed. He absently scratched an itch on his boob and sighed as he looked down at the impressive cleavage that was on display in the red satin nightie that he wore. He didn't remember putting it on—in fact he didn't remember owning such a garment—but to his consternation he had to admit that it showcased his feminine curves in fascinating and provocative ways.

He sat on the edge of his bed for a moment and silently regarded the intruder in his bedroom. The man was minuscule of stature, three feet tall at most. He looked to be middle-aged, with white hair and a receding hairline that was still visible despite the Santa-style hat that was perched jauntily on his head. In fact, his entire outfit looked like a Christmas costume run amok, decorated with a variety of bells that would doubtless make quite a racket when he walked.

The two of them made eye contact for a long moment, and then Terry sighed again and stood up. He stumbled slightly and paused to look down to see that he was wearing red high-heeled slippers. They were 5" spike stilettos with big red pouffy marabou feathers on the front, fetishy and ridiculous, like something out of a Fredericks of Hollywood catalog. He took one look at them and snorted derisively, thinking he'd have to be out of his mind to own or wear such ridiculous footwear, but he left them on.

The diminutive intruder seemed to be slightly perplexed at Terry's lack of reaction to his presence, but straightened up and appeared to be about ready to make some dramatic proclamation. However, he stopped short when Terry casually yawned and turned away to make his way over into the adjoining bathroom, leaving the little man standing there, looking flummoxed.

As he entered the bathroom, Terry didn't bother to turn on the bathroom light and merely raised the hem of his nightie and lowered his panties as he stood to relieve himself into the toilet.

After he finished his business, he rearranged his panties and nightie and then quickly washed his hands, pausing to admire his reflection in the mirror. He looked especially good at the moment, he thought. He had a sexy "bed head" of hair and was fully and dramatically made up with come-hither eyeshadow and a comely shade of scarlet red lipstick to accentuate his feminine pout. The colors were dramatic but suited the dark red nightie that he wore, a sexy and diaphanous boudoir nightgown that put his big boobs on copious display and was cut almost scandalously high on the sides to give a terrific view of his curvy hips and long sexy legs.

Terry again noted that he didn't own any such outfit as he admired his reflection, looking for all the world like a very sensual and provocative present just waiting to be unwrapped. Nor did he recall putting on his makeup before bed, and certainly not so invitingly.

He fluttered his long eyelashes and then returned to bed, walking past the dwarf who stared at him before reaching over and turning off the bedside lamp with another yawn.

Terry curled up with the pillow as he tried to get comfortable and snuggled into his bed sheets. A moment later, there was a jingling of bells that moved over to the light switch, followed by the click of the overhead light as it brightly illuminated the room.

"Ugh," Terry groaned in complaint as he rolled over and pulled the covers over his head.

"Hey," the dwarf said.

"Ugh," Terry repeated, his voice muffled under the covers. "Go away, Peter Dinklage."

The dwarf stood there, bewildered. "Come again?"

"Stupid Peter Dinklage dream," Terry muttered to himself as he wrapped his pillow around his head.

A moment later, there was another soft jingling of bells that moved closer to the bed, and then Terry felt as his bed covers were slowly and inexorably being pulled away. As they slid down to uncover his body, Terry gripped the sheets tightly and got into a fierce tug-of-war even as he kept his head firmly planted on the pillow.

As the sheets were forcibly yanked out of his grip and Terry was left fully exposed on the bed in his skimpy nightie, he bolted upright and glared at the intruder. "What the fuck, Peter Dinklage!"

"I'm not Peter Dinklage, and you're not dreaming," the dwarf responded. His voice was surprisingly low and gruff and sounded annoyed, but he looked ridiculous in his festive Christmas-themed outfit.

Terry clambered out of bed, and as he did so he took a closer look at the dwarf and decided that this man wasn't, in fact, Peter Dinklage. But that was as far as he was willing to go.

"Of course I'm dreaming. You're a dwarf dressed like a holiday lawn ornament. You're in my bedroom. And I certainly don't dress like this when I go to bed. Plus, I'll have you know that I have a very creative subconscious. Like, what's your name, anyway?"

"My name's Jingle. I'm one of Santa's elves."

Terry stared at him and blinked once. "Okay, so my subconscious isn't all that creative," he conceded. "Besides, you do know it's July, right?"

"You wouldn't believe the backlog we've got. 'Sides, December is our busiest time of the year, there's no way I'm slipping away then. In fact, you're my last stop before I take off on vacation." The elf checked his watch. "Listen, we gotta move this along." He waved his hand and a twinkling sparkle of energy sprung from his fingers and streaked around the room in an elaborate set of curlicues before smacking into Terry's left butt cheek with an electric zap! of energy.

"Oww!" Terry yelped as he rubbed his behind. "Hey, that hurt, you little twerp! That...really..."

As his voice trailed off, he looked at the elf more uncertainly than before.

"That hurt," Terry said.

"I'm sure."

"I'm awake," he realized.

"There it is."

Terry straightened up. "There's a strange dwarf standing in my bedroom."

"Elf. But, yeah."

Terry's eyes went wide. "Ohmygod. D-do you work for Lucius Delgado? Because that-that noise you heard in the bathroom just now, that was me, uh, pouring a glass of water into the toilet. Slowly. I have to do that because, um, the toilet doesn't flush properly, so—"

Jingle held his hand up to stop him. "Relax, toots. I know who—and what—you are."

"You do?"

"Yeah. You're Terry Riley, although you also go by Angelique Isabeaux when you like to dress up in your sexy French maid outfits."

"I don't like to, I have to," Terry said, miffed. He crossed his arms defensively, and as he did so he looked down at what he was currently wearing. "Wait a minute. Did you dress me up like this while I was asleep?"

Jingle flashed his eyebrows and leered at Terry. "One of the perks of the job, honey. And I must say, you're filling it out real nice."

Terry shot back a nervous smile. "Uh huh. Okay, so, just to recap. You're real. You don't work for Delgado, but you do work for...um..."

"Santa Claus."

"Riiight. You know who I really am, and while I was unconscious you dressed me up in this getup."

"Now you're getting it," Jingle said.

"Cool. Cool..." Terry said absently.

A split-second later, Terry grabbed the pile of bedsheets and threw them on top of the startled elf and tackled the diminutive man. The two of them hit the ground hard, and as Jingle struggled to untangle himself from inside the pile of bedding, Terry ruthlessly beat him with his fists.

"Ow! Ow! Jesus, fuck!" Jingle swore as Terry walloped him repeatedly.

Terry sprung to his feet and launched himself towards the bedroom door and very nearly managed to get his hand on the doorknob before he felt Jingle's hand dart out and trip his left ankle. He hit the floor hard and then cried out as Jingle pounced on him and punched him in the boob. Terry responded with a quick body blow to Jingle's midsection before the elf socked him in the gut, knocking the wind out of him. Suddenly there was another sparkling light and Terry felt as something slithered up his legs and up his body and around his arms, binding him tightly. Before he could respond, he saw what looked to be a bright red ribbon sinuously wrap around his body, and it gagged his mouth before tying itself into a big red bow.

"Mother fuck!" Jingle swore as he gingerly clambered off of Terry. The elf struggled to stand up straight, but he was still half bent over. "You punched me in the balls, you psycho bitch! You have serious fucking issues, you know that?"

Terry struggled in his bonds, but he quickly discovered that the festive red ribbon that bound him was as tight and strong as any rope. He looked down at himself and saw that he'd been trussed up in an elaborate bondage style that not only held him quite securely but also put his breasts on very sexy display in an elaborate series of bindings that was straight out of a Christmas-themed BDSM photo shoot. He was also completely helpless to do anything about it.

Jingle wagged a finger at Terry. "I've got half a mind to drop you off next door so your boyfriend Delgado can find you like this. I'm sure he'd have a great time unwrapping his present, although he might not appreciate the surprise you're packing."

Terry stopped his exertions and desperately shook his head. He struggled to say something through his gag.

Jingle nodded as he stood over him. "If I let you out, you're gonna be a good girl? No screaming, no running, no punching me in the nads again?"

Terry nodded, his eyes wide.

The elf didn't seem entirely satisfied with that, and he eyed Terry warily. But a moment later Terry felt as the red ribbon swiftly disentangled itself from his body as though it was a living thing. He watched in stunned disbelief as it spun itself up into a tight roll which landed in the little man's hand, which he then deposited in his pocket.

Terry edged backwards until his back was pressed against the wall as he kept his eyes riveted on the gaily-dressed little man. He slid upwards against the wall until he was standing.

"You're a magical elf?" Terry said uncertainly.

Jingle said nothing but instead waved his hand in a magical gesture, creating a swirling vortex of twinkling lights that zapped across the room and enveloped Terry. In a blink, his clothes changed from the sexy satin nightie into a dark red sleeveless minidress with a short flared skirt that was adorned with ribbon bows that decorated his lacy collar and stocking tops, as well as one that was perched between his breasts in the extremely low-cut top. It took him a moment to realize that he was wearing a Christmas-themed version of a French maid's costume.

"You're a magical elf," Terry repeated as he looked in wonder at what he was wearing. Then his face lit up as his hands leaped to touch his body. "You're magic! You can change me back into a—"

"I'm not gonna change you back into a guy," Jingle said, cutting him off.

"Oh, c'mon! Help a brother out!" Terry protested. "You think I like looking like this?"

"Life isn't always about what you want, sweet cheeks. Besides, after that welcome, you're lucky I don't go ahead and finish the job!"

Terry's hands darted to cover his crotch. "I'll be good." Then he grumped as he looked down at the outfit that the elf had dressed him in.

"Ugh, I can't believe you dressed me in that nightie. That's sketchy as fuck, you know that, right? You—"

He cut himself off abruptly after one of his hands idly touched an area near his left shoulder, and a look of panic suddenly crossed his face, like he'd lost something. The costume that Jingle had dressed him in had a strapless bustier top, and Terry seemed surprised to have touched bare flesh...or more specifically, not touching what he expected to find there.

"Where is it?" he said in alarm as he frantically grabbed at the front of his bustier and ran his fingers along the edges.

Jingle smiled as he enjoyed the show of Terry feeling himself up. "Looking for this?" he asked, holding up a twinkling little pin.

"Give that here!" Terry demanded as he snatched the small piece of jewelry out of the elf's hand and cradled it protectively.

"Kinda touchy, aren't we?" Jingle said.

"This is private. And none of your business!" Terry retorted as he affixed the little pin to a discreet spot on the inside of his bustier. Then he peered at the little man uncertainly. "And...why are you here, again?"

Jingle stood up straight and held his arm out in front of him in what was likely supposed to be a dramatic gesture, but instead looked a bit like he was trying to hail a tiny cab.

"You will be visited by three Spirits," Jingle intoned ominously.

Terry visibly dropped into a half-slouch. "Oh. That."

"You don't know what this is."

"Sure, I do. Of course I do. Everybody knows this gag. The ghosts of Christmas Past, Present, and Future. Even Blossom did that episode."

Jingle cringed and raised his hands in alarm. "Okay, two things. First, no. It's Past, Present, and Future, but we're not wedded to a date anymore. We're trying to be nondenominational these days, and only being able to show people what was going on during one particular day a year was a huge pain in the ass. But more importantly, don't say that word. We don't use that word anymore."

Terry furrowed his brow. "Which word? Blossom?"

"No! You know, the other word. The C-word."

"Cunt?" Terry said, perplexed.

"Who are you, George fucking Carlin? Did you say, 'cunt'? No, the other one. The one you just said."

"Christmas?"

Jingle cringed again. "Yeah, we can't say that, anymore, not since Disney bought the rights to it. Now we have to call it 'Olaf's Special Frozen Holiday.'"

"You're shitting me."

"Yeah, their lawyers argued that it wasn't a religious holiday anymore on account of the fact that people weren't actually celebrating Christ's birth anymore, they were celebrating the six-week bacchanalia of shopping and merchandising that ran up to the day, making it a secular celebration. Then Disney snapped up the rights and rebranded it."

"They can do that?"

"Dude, they bought the Star Wars and Marvel franchises with money they found in their couch cushions. It's open season out there. Don't mess with the fuckin' Mouse."

"Wait. You said you worked for Santa Claus. You can say 'Santa Claus,' but you can't say Christmas?"

"Stop saying that! What are you, made of money?" Jingle snapped. "But yes, sure, it's the dude's name. Of course you can say that."

"But that's kind of Santa's holiday, yeah? You know..."

"Olaf's Special Frozen Holiday?" Jingle offered.

"I'm not calling it that."

"Yeah, they tried going back to the old name, the Feast of Juul—you know, like where Yule logs come from—but the tobacco company snapped that one up. I guess now it's a vaping holiday or something. Then they tried using the old term Saturnalia, but General Motors moved in on that one."

"They don't even make Saturns anymore."

"That's what I said! I guess they figure they might swing around to use the brand again, someday. But for now, GM is pitching it as a winter celebration where people meet to swap used car parts for their old sedans."

Terry rubbed the bridge of his nose and moved his other hand in little circles in a "let's move this along" gesture. "Look, just tell me about the ghosts. And so help me, if they're named Inky, Pinky, and Clyde, I'm going back to bed."

"Smartass. I can see why you're such a problem."

"I'm a problem? For Santa Claus? What'd I ever do to him?"

"Santa's old-school. He doesn't like all of this 'middling' that you're doing."

At the word 'middling,' Terry's face lit up. "What? Yes! Oh, God, yes," he said, quickly. "No more middling. I want to be a man. All in. Final answer."

Jingle rolled his eyes. "That ain't what I meant..."

"C'mon! You think I like prancing around like a French maid? You think—" Then his mouth fell open in shock as he realized that if the elf wasn't keen on changing him back into a man, he might have a different solution in mind to fix the "middling" problem.

Terry clapped both hands over his crotch protectively. "Wait. You said you weren't going to finish the job!"

Jingle snorted dismissively. "The jury's still out. But Mister Happy is safe for now," he said, causing Terry to relax a little. "But that ain't what I'm talking about. You know how the old guy keeps two lists."

"Sure. Naughty and Nice."

"Yeah, except we had to rename them a while back 'cause we were getting shit about hanging labels on kids. Nowadays we call them Sugar and Spice, but it's the same thing."

Terry's brow furrowed. "So, you still sit in silent judgment over the inherent goodness or badness of a person, but now that's totally okay because you changed the names?"

"I don't make the rules, hot legs. Right now, my problem is you."

"What'd I do?"

Jingle took a scroll out of his belt and rolled it open. Terry expected to see a handwritten list, but instead the display changed like it was a tablet computer.

"Neat," Terry said.

"Yeah, Elon Musk can slither over here on his stomach and kiss my elf ass. We keep the best stuff for ourselves. Ok, here we go. Terrence 'Terry' Riley, a.k.a. Angelique Isabeaux."

Jingle shot Terry a disbelieving look at the unlikely name. "'Angelique Isabeaux.' Really?"

Terry folded his arms defensively. "'Jingle?'" he retorted.

"It's a nickname, smartass."

"Yeah? What's your real name?"

"Rumpelstiltskin. Christ, you're annoying."

Terry held out his hands in disbelief. "How can you say Christ, but not Christm—?"

Jingle jabbed his finger at Terry threateningly. "Finish that sentence, 'Angelique.' I swear, you are about two goddamn seconds away from choosing between tampons or sanitary pads every month!"

"Fine. Jesus," Terry muttered as he folded his arms again. Then, as he realized the name he'd just said, he gave Jingle another incredulous look.

"It's the guy's name, okay? Man, how the hell are you in the middle?"

"The middle of what?"

Jingle flipped the scroll around so that Terry could see what was on it. At the top he saw his name, picture, and biographical data, but there in the middle of the display was a large graph with a wiggly line that tracked from left to right like an EKG or a stock ticker. It narrowly bounced up and down and hovered around the sharp line of demarcation that separated the two major zones on the graph: Sugar and Spice.

Jingle pointed his stubby finger at the jagged line. "See this? This is you. You, toots, are a statistical anomaly. You're smack in between, too close to call either way."

Terry regarded him dubiously. "So if I punch you in the nads again, will you just fuck off?"

The line dipped downwards into the "Spice" zone.

The elf returned the sour look. "No, because next week you'd probably just give your niece another car or something, and we'd be back where we started."

Terry rubbed the bridge of his nose. "What do need me to do?"

"We need you to pick a lane."

"Pick a—?" Terry echoed. "You broke into my bedroom in the middle of the night and dressed me up like the Elf on the Shelf's side piece so that I could make an existential choice between good and evil?"

Jingle regarded him quietly for a moment. "Well...yeah," he said. Then a smug grin crept across his face. "Though dressing you up like that was my idea. Because...damn," he said with an admiring leer.

With an annoyed pout, Terry defensively folded his arms again and cast a seething glance at the licentious elf. A moment later, he realized that in so doing he had pushed his breasts into a rather impressive cleavage that Jingle seemed to appreciate.

"Ugh," he groaned as he threw down his arms in a huffy display that he belatedly realized was more girlish than he intended. "You know what? The hell with this. Who am I, Immanuel Kant? I'm going back to bed. I have a busy day tomorrow changing all the bed linens."

"The exciting life of a maid," Jingle quipped. He watched as Terry bent over to retrieve his blankets off the floor and tossed them on the bed. Terry then climbed into bed still fully dressed and pulled up the covers.

"You're not going to change into a silky nightie?" he asked hopefully. "Maybe something lacy and cut really low to show off your great big—"

"I'm done donning my gay apparel for the rest of the night," Terry snapped as he rolled onto his side and turned his back to the elf. "Turn off the lights on your way out, and give my best to Krampus."

Terry heard as the jingling bells that adorned Jingle's costume moved closer. The elf was standing right at the edge of the bed, immediately behind him.

"This isn't over, hot lips. You'll be visited by—"

"Yeah, yeah. Three Spirits. They do it all in one night. I'll tell the kid in the street to buy the turkey as big as him. Get lost, if you're not going to help me."

There was a long pause.

"Jury's still out on that, too," Jingle said. A few seconds later, the lights went out.

Terry jostled awake with a start, which was odd because he didn't remember having fallen asleep again. It was still nighttime, and down in the foyer he could hear the soft gongs of the grandfather clock. It was a hideous thing that didn't even remotely suit the tastes of Dave and Bonnie, and Terry wondered why they bothered to keep it around. He recalled that it had been a present from Terry and Dave's parents, and Terry half suspected the couple had found it in a yard sale somewhere and passed it off as a family heirloom just for the entertainment value of making the uptight couple live with the fool thing.

Terry's eyes struggled to adjust to the dark as he listened to the bells of the clock as they struck twelve o'clock, which was disorienting. He was still fuzzy, but he distinctly remembered that it was past one o'clock when he'd gone to bed.

"Bad dreams?" came a man's voice from right next to him.

"AHHH!" Terry cried out in shock as he sat bolt upright in bed and clutched the covers to his chest. Meanwhile, the intruder leaned over to turn on the bed stand lamp, and as it illuminated the room, Terry could clearly see who it was.

"Ray?!" Terry exclaimed as he saw his best friend. "You scared the hell out of me! What are you doing here? How'd you even get inside the house?"

Ray made a half smile and waggled his finger in an up-and-down fashion. Terry, perplexed, pulled the covers down to reveal that he was dressed in a black French maid's dress with white ruffles that framed his bosom. Confused, he touched his hand to his head and felt the maid's cap that was perched in his hair.

"Red's a good look on you, but I'm old school. The black is so classic," the intruder explained.

Terry kept his eyes riveted on the man, but he tossed off the covers and glimpsed down to reveal that he was dressed head-to-toe in one of his maid costumes, all the way down to his stockings and heels.

"You're not Ray," Terry realized.

"Smart and sexy," the Spirit said, giving Terry a leer.

Terry climbed out of bed and stood, feeling awkward at the look the Spirit was giving him. Since getting turned into a woman he'd been on the receiving end of such looks from Ray, but the knowledge that this wasn't really his friend made him edgy.

"So, what? You're The Ghost of Christmas Past?"

The Spirit made a face. "We don't really use that term anymore..." he started.

"No, you can forget it. I'm not calling it by that stupid name. Jingle can kiss my ass."

The Spirit smirked. "Heh, I bet he'd enjoy that. I wouldn't mind giving that a go myself, but we're on a schedule. And fortunately, I'm not just bound to visiting any one day, anymore," he explained as he pulled out a scroll similar to the one that Jingle had used. Terry was curious and tried to sneak a peek, but the Spirit turned his body so he couldn't get a good look.

Terry nodded gamely and flicked away a speck of fluff on his lacy white apron. "Super. Really looking forward to this. So, what's it going to be, then? Reliving the times I cheated in school? Dropping in on all of the women I've loved and wronged? Or maybe a tour of my troubled childhood when I stole all those vegetables from Mr. MacGregor's garden?" He then snapped his fingers. "Wait, that last one was Peter Rabbit. I'm not taking the rap for him."

The Spirit Ray didn't even look up, engrossed as he was in whatever was on the scroll. "That's what I love about you, Terry, you've always got a funny smartass comment ready. I guess that's why we've been friends all these years."

"We're not friends. Ray is my friend. You're not Ray, you're just some figment of my imagination that looks like him."

The Spirit peered up at him. "Oh, are we back to you thinking this is a dream? I thought we'd moved past that. But look on the bright side...if I am a dream, I'm better than the real Ray, because I'm your subconscious's idea of what you think Ray is like. That'd mean every time you catch me checking out those fine-ass melons you've got on display there, that's all on you, honey."

"Whatever, poltergeist. But you'll be laughing out the other side of your Other Side when I find the number for the Ghostbusters. But fair warning, if you get your ghostly ectoplasmic gunk all over Ray's favorite Bulls t-shirt, I will not be responsible for what he does to you."

The Spirit sniffed once. "Okay, funny guy. If I have to put up with your mouth, I'm gonna make it worth my while."

A cascade of glistening pink sparkles descended from above Terry, and he felt his skin tingle as it covered him. His entire field of vision was filled with glitter, but when it finally passed, he realized that his clothes had changed again. He turned to face himself in the bedroom mirror and saw that his makeup was still heavy and overdone, and his long brown hair had been put up into a big oversized ponytail that was perched high on his head and swung about girlishly. His eyes tracked downwards to take in his new top, which was a bright pink fuzzy short sleeved sweater that clung to his bosom but also had a low scoop neckline that showed off an impressive amount of cleavage. The sweater was cut short to show off his bare midriff which then drew his eye down to the checked miniskirt that was short enough that it likely would have gotten him sent home if he genuinely had been a schoolgirl and not just dressed like a porno actress version of one. A look that was only reinforced by the sweet little ruffled ankle socks that adorned his feet, a sharp contrast to his exceedingly high strappy stiletto heels.

Terry smiled brightly. "Ooh, I really pissed you off, didn't I?" he teased in a sexy purr.

"I'm not your enemy, Terry. I'm a guide."

Terry made a sexy little simper and then looked down at the outfit that the Spirit had dressed him in as he cast an appraising glance at himself.

"Ahh, the fuzzy sweater. This takes me back," he said as he gave it a downwards tug. It did nothing to cover his midriff, but it had the effect of putting his cleavage even more on display. "I always used to like looking at girls who wore th—whoa."

The Spirit had returned his attention to his magical scroll but paused to look over at Terry, who was busy checking himself out in the bedroom mirror. He turned in profile to admire his prominent bosom in the tight sweater and tossed his head to sweep his big ponytail over his shoulder. He then fluttered his eyelashes at his reflection and pressed his lips into a sexy pout.

"Seriously?" the Spirit sighed.

"Hey, I look good," Terry said, giving himself another admiring look in the mirror. He then made a face. Though here's a pro tip for you: this shade of lipstick makes me look really cheap."

"If the push-up bra fits," the Spirit retorted. He then made a final tap at the scroll before rolling it up. Terry then noticed that the full-length mirror had changed so that his reflection had vanished, and the image now appeared to be what he recognized as the inside of Delgado's home. The Spirit bowed his head slightly and gestured for Terry to enter.

"Après toi, ma jolie petite femme."

Terry was taken aback at the magical display but did his best to cover his surprise. "Yeah, well, I'm supposed to be impressed because you've got Google Translate on that thing?" he said, eyeing the scroll as the Spirit tucked it into his jacket pocket.

Hesitantly he stepped through the portal that the mirror had become, feeling more than a little anxious at the prospect of entering the gangster's home, especially since he was dressed like he was about to scamper off to be the lead porno actress in a triple feature of "Rebel Without a Condom," "The Smutty Professor," and "Say Anything, Lay Everything." Terry had no compunctions about using his feminine charms to keep Delgado on his heels, but for him to show up at the mobster's house unannounced dressed like walking fuckbait was something else entirely.

The Spirit Ray followed, turning sideways to step through the mirror as the portal closed behind them. Terry instantly recognized the area as the kitchen in Delgado's spacious house next door, and as he turned, he froze in terror as he spotted Delgado standing there. Terry's mind went totally blank as he tried to think of some plausible reason why he and Ray had just magically appeared out of thin air in the middle of the mobster's home, as though any explanation could possibly suffice. But what threw him for a loop was when he noticed the French maid who was already there talking to Delgado. It was him.

The woman—who Terry quickly realized was his identical twin—let out a heavy sigh. "I'm a big girl, Lucius. I know how things work in your world, and for me to take that car—that beautiful, beautiful car—would put me in your debt. And we both know it."

"Would that be so terrible?" Delgado replied.

The Spirit Terry turned to look at his guide and girlishly flashed his manicure as he gently brushed the back of his hand against his forehead in a breathless gesture, pretending like he might swoon. "Oh, so it's to be a clip show, then? Spirit, show me no more! Why do you delight to torture me?"

"Very funny."

Terry scoffed and dropped the act. "I remember this moment. This is the time when I gave up the convertible he'd given me before I turned around and gave it to Claire. I suppose this is a time where I went from 'Spice' to 'Sugar' and landed myself on Santa's shit list, then?"

The Spirit Ray regarded him. "Y'know, as defense mechanisms go, I gotta say that sarcastic humor is both funny and obnoxious. We're standing in the Past. Can't you just be impressed by that? Most people are."

"Yeah, well, I bet a lot of them—"

Terry's barb was cut short when the scene suddenly turned more tense. Delgado had moved closer and was practically looming over the other Terry.

"Fucking women with their mind games and their little power plays," the mobster said with a sneer as he held the other Terry's hands tight. "There are few things on this earth that I hate more than that. My wife, God rest her...we had an understanding, but even she played these games that always got under my skin," he growled. "But you, you're not like that at all, are you, Angelique?"

"It is true, I'm not like most women," the other Terry croaked.

"Truer words were never spoke," the Spirit quipped.

"Hilarious," the Spirit Terry shot back. "Are we done here? Because—" But again he was cut short as the sexual tension of the moment was raised as they watched his earlier self slide his arms around Delgado in a loving gesture to give the older man a long, slow kiss. He pressed his body sinuously against the mobster, who in turn ran his hands down Terry's sides and around his lithe waist.

The Spirit Terry flushed as he watched the amorous picture.

"My, my, my," the Spirit Ray said as he fanned himself.

The Spirit Terry cleared his throat, embarrassed by how steamy the moment had gotten. "I was just acting, it didn't mean anything. This is what I have to do to stay alive. Of course, you wouldn't know anything about that, being dead and all."

"Sticks and stones, beautiful," the Spirit teased. "I may be among the dearly departed, but I'm not totally dead below the waist. Voulez-vous coucher avec moi?" he teased.

The Spirit Terry's eyes flashed with anger as he held up a warning finger. "Look, Casper, I've had just about enough of your shit. You want to know what all this is about? Fine, I'll tell you. It's about—"

"It's about Terry Riley," Delgado interrupted.

The Spirit Terry froze in his tracks as he turned to listen on the conversation. He watched as his counterpart simpered a little and gave the mobster a dismissive shrug and said, "What's to know? He's just some loser who owes you money."

"Don't underestimate him, angel. And make no mistake, when I get my hands on him, I'm gonna get what's owed to me, with interest. I'll get my pound of flesh," he said darkly. "But it's not just about the money."

Both Terrys squirmed at the picture the mobster painted, obviously apprehensive.

"I-it's not?" the other Terry stammered.

"He has something that belongs to me."

"He does? Are—are you sure? 'Cause I've been in his bedroom lots of times—"

Delgado glowered menacingly.

"Cleaning! To clean!" Terry hurriedly amended.

"Seamless," the Spirit Ray interjected.

"Shut up."

"He probably keeps it with him," Delgado said, mostly to himself.

"Huh," the Spirit Terry murmured as he beheld the scene.

The Spirit turned to look at him. "What is it? You see something?"

"Yeah. You ever notice how the Ghostbusters go on and on about 'who ya gonna call?' but they never actually bother to give you their phone number? Like if ever I need carpet cleaning, I know it's Five-eight-eight-two-three-hundred! Em-piiiire! Or if I'm looking for a good time, I can call Jenny at 867-5309. But I still have to look up the Ghostbusters in the phone book. Talk about crappy marketing."

"I'm glad you're enjoying this."

"Oh, come on," Terry said, exasperated. "You think I haven't gone over this moment a million times in my head? Ray, I promise you that Delgado only ever gave me two things. Money—and that's gone, thanks to the Lakers' congenital inability to cover the freaking spread—and an incontrovertible understanding that my painful demise would soon follow if I were ever unable to repay that money. Of course, after I became Angelique, he became more generous, although those gifts mostly coincided with the feel of his hands groping my boobs. So unless you're here to whisk me away to some forgotten memory when Delgado entrusted me with the Maltese Falcon, allow me to assure you that I don't have whatever it is that he's looking for, and I never did."

The Spirit took a deep breath and checked his watch. "Okay. I didn't want to have to do this to you, but we don't have time for this. The truth is you're not such a bad sort, Terry, but for once in your life, you gotta learn your lesson."

With that, a wave of disorientation swept over Terry as the scene shifted once again.

As Terry struggled to regain his senses, he soon realized that he was now in the opulent waiting area just outside Delgado's business office. Much like the man himself, the area was both pretentious and imposing, designed to convey a position of both wealth and power. The plush decor had a slightly stuffy and old-school taste to it, suiting a man of his stature in the organized crime family. However, since Delgado's legitimate business fortune had been built on the Delgado Pizza chain of restaurants, sprinkled about the room were plaques and memorabilia for the company, all of which seemed decidedly out of place with the more intimidating decor. Terry did a nervous double-take as he glanced over at the life-size statue of the pizza chain's mascot, Sharky Delgado, a dead-eyed shark that was attacking a piece of pizza with a ravenous fury.

The waiting area was empty, and there was nobody at the large secretarial desk that was prominently positioned off to one side. But even knowing that he and his Spirit companion were invisible, Terry felt edgy. He'd been to Delgado's office as Angelique a few times—and often while dressed in something provocative and slutty—but never while dressed up like Suzie Sucksalot, captain of her high school's Varsity Cocksucking Team. He knew it shouldn't have bothered him since he'd been out in public in his ridiculous French maid outfits more times than he could count, but this time the soft feel of his tight sweater and the kiss of air conditioning against his bare legs beneath his skimpy skirt made him feel particularly vulnerable.

"You're quiet," the Spirit said. "That's a good look on you, you might want to try it more."

"Ha, ha," Terry shot back. He could hear the muffled sound of raised voices from inside Delgado's office in the next room. "What do you want me to do now, sit over here and play the part of the sexy secretary?" he said as he wiggled his butt behind the desk and tossed himself into the plush desk chair as he pushed out his chest and gave his hair a sexy toss. "Maybe take some dic...ta...tion...?"

Terry's voice trailed off as his eyes became riveted on the ring of keys on the desk that had a little glittering pendant attached. He tried to say something, but his voice caught in his throat and his mouth moved mutely. Just then, he caught the faintest whiff of a very familiar perfume, and his hand leaped to cover his mouth as his eyes went wide in shock.

The Spirit, meanwhile, had paused to admire the statue of the mascot. "I know it clashes with the rest of the furniture, but you gotta respect the artistry. I see this and I really think, 'feeding frenzy.'"

Terry bolted up out of his seat and rushed over to the Spirit. He had a nervous smile, and he wasn't vamping around anymore.

"Ray...I—I'm sorry. Okay? I'm sorry. Don't do this. Take me somewhere else. Hey, how about you take me back to that time I sharted in school? That was a winner. That'll teach me a lesson."

The Spirit wrinkled his forehead in feigned confusion and pointed at the statue. "Is it the shark? It's freaky, right?"

Terry grabbed onto the man's jacket, at first in a strong grip and then nervously flexing his fingers as he looked around, obviously expecting something. Or someone.

"Okay, you know what? Fine. You win. Um...Sugar! There you go. I've made my choice. Sugar. I'll be good. From now on. You can tell Jingle. Or Spice! Whatever, I don't care. Just tell me what you want me to do, and I'll do it. Ray, please, I'm begging you."

"What, no more jokes? C'mon, there's a statue of a cartoon shark right here. I bet you can come up with something funny with that."

"Ray, I—"

There was a loud click as the door to Delgado's office opened, and a young woman emerged. She was professionally dressed in a fitted blouse and skirt, and her light brown hair was pinned up in a stylish but conservative fashion. She seemed anxious as she crossed the room over to the secretarial desk and carelessly tossed her leather business portfolio onto the desk, She then checked something on the computer and furrowed her brow.

From the moment she emerged, Terry froze and watched her every move, scarcely even blinking as he beheld her. He clung onto the Spirit's arm for support, but the Spirit said nothing and merely watched the scene impassively.

Terry took a shaky gasp of air as he watched the woman at work, unaware that he'd been holding his breath since she'd emerged. But bit by bit he became more aware of his surroundings, including the fact that he was clinging to the Spirit's arm. He quickly released him and straightened up as he tried to play it off as casual, but his attention was still riveted on the secretary.

The woman typed away at her computer and was clearly agitated about something. She collected some loose papers from her desk, and as she cleared them away, she uncovered a brass name plate on the desk: Cassandra Goodwin.

Terry, entranced, took a step closer and watched her at work. His high heel loudly clicked on the tile floor, and she looked up at him with a bright smile and said, "Good God, Terry, what are you wearing?"

Terry froze in stupefaction and his hand reflexively darted up to his chest, only to feel his tight fuzzy sweater and his soft bosom beneath. He blinked in confusion and felt his face flush in embarrassment at being seen like that. "Y-you can see m—?"

"Cassie, hey. I just wanted to look good for my meeting with the big man," came a man's voice from right behind him.

Terry spun around in a sudden move that caused his ponytail to fly about as he executed his pirouette, only to come face-to-face with himself. Or more specifically, his old male self. He was shocked at the difference. Every day when he removed his makeup, he told himself that he was looking at his old masculine face, but now that he stared into a truer mirror he realized how wrong he had been. This man—the man he had once been—had boyish good looks, but with his bushier eyebrows, thinner lips, and less pronounced cheeks there wasn't much about him that would be considered feminine. Even with his long brown hair pulled back tight, he looked like a man. Terry reeled a bit at the picture as he realized how much he'd changed.

Cassie, however, seemed more preoccupied with what this other Terry was wearing. He was dressed in dark charcoal slacks, a black button-down shirt, and a solid red tie.

"Are you supposed to be a waiter in an Italian restaurant?" she joked as she peered up at him, still typing at her keyboard. She then flashed him a bright smile as he headed across the room to give her a kiss hello.

The Spirit Terry stood right in front of them and was speechless as he watched the scene. His earlier bravado had vanished, and he plucked self-consciously at the edges of his sweater and his short skirt. Even though he knew the young couple couldn't see him, he felt ridiculous standing there in front of them in his skanky costume.

“Oh, my God,” the Spirit Ray marveled as he sidled up alongside the Spirit Terry. “Are we not gonna talk about how for your first meeting with Lucius Delgado you wore your hair in a man bun?”

“Sue me, I wore my hair long! And I didn’t think the ponytail would be a good look.”

“And this was what you came up with? Dude, it’s a miracle Delgado didn’t just shoot you on the spot for coming in wearing that thing.”

“Yes, because now I’ve discovered that he likes it so much better when I wear my hair down,” the Spirit Terry said. He gave a sarcastic little toss of his head that caused the big high ponytail of his “sexy schoolgirl” outfit to swing about playfully.

The younger Terry held both of Cassie's hands and took a step back to admire her outfit. "Damn, you look good, too. We're gonna be hard-pressed to outdo this for our big date on Saturday."

She scoffed. "It's hardly a big date, you're taking me out for dinner."

"It'll be nice! Tablecloths and everything. But not that vegan junk."

"Hey, I liked that place," Cassie retorted. "Besides, you said their soup was good."

"Cassie, 'vegan soup' is a euphemism for cow urine."

"It is not," she laughed.

"It is. Oh, they dress it up with a fancy name like 'Urinne du bovine with watercress and bamboo shoots,' but that's what it is. Your little crusades are charming, but I draw the line at the dinner table. I mean, call me old fashioned, but if we're not supposed to eat animals, then why are they made out of meat?"

"As always, your logic is dizzying," she quipped as she gave him a playful side-eye glance.

The Spirit Ray stepped closer as he watched the young couple banter. "I always liked Cassie, she was good people. I always thought she was too good for you. Plus, she had nice tits."

Terry turned and glared at him.

"So do you," the Spirit complimented him.

Cassie became more serious as she stepped close to the other Terry and lowered her voice. "Terry, this is a really bad idea. I don't know what you've got going on with Delgado, but you need to get out, and get out now."

"Hey, I've got it covered. Just some business talk between two men of business," he responded dismissively. Then, when faced with her dubious expression, he added, "Don't worry, I've got my best man on it," he said with a roguish grin.

She furrowed her eyebrows as she made strong eye contact with him, obviously not distracted by his flippant remark. "You always make that joke," she said.

"It's a good joke," Terry countered. "Listen, it'll be fine. And in three days, it'll be the weekend, and I'll wine and dine you and we'll fuck like bunnies."

He gave her a little kiss which she accepted stoically, clearly unconvinced. "You're a dreamer, but that's what I love about you," she said as she patted him on the cheek. "And you should be so lucky."

"Let me guess, your mother warned you about guys like me, is that it?"

"Mom warned me about you specifically. By name."

"Ouch," he said with a wince. "I knew it was a mistake to break with my policy about not dating sisters."

"That's come up often enough with you that you've developed a policy around it?"

"They're more like loose protocols. And it's really more about dating sisters sequentially, 'cause I have this fantasy about twins," he told her as he snuggled closer. "I don't suppose you have a twin sister, do you? Because that would be awesome."

"Ah, no, just the one sister. And Jules has had enough of your bullshit. That's a direct quote, by the way."

"But all my bullshit is still new and entertaining to you, right?"

She laughed. "Go on telling yourself that, Casanova."

There was a beep from her computer, and she checked the screen. "He says you can go on in."

He gave her one last kiss and headed inside. His back was to her the entire time as he crossed the room and entered the office, but the Spirit Terry's eyes were fixed on her troubled face as she watched him enter the office.

The Spirit Terry and Ray followed his younger counterpart into the office, the sound of their footsteps echoing on the marble flooring. Unlike the opulent outer area, Delgado's inner sanctum was sparse to the point of spartan. Enough artwork hung on the walls to establish that the decorator hadn't forgotten about the room entirely, but the lack of ornamentation drew the eye to the main focal point of the room: the massive desk that sat at the far end, framed by expansive floor-to-ceiling windows behind it that afforded a commanding view of the city. A view that Delgado was clearly enjoying at the moment, since the big high-backed office chair had its back to them.

The younger Terry stood there for a moment and quietly cleared his throat to get Delgado's attention.

"Siddown," a deep voice said from just behind him, causing Terry to visibly jump. He turned to look back towards the doors to see two heavily-muscled goons who stood on either side. They might have been statues for as much as they moved. But the one who spoke had his eyes fixed on Terry, and clearly meant business.

The Spirit Terry watched as his male self scrambled into one of the two small seats that were placed across from the desk. The chairs were of a modern design with a thin metal frame that only served to make them look all the more diminutive across from Delgado's imposing desk and chair. It was a blatant intimidation move, but even appreciating that, Terry couldn't help but feel intimidated.

"Mister Delgado, it's a pleasure to finally meet you in person, sir," Terry said, a little too quickly. "I, uh, just wanted to say that I appreciate—very much—the lucrative funding that your organization has been able to provide me these last several months. I have not forgotten. Believe me. And, uh, by way of appreciation, I wanted to offer you a business proposal."

Delgado said nothing and kept his back to Terry. Another clear intimidation move.

"Uh, right. To business. I respect that. You see, I've been in touch with a group of investors who are interested in this new Internet startup. Very exclusive, very lucrative. You see, we just need a bit more 'angel capital' to get it off the ground, and that's where you come in, uh, sir. I'd be in a position to cut you in for a substantial portion of the profits. It's a can't-miss opportunity."

Delgado remained silent.

Terry cleared his throat. "Which is why I thought of you, sir. With your business acumen and, uh, generosity, you strike me as—"

"Who the hell are you talking to?" a man asked as he entered from a side door. He was in his mid-thirties and had slicked-back dark hair that showed just a hint of premature graying at the temples. He was dressed in an expensive custom-fitted black suit with Italian shoes that likely cost more than Terry's beat-up convertible.

Terry watched in confusion as the man crossed over to the desk and spun the chair around—revealing that there was nobody seated there—and sat down.

The Spirit turned to look at the Spirit Terry, who had his hand pressed firmly into his face.

"Smooth," the Spirit teased.

The other Terry cleared his throat again. "I was just, uh, practicing my pitch," he asserted, trying to ignore the fact that the two goons behind him had witnessed his entire humiliating display. "Mister Delgado, it's a pleasure to meet you. Thank you for your time. I have a business prop—"

"Well, clearly you're an idiot," the guy seated behind the desk said.

"I'm sorry?"

"I'm not Lucius Delgado, smart guy. I'm Gabriel Ventresca. I guess you'd say I'm an associate of his. Think of me as a troubleshooter."

"Oh. I see. I-it's good to meet you, Mr. Ventresca," Terry stammered. Then after a long pregnant pause, Terry asked, "So, what kind of work do you do as a troubleshooter?"

"I shoot trouble."

Terry's eyes went wide. "Makes sense," he said quietly. "It's good when you can find work you enjoy."

"Yeah, I'm blessed."

Terry cleared his throat. "So, uh, as I was saying—"

"Why don't we wait for Mr. Delgado to get here. I'm sure he'll be fascinated."

The Spirit Terry stood and watched as his younger counterpart sat quietly. He crossed his leg, then uncrossed it. Then crossed it the other way, then uncrossed it. Delgado's man watched him intently, and the heavily muscled goons by the door might as well have been carved tiki statues.

"It's a great view," Terry said conversationally. "The big windows were a good choice. Brings in a lot of natural light. Really opens up the place." He nodded. "Uh, tinted glass, I see. Good for...privacy. In here."

Nobody said anything. Ventresca's eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly.

Terry nodded towards the oversized office plants that were positioned on either side of the room. "Are those real?" he asked. "'Cause I bet you must have someone watering those all the time." He shifted in his seat like he was about to stand up and get a closer look, and for the first time, the two goons moved ever so slightly.

He gulped heavily and slunk back into his seat. "It's just that those would do better in indirect light," he offered.

The Spirit Terry visibly squirmed as they watched the scene play out, clearly not enjoying having to relive the painful moment. But when the Spirit raised an eyebrow, Terry awkwardly gestured to one of the plants. "Because it's a ficus," he explained.

"Because it's a ficus," his younger counterpart echoed weakly.

"Damn, you are a live wire," the Spirit said.

The awkward silence of the room was shattered as Delgado burst in from the side entrance, making long strides towards his desk.

"Gabe! There you are, good to see you. Oh, don't bother getting up, it's only my fucking desk. Looks good on you," the older man barked sarcastically.

Ventresca looked abashed and quickly vacated Delgado's chair, who sat down. The male Terry shifted in his seat, clearly wondering if he should get up to greet the man, but a quick glance at the two goons evidently disabused him of that idea, and he remained seated.

Delgado spent several seconds as he logged into his computer and checked the papers on his desk. It was the better part of a minute before he looked up at his guest in confusion.

"Am I supposed to know who the hell you are?" he challenged.

Terry straightened up in his seat, just enough to make it clear that he had no intention of making any sudden movements or approaching the man. "Mr. Delgado, it's good to finally—"

"This is the guy," Ventresca interrupted as he slid a folder over to his boss.

Delgado opened the folder, reviewed the contents, and then raised his eyebrows. "Is this right?" he asked.

Ventresca nodded.

Delgado then turned to look directly at his subordinate. "You're sure it's not a mistake? Because it sure as hell looks like it should be a mistake."

"It...was," Ventresca demurred. "Multiple, ah, lines of credit were extended without my knowledge. It's been dealt with," he said in a tone that suggested finality.

Delgado's dark eyes turned to Terry in his seat, who squirmed under the older man's gaze. The Spirit Terry swallowed hard and hugged himself.

"Mister...Riley," he said as he checked the name in the folder. "Terry Riley. I'm going to remember that name. Because according to these records, I appear to have the honor of meeting either the dumbest or the unluckiest son of a bitch to have ever walked the face of the Earth."

"Mr. Delgado, I know I'm a little behind on my payments—"

Delgado raised an eyebrow.

"—more than a little," he amended. "And I'm grateful for the repeated generosity your organization has shown me. But I have a business proposition—"

"Yes, I'm sure you do," Delgado interrupted. "Forgive me if I've given you the wrong impression, Mr. Riley. Normally this would have been handled at a much lower level, and in taking this meeting I appear to have given you the mistaken impression that I give a shit about you or your well-being. But effective immediately, your account is being transferred over to our collections department."

Without breaking eye contact with Terry, Delgado handed Ventresca the folder.

"24 hours, asshole," Ventresca said.

Terry's face went ashen. "Um, that's not...I mean, it'll take me some time to contact my foreign investors..."

"24 hours," Ventresca repeated. He checked his watch and then nodded to the two goons, and the hulking men moved up to flank Terry on both sides, making him feel like he was in the bottom of a well.

"No worries, I've got it covered," Terry croaked as he stood up and retreated towards the exit.

The Spirit sidled up to the Spirit Terry. "Huh. Delgado never even bothered to ask if you were good for the money."

"He didn't have to," Terry replied bitterly. He then swiftly exited after his counterpart as the sound of his high heels echoed throughout the spacious office.

The younger Terry exited into the waiting room, and as soon as the imposing door swung shut behind him, he stopped to lean against the wall as his heart raced and his hands trembled. Then he turned and found himself face-to-snout with the huge cartoon shark that bared its razor-sharp teeth at him.

"AAAH!" he cried out.

Cassie looked up in alarm from her desk, appearing equally surprised. She made a startled jerky motion and then hurried over to Terry.

"Hey! Hey. That was quick. Did everything go okay in there?" She gave him a worried glance. "What's the matter?"

A complete change came over Terry's features as he masked his distress with an easy smile. "What? Nothing. I had to get a little rough with him on the numbers, but he's a big boy. He'll get over it."

She looked dubious, but he took her by the hands and gave them a reassuring squeeze.

"I told you I got it covered," he assured her. "Easy peasy." He made a face as he turned her hand over to reveal her ring of keys that she held. He idly poked at the small gold charm with his thumb, four small rhinestones linked together in a stretched-out "W" design of a constellation.

"I remember when I gave this to you," he said with a smile. "My Cassiopeia."

"Which is still not my name," Cassie said.

"It's like your name," he countered. "It better. It's like a fancier version of your name."

"The fancier version of my name is Cassandra. Cassiopeia would be like the drag queen version. Or the stripper version," she scoffed. "Come to think of it, wasn't that the name of a space hooker on Battlestar Galactica?"

He snuggled up close to her. "Oh, my God, it's so hot that you know that."

The Spirit edged up to the Spirit Terry. "So, when you picked the name 'Angelique,' was that you trying to sound fancy?"

"Ugh," he groaned.

"Ugh," Cassie groaned as she rolled her eyes and shrugged out of the male Terry's grasp to head back over to her desk. He followed along behind her and affected a loose and casual air that was a bit too forced.

"So...I was thinking. Saturday is so far off, and I'm feeling spontaneous. Let's you and me go out tonight. We can celebrate my new business deal with Delgado."

At the mention of her boss's name, Cassie got a strained look on her face. "Terry, you have to promise me. Don't get involved with him. You hear me? You have to promise. I mean it."

"Okay, okay, it was all just high-level venture capital stuff anyway," he hedged. "Nothing to get upset about. But we're still on for tonight, okay?"

Cassie sighed as she busied herself at her desk and organized some papers. "I can't tonight. I've got...plans. A friend from out of town."

"A friend? Who?"

"You don't know them."

"Cassie, I've met all your friends." Then his eyes narrowed, and he slowly edged around the desk as he maintained a watchful eye on her and tried to read her face. "Hang on. Is this friend a guy?"

"Oh, my God. Terry, I really don't have time for your jealousy right now."

"I'm not jealous, I trust you implicitly."

"Good."

"I just don't trust this random guy who you're meeting up with whose name you don't want me to know."

The Spirit chuckled and poked the Spirit Terry with his elbow. "Busted! You're totally jealous," he interjected.

"Terry! I can't. Tomorrow, maybe—"

"No. Tonight, Cass. It has to be tonight," he said beseechingly. "Please. You can reschedule with your friend. Or...y'know, if it's a guy, you could just cancel entirely..."

She smiled in spite of herself. "I know you think your insecurities are charming, but they're really just annoying as hell."

"Wow. Harsh. Harsh but fair. See, that's exactly the kind of real talk I need in my life. I already feel like a changed man. You'll see when we get together for dinner tonight."

Her smile turned into a grimace, and she touched her temple as though she was fighting off a headache. "Fine. Just...get out of here. Pick me up right after work."

Beaming, he leaned over and quickly kissed her on the lips. "You won't regret it! Promise!" he called over his shoulder as he hurried off towards the elevators.

After he watched his younger self leave, the Spirit Terry turned to take another longing look at Cassie. Then he swore under his breath and stalked down the hall.

The Spirit Ray heard Terry's high heels clicking on the floor and did a double-take, clearly caught off-guard by the sudden move. The Spirit followed him down the corridor to where Terry had ducked into a small employee break room. Inside, the Spirit stopped short as he saw Terry lean heavily on a countertop over by the sink, looking fantastically out of place in the staid corporate environment in his slutty bubblegum pink fuzzy sweater and miniskirt. He eyed Terry uncertainly and made a questioning gesture over towards the vending machines.

"Um, did you need a snack or something? I just kind of assumed that you ate before we left..."

Terry straightened up and brushed his long hair out of his face, showing off his red puffy eyes and the anguish that practically came off of him in waves. "Fuck you."

"Oh."

"Yeah, 'oh.' Fuck you, fuck Jingle, and fuck almighty Santa Claus, for all I care."

"You don't mean that."

"You're the second guy tonight to tell me that I didn't mean what I just said. Don't tell me what I'm feeling."

The Spirit sighed heavily and sidled up alongside of him and leaned against the countertop. "Listen. I know what you're going through."

Terry sniffed at that and shot the Spirit a condescending look of disbelief. "You really don't."

"I really do. I wasn't always like this, y'know. Not always a...guide. I had a life. I had dreams and hopes, successes and failures. I loved someone."

Terry gave the Spirit a sidelong glance. "Did you lose them?"

"Not exactly like you did, but...yeah."

"What were they like?"

The Spirit smiled at the memory. "She was a spitfire, a real troublemaker. You would have liked her," he said, which drew a small smile from Terry. "Most days I couldn't decide if I loved her or if I wanted to strangle the life out of her."

"Do you ever think about what might have been?" Terry asked.

The Spirit gave a mirthless chuckle. "That's all I think about. That's what it means to be a Spirit, especially one trapped in the Past. A prisoner to your memories, unable to move on."

"I'm sorry," Terry said quietly.

The Spirit shrugged. "It's a living." Then a moment later he added, "That's the humor of the dearly departed. Y'know, because I'm—"

"I get it," Terry assured him. "You've got Ray's sense of humor, that's for damn sure."

Then he sighed and dabbed the tears from his eyes. "Maybe it's just as well. I can't even imagine what she would have said if she saw me like this," he said.

"One way to find out," the Spirit said.

Terry made a confused face at that and turned to face him, but the Spirit had gone missing. But just then the door to the corridor opened, and Cassie walked in.

"Hi," she said to him in a distracted fashion as she headed over to the vending machines and started to dig around in her purse.

Terry froze. After a shocked moment he spun around to see if there had been someone else standing there apart from him, but the room was otherwise unoccupied. He then looked down at himself fully expecting to see his cleavage on display in the low-cut pink sweater, but he was startled to see that he was instead dressed in a satin button-up blouse in a deep red color and a fitted leather skirt. He realized that although he still looked like himself—like Angelique—he was dressed in an outfit that might easily have been worn by any of the executive secretaries in the building, or at least the ones looking to catch their boss's eye. Absently he hoped Delgado didn't see him like this, or it might give him some ideas about Angelique working there as a receptionist.

He watched as Cassie fished a dollar bill out of her wallet and tried to put it in the vending machine, only to have it rejected. She put it in again, it was rejected again. He wasn't sure what to do. He didn't want Cassie to see him like this, but he couldn't pass up the chance to see her one last time, to maybe change things. To cheat fate.

He moved to closer to her, which he quickly discovered was no easy task given how tight his skirt was, since it practically bound him at the knees. Between that and his high heels, his gait had been reduced to a ridiculously hobbled little waddle. He prayed that he wouldn't be called upon to hurry anywhere. Or to try to sit down, for that matter.

Fortunately, Cassie was preoccupied and didn't appear to notice his difficulties. He managed to edge closer to her, watching her from the side as she tried to get the machine to take the bill. She was clearly growing frustrated, but he was captivated to see her again, and so close. He was only a few feet away, staring right at her.

Cassie froze as her eyes slowly cut over to the side until she was looking right at him.

"Hi?" she said uncertainly.

"Hi," he echoed. He still hadn't blinked.

For Terry, the moment hung suspended in time as he beheld her. Unfortunately, time for Cassie was apparently still progressing forward at the normal rate, since that moment rapidly extended into awkwardness.

"Right," she said slowly. "Something I can do for you?"

"Oh!" he said, blinking quickly. "I just...uh. I didn't mean to stare, I was..." He flipped his fingers vaguely in her direction.

She gave him a look of understanding. "It's the earrings, right?" she said as she tossed her hair back to show off the dangling bohemian jewelry. "My boyfriend gave them to me. Personally, I think they're a little gaudy for the office, but he has no idea what women wear."

"Give him time, he'll get better," Terry assured her.

She held out her hand. "My name's Cassie."

Terry stared at her outstretched hand and slowly reached out his own. As their fingers made contact, he gave her hand a long, desperate squeeze as he closed his eyes. He couldn't believe he was touching her again. He never wanted to let her go.

She cleared her throat.

As Terry's eyes snapped open, he beheld Cassie's confused and worried expression. It was the same sort of look that you might give to the plumber who you've just invited into your home after he energetically starts in on an elaborate conspiracy theory he's been obsessed with for many years, explaining how "they" are all out to get him, and then lamenting how he wished he had more time to devote to his extensive gun and knife collection.

"Sorry!" Terry apologized with a nervous smile as he yanked his hand back. "Sorry. I'm, uh...Angelique."

"Are you new?"

Terry looked down at his prominent bosom that tented out the front of his blouse. "Less and less," he muttered. Then he looked into her confused face. "I mean, no, I don't work here...I'm a friend of Lucius."

"Oh."

Cassie's monosyllabic response had a decided air of finality about it, and Terry suddenly realized that she was smart enough not to say anything to a woman she'd just met who could get her in trouble with her boss.

"Oh! No, I mean, not like that," Terry quickly said. "Well, okay, it is like that. Sort of. But he's not my type," he admitted honestly. "Sorry, I swear I'm not an asshole or anything."

Cassie gave a polite smile and then returned her attention to the vending machine. She tried inserting the bill again, only for it to be rejected again.

"Dammit!" she swore, hitting the machine in frustration. "Shit. I'm sorry, it's just been a lousy day."

Terry glanced down at himself. He didn't have a purse, and his outfit didn't have any pockets, so he just gave her a helpless shrug. "Sorry, I can't help. I don't have any money."

Cassie laughed once. "That's funny. You sound just like my boyfriend."

Terry winced inwardly and tried not to let it show. "I noticed you talking to a guy just now. Was that your boyfriend?" he asked as casually as he could manage.

"Yeah. I know I shouldn't be socializing during work hours, but he came by."

Terry's eyes went wide. "No, no, I wasn't saying anything, I was only curious. I meet my boyfriend here all the time," he said. He wrinkled his nose at the memory of the last time he'd visited Delgado here...his dress had been so tight and his heels so high that he practically had to cling onto the man's arm just to walk. Delgado for his part didn't seem to mind, and in fact he seemed to take some delight in touring around through the hallways to show Terry off like some kind of show poodle. "It was...well, it just looked like you guys were having a little argument."

Cassie let out a grumble of annoyance and Terry held his breath, uncertain if she was losing patience with the Terry who'd just left, or the Terry who was peppering her with questions in the employees' break room.

Cassie turned around and leaned against the vending machine and held up her fists in frustration like she was grappling with some imaginary foe. Then her eyes cut over to look at him.

"It's just that he's so...so...." She fumbled for words.

"Immature? Selfish? An insufferable man-child who's afraid of commitment, and who covers up his true feelings with humor and sarcasm?" he offered.

Cassie looked at him strangely. "Um...right."

Terry froze for a moment and then gave her a little shrug. "I'm good at getting a quick read on people. Sorry, you were saying?"

"I'm just under a lot of stress right now. And I know he means well, but I swear Terry couldn't do a better job of getting in the way if he tried."

He did his best to hide his wounded expression. "But you love him, right? That's got to count for something. You do love him?" he pressed.

"I do," she admitted, apparently oblivious to his huge sigh of relief. "I only...Angelique, what do you do with a guy like that?"

Time stood still as Terry's mind raced to form the right words. "Look, I've had a lot of experience with guys like that. Like a lot, a lot. And I know they can be infuriating sometimes. And jerks. And they forget your birthday, twice. And your mother doesn't like them, but honestly that's mostly due to how he left things after dating your sister before he dated you..."

A curious expression crossed Cassie's face and she seemed about to say something.

"But!" Terry interrupted. "But you love him. And he loves you. And he'd do anything for you. So...be patient with him, okay? He's probably going through a lot of stuff he doesn't want to burden you with, and he's under a lot of stress. And he might say some things he doesn't really mean, but he's better than that. He is. Or at least he's trying to be."

Cassie said nothing, but simply furrowed her brow slightly and then silently slung her purse over her shoulder and turned to leave. She took a few steps towards the door and then turned back to look at him. "Thanks, Angelique. I guess I'll be seeing you around." Then she turned and left.

"I love you, too," Terry whispered.

Then he breathed a heavy sigh. "I didn't change anything, did I?" he asked.

The Spirit was standing behind him. "I'm sorry, Terry. You can't change the Past. Believe me, I've tried."

"So nothing I said made a damn bit of difference."

The Spirit performed a fair approximation of the equivocal shrug that Ray sometimes gave. "Do you feel any better?"

"I guess. A little," Terry admitted.

"Then it made a difference."

Terry looked down at himself, and saw that he was once again wearing the fancy black French maid outfit that the Spirit had initially dressed him up in. He was no great fan of the frilly little skirts, but it was a small relief to at least be able to walk properly again.

"Are we done? Can we go home now?"

The Spirit put a hand on his shoulder. "You know we can't. Still one more stop to make before our time is up."

Terry took a tremulous breath and looked up into the Spirit's face, the face of his best friend. "I don't know if I can do this, Ray."

"You can. You're strong. I'll help if I can."

That evening, four individuals meandered through the bright lights and noisy sounds of a traveling carnival that had set up at the edge of town. The weather was pleasant, and the crowd was having a good time, but a dark cloud seemed to hang over the group as they trudged along. Attending the carnival had been Cassie's idea, but she'd appeared anxious and distracted the entire time, which only served to annoy her companion, the younger version of Terry. He, in turn, was dissatisfied with what he thought was likely to be his last evening with Cassie for the foreseeable future, since he knew that Delgado's goons would soon be after him. Following along behind them unnoticed and unseen were the Spirit Terry and his Spirit guide who watched the slow torture unfold before their eyes. Everyone was miserable.

Most everyone.

"You want some cotton candy?" the Spirit Ray offered Terry. The specter hadn't said much, but he seemed to be gladly availing himself of the available snack foods.

"No," Terry snapped. "My God, you are Ray. My life is falling apart, and you're stuffing your face. Is that even real food?"

"It's carnival food," the Spirit said with a shrug.

Terry expelled a sigh. "I mean, is that human food, or are you only pretending to eat in order to annoy me?"

The Spirit looked down at the snacks in his hands and ate another mouthful of cotton candy. "Tastes real," he said with his mouth full.

He then silently offered Terry a cone of cotton candy, only to be met with another angry glare. But the Spirit continued to hold it out and raised his eyebrows. "Might make you feel better."

"Ugh," Terry said as he grabbed the pretty pink confection and took a bite.

"You want some popcorn?"

"Of course I want popcorn," Terry said, stuffing his mouth and looking miserable. After he chewed and swallowed his food, he turned to face the Spirit in disgust.

"I can't believe this. Not only are you making me relive the worst day of my life, now you've got me watching and eating popcorn. This is insane."

In front of them, Cassie and Terry's younger counterpart had fallen into another testy exchange.

"That's the third time you've checked your watch," Terry said. "This was your idea, remember? If this is boring you, we can go find something else to do." He’d changed clothes into a sportcoat and slacks, and his long hair was back in its usual low ponytail he favored. It was about as dressed up as he ever got.

"It's fine, Terry," Cassie sniped. "You're the one who wanted to be spontaneous. Live it up. Feel that spontaneity whipping through your hair."

"It's the stench ripping through my nostrils that's what's bothering me. I just wanted to do something special. You're the one who wanted white tablecloths, not...a dead fly in your cotton candy." He made a face and plucked the cone out of her hands and threw it in the trash.

Behind them, the Spirit and the older Terry both looked down in disgust at what they were holding, glanced at each other, and tossed theirs in the trash as well. The Spirit shuddered.

"I'm sorry that this random Wednesday outing isn't as magical as you dreamed," Cassie sniped sarcastically. "I gotta go pee. Hold this," she said as she shoved her uneaten hot dog into his hands.

"Idiot," the Spirit Terry muttered.

"That's a little harsh. I think she's being pretty game about the whole thing," the Spirit offered.

"Not her. Him. Me. Whatever." He walked around to stand invisibly in front of his hangdog younger self, who was checking his watch. "He's so preoccupied about the mess he's gotten himself into with Delgado and how he wants this evening to go that he's fucking everything up."

He got up right in his own face and yelled, "You're going to lose her, dumbass!"

He then stalked over to a nearby bench and threw himself down into it, and he sullenly plucked at his skirt. The Spirit sat down next to him.

"What's going through his head right now?" the Spirit asked as he peered over at the other Terry.

The Spirit Terry looked at him, puzzled. "Don't you know? I figured you were all-knowing or something."

The Spirit shook his head. "I don't know what you planned to do, I only know what you did. I know that after tonight, you went on the run for months, trying to hide out from Delgado's goons. I know things got bad after that, but then you eventually doubled back and came home to live with your brother and his family. But then just as you were about to wear out your welcome there, you got yourself turned into this absolute smokeshow of a woman, and here you sit."

Terry pursed his lips. "Thanks," he said dryly.

"Hey, I am not just being polite, you are wicked fine. I can see what Delgado sees in you. If you weren't my best friend, I'd be all over you."

"But you're not my best friend, are you? Ray's my best friend. You're some escapee from the Haunted Mansion who happens to look like him."

The Spirit thought about that and chucked his thumb over his shoulder. "So, you wanna go back behind the Tilt-A-Whirl and fool around?" he offered.

Terry shot him a disbelieving look.

"Worth a try. And in my defense, that's exactly the kind of joke that Ray would have made," he said with a grin. Then after a moment his smile faded, and he nodded towards the younger Terry. "So he's just going to run? One last night with Cassie before he hightails it out of here?"

"He has—I had—plans," Terry amended. Then he scoffed. "Ha, 'plans.' That's a joke. That implies I was thinking more than ten minutes in advance. I only knew what I wanted. I wanted one really special night with Cassie. I wanted her in my life."

"And you didn't want to get killed by Delgado's goons."

Terry tilted his head in silent acknowledgment.

"I knew I'd fucked up. You don't get in that deep with someone like Delgado or his organization and not know how much trouble you're in. I just—I dunno, I guess I just thought it'd be like every other time in my life when I was able to skate by with a wink and a grin."

"Why didn't you tell her?"

"I was going to. I was going to tell her tonight. I was! I had this stupid idea that we'd run away together, probably change our names and live on some island somewhere. I was an idiot."

"Worse. You were in love," the Spirit said.

Just then, the younger male Terry made a loud grumble of annoyance and checked his watch again. "How the fuck long does it take to pee?" he muttered to himself before he stalked off in the direction of the Porta Potties.

For a long moment Terry sat on the bench and watched the direction that he'd just left, not moving or saying anything.

The Spirit stood up and offered his hand to Terry. "Come on. Time to see this through."

For the next twenty minutes, Terry and his Spirit guide followed his younger self around the carnival as he searched for Cassie, who was nowhere to be found. After they'd checked over by the Porta Potties, he'd started to wander around looking for her and was getting progressively more agitated. Apart from the younger Terry occasionally calling her name, none of them said anything...the Spirit Terry was even quieter than usual as he glared at his younger self, and the Spirit Ray kept his own counsel.

The younger Terry stopped and looked at his phone for the upteenth time. He sent another text and dialed her number again.

"Terry!" Cassie's voice came as she hurried over to him, coming from the direction of the parking lot.

"Cassie!" he cried as he rushed over to meet her. "Where the hell have you been? I've been looking all over for you, I—"

Breathless, she touched her hand to his face. "Terry, I—I have to go. I'm sorry."

He nodded. "Okay, this place is dead, anyway. We'll go find a nice restaurant, have a glass of wine—"

"No! I have to go. Something's...come up. It's important. I'm sorry, we'll talk tomorrow."

She took a step to leave, but his hand darted out and grabbed her by the wrist.

"Ow!" she cried out. "Terry, let me go."

"Don't let her go," the Spirit Terry whispered.

"This can't wait until tomorrow. I need to talk to you. It's important," he said as he maintained a firm grasp on her wrist.

"Dammit, Terry, it's always important with you! It's always a crisis, always...drama! But I need to do this!"

Cassie's phone beeped and he looked down to see that she held it in her other hand. He recognized the tone as an incoming text message.

His jaw dropped slightly as he looked at her and then glanced around at the carnival. "You were meeting him here," he realized. "That's why you wanted to come here. That's why you wanted me to drive, because you were going to ditch me here and leave with him, weren't you? Probably text me later some weak excuse about work or something."

She yanked her hand out of his grasp. "Terry, it's not what you think. I can't explain now. I'll tell you tomorrow."

"Tomorrow's too late!" he cried. He tried to grab at her arm again, but she pulled back out of his reach.

She looked at him incredulously. "What is wrong with you?"

"Me? What the hell is wrong with you?" he shot back. "I just wanted one nice evening, just the two of us. I wanted— I wanted—"

"Tell her. Tell her," the Spirit Terry said.

Cassie looked at him helplessly and shook her head. "Terry, not everything is about you, okay?" She glanced over her shoulder and then back at him. "This isn't what you think. We'll talk tomorrow, but right now I have to go."

He had a pinched and despondent expression on his face, and he looked down and away from her. Cassie took a step towards him and leaned forward to give him a quick kiss, but he pulled away, leaving her visibly hurt.

"I'm sorry," she said as she rushed off.

As he stood there quietly, his eyes darted upwards to watch her retreat, but he didn't move. He jammed his hands into the pockets of his sport coat and took a shaky breath.

The Spirit Terry moved up to him and got up right in his face. "Go after her, you idiot! Don't just stand there, follow her! You're fucking up! You're fucking everything up! Why won't you do something?!"

"He can't hear you," the Spirit said.

The Spirit Terry retreated a couple steps and hugged himself as he watched the scene helplessly. He felt as the Spirit moved up beside him and touched him on his shoulder.

Suddenly the landscape shifted, and after a moment he realized that he was now seated in the passenger seat of a car. Confused, he looked over his shoulder to discover that he was in a convertible, and the Spirit was seated quietly in the back seat. It took him a moment to recognize he was in his own car, shortly after the events they'd just witnessed.

His younger counterpart came up and got in the car and angrily tossed the sport coat he'd been wearing into the back seat. He irritably started the engine and began to reach for the gear shift when he stopped abruptly, having noticed something on the floor. He reached down and picked it up, instantly recognizing Cassie's sparkly charm with the four rhinestones in an elongated "W" shape. Dumbstruck, he stared at it for a moment.

The Spirit Terry watched him silently, and his hand rose up to a spot just below his left shoulder where he touched something hidden underneath his dress. His fingers tugged out the strap of his brassiere just slightly, revealing the sparkly constellation charm that was pinned there. The same charm that his younger self had in his hand.

"Cassiopeia," they whispered together.

A moment later, their moods diverged completely. The younger Terry angrily threw his car into drive and tore out of the parking lot, while his older self let out a despondent whimper and choked back a sob. From the back seat, the Spirit reached forward and put a reassuring hand on the Spirit Terry's shoulder.

The car lurched to a stop as his younger self reached the main road, unsure where he was headed. Several seconds later, he turned the car onto the road. Almost immediately, they saw the flashing blue lights.

A small crowd had gathered, and the police car had partially blocked the road as they pulled closer. They started to pull slowly past the scene, but as the younger Terry turned to look at what the commotion was, he saw an all-too-familiar figure laying prone on the ground and a desperate cry escaped his lips. He jammed the car into park and was up out of his seat in a heartbeat as he raced towards the flashing lights. The sound of an approaching siren could be heard in the distance.

Back in the passenger seat of the car, the Spirit Terry took a tremulous breath and looked down, not wanting to bear witness to this part. He turned towards the back seat and silently gestured at the sport coat that was laying there, and the Spirit handed it over. Terry reached into the pocket to pull out the small box that was inside and opened it.

"I need to know something," he said as he stared at the ring with its little diamond. "Would it have changed anything if I'd told her, if I'd asked? I mean, it was just a hit and run, right? Even a few seconds either way could have made a difference. Even if she'd said no and laughed in my face, it would have delayed her. Just for a few seconds."

"I can't answer that, Terry. I wish I could."

Terry snapped the box shut and rested his hands on the front of his skirt as he looked down at his long manicured nails.

"I couldn't even attend her funeral. I wanted to, but I knew Delgado's thugs would be looking for me, and it was too obvious. I sent flowers. I visited...later. She deserved so much better."

"You did what you could."

He sat there quietly for another long moment. "The other two. The ones like you. The...Spirits. Does this get easier?"

The Spirit tilted his head equivocally. "I think so. A lot depends on you."

Terry scoffed at that.

"What's funny?"

"I think if the outcome rests on how dependable I am, I'm pretty much boned."

The Spirit Ray's mouth twisted into a half smile. "You might be surprised. But now it's time to sleep," he said as he leaned forward and touched Terry's head. Before Terry could react, he tumbled off into a dreamless slumber.

Terry was jolted awake from a deep sleep. Before his transformation he had never really stopped to think about something as mundane as a proper sleeping position, but ever since that day, he'd discovered that he had absolutely no idea how to sleep with breasts. No matter where he put his arms, he ended up either trapping a boob in an awkward position, or having his arm pop out at angles that were not conducive to sleep. But as he wriggled in discomfort and felt the uncomfortable constriction of his brassiere, he realized it probably didn't help that he was fully dressed.

He rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling, and he realized even without looking that he was dressed in one of his French maid uniforms. He owned several, but he had almost gotten to the point where he could tell which one he wore solely by feel. The starched feel of the petticoats was a strong clue, in fact he might have been able to guess based on the crinkling rustle alone. But the tug of the garter belt against the silk stockings and the feel of the wrap-around straps of the stiletto-heeled sandal was a giveaway. It was, he realized, the exact same outfit he'd worn only hours earlier for his disastrous date with Lucius Delgado.

Terry lay there and hugged a pillow as he waited to hear the chimes of the grandfather clock downstairs. He steeled himself for his next visitation and sighed, feeling the tight constriction of his push-up brassiere, which was doing its job quite impressively. And uncomfortably. So, as he lay there, he was fully awake by the time the clock downstairs struck one o'clock.

After the echoing chime faded, the only sound in his room was his own breathing, occasionally mixed with the quiet rustle of his petticoats as he shifted position. He sat up in bed, fully ready to confront the Spirit when it appeared. But the Spirit didn't come.

Five minutes he waited. Then ten. Then fifteen. The clock chimed the quarter-hour.

"Oh, come on," Terry muttered to himself. "Let's just get this over with."

That's when he noticed the light that was dimly visible beneath his bedroom door.

It was a curious, ruddy, almost unearthly light. He stared at it and wondered if it heralded the coming of the Spirit, but when it remained steady, he headed to the door and opened it. The light led him downstairs to the big room where the family had attempted their birthday surprise earlier that evening. The decorations were still up, and if anything they were even more extensive. There was a spread of paper flowers around the "HAPPY BIRTHDAY ANGELIQUE" banner, as well as colorful ribbons and sprays of flowers that Terry didn't remember seeing the first time. The array of food and drinks also appeared more elaborate and sumptuous, and there were candles lit around the room that gave it a warm and inviting glow.

And there, standing in the middle of it and putting up a colorful streamer, was FBI Agent Samm.

"Happy birthday, Riley!" she declared brightly. As she turned to face him, he realized that she was dressed very uncharacteristically in a snug clubbing dress and what for her was a fairly daring set of high heels. Her honey blonde hair was loose and down to her shoulders, and her makeup looked like she was heading out for a night on the town to do some hard partying.

Terry sniffed once as he made his way into the room to meet her. "If you're going to impersonate people I know, you really should do your homework. Samm wouldn't be caught dead wearing that."

"But I am dead," the Spirit pointed out with a grin. "Sorry, that's the humor of the dearly departed. Besides, she—or rather, I—dressed up in an outfit like this the last time I came to your house. That time I was pretending to be that stripper. Skeevy Cindy, wasn't it?"

"Sleazy."

"Whatever." She picked up two champagne flutes and handed him one and clinked her glass against it. "Happy birthday," she said, before taking a drink.

"My birthday was yesterday."

She affected an exasperated glance as she went over to the table with all the food. "Eh. Yesterday, today, close enough. You can't be a slave to a schedule, you need to live in the moment. I thought you of all people would appreciate that. Wow, check out all this food, you want some?"

"You don't sound anything like the Agent Samm I know."

"And you sound awfully sure of yourself considering you don't even know my first name. I have a life outside of the FBI, you know. I take my job seriously, but you get a couple margaritas in me, I know how to let my hair down."

"I've had the pleasure," he said, recalling the memory.

She worked her way down the table as she made a food plate for herself and popped a mini cupcake in her mouth.

"Ohh, that's so good. You sure you don't want some of this? Here, at least have some cake," she said as she handed him a small plate with a slice of red velvet cake and a fork.

He shook his head slightly as he watched her. "I'm curious. Is there something about transcending the impenetrable veil of death that makes all you Spirits snacky?"

Her face lit up and she burst out laughing, a bright and musical laugh. He'd never really noticed what a beautiful smile she had.

"They told me you were funny," she said as she wagged a finger at him. Then, noticing she had some frosting still on the end of it, she popped it in her mouth to lick it off.

When he said nothing, her expression changed to concern. "Wow. My brother really worked you over, didn't he?" she asked as she touched his arm supportively.

"You brother...? Oh, you mean the other...the other one," Terry said, not entirely comfortable with the word. He then let out a heavy sigh. "It wasn't his fault. I guess he tried to help, but..." He shook his head.

"Yeah, the Past is a bitch like that. I'm sorry it was such a kick in the crotch."

Terry regarded the young woman uncertainly. He didn't know why, but it struck him as strange that these Spirits appeared to be concerned with his feelings in the matter. However, as he wriggled his toes in his stiletto heels and felt the constriction of the push-up bra that enhanced his already preposterous cleavage, they clearly weren't overly concerned with his comfort.

He was also still trying to square this image of Samm with the woman he knew. The real Samm was a painfully uptight and by-the-book agent who seemed to delight in trotting him out in one ridiculous scheme—and outfit—after another in an attempt to get the goods on Delgado. He wondered if the Spirit was right and Samm really was like this under the surface, or if he'd ever get close enough to her to find out.

"Listen," he said to her, "wherever you want me to go, I'll go. I know I tried to fight it last time, but as much as it sucked, I think I get it, a little. I need to do better."

The Spirit sidled up alongside him and gave him a playful punch in the arm. Then her expression became more serious and in a voice that reminded Terry more of the real Agent Samm, she said, "Let me give you some free advice, Riley. It's good that you want to do better, but wanting to do better is a lot like being sorry. It's fine, but an apology doesn't mean much if you don't know what it is you're supposed to be apologizing for. Just keep your eyes open, okay?"

He nodded.

"Right, we're off," she said. She produced a magical scroll out of seemingly nowhere that had an elaborate display like the one that Terry had seen Jingle and the other Spirit use. She tapped at it for several seconds while Terry stood there politely. And waited. And waited.

"Oh, screw it, we'll wing it," she said as she rolled it up and tossed it over her shoulder, and it vanished into thin air.

Terry regarded her in surprise. "Wow. You really don't sound like the Samm I know."

"Hey, I can improvise with the best of them. Back when I was in college, I was in an all-female improv group. We called ourselves No Gag Reflex."

Terry just stared at her.

"It's because it's like a play on words," she explained.

"Yeah."

"We also had one gay guy."

A long heavy sigh passed Terry's lips as he rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"You know, I'm actually considered to be quite funny."

"This is gonna be a long night," Terry muttered.

The Spirit gave him an all-too-familiar deadpan glare.

"Okay, now you remind me of Samm," he decided.

Her eyes narrowed to slits. "Quiet, you. We have a long way to go, and you have much to see," she proclaimed as she waved her arm in a dramatic flourish and Terry felt himself being whisked away.

Once again, a rush of disorientation swept through Terry. He wobbled unsteadily on his heels, and it took him a moment to reorient himself and figure out where he was.

But only a moment.

"This is the basement," he said. He would have recognized it anywhere, since it was the neatest and most organized unfinished basement he'd ever encountered, thanks to one of Bonnie's myriad organization projects run amok. The spacious storage room had racks of neatly-organized and clearly-labeled boxes and plastic bins. When he'd first seen it, Terry had been astounded that she hadn't bothered to come up with a numeric classification system to rival the Dewey Decimal System, except for use with holiday decorations and out-of-season clothes.

"That's right," the Spirit Samm said. "This is where we begin. You were expecting something more?"

"You know we literally could have just walked down a flight of stairs to get here."

The Spirit seemed nonplussed. "We are here to bear witness to the events that transpired here this morning," she informed him.

Terry looked around. "Oh."

"Something you care to share, Riley?" she asked as she raised a questioning eyebrow.

He gave her a shrug. "It's just that the first Spirit took me back months in time and transported me to different places. So it's weird that you're making like it's a big freaking deal when you're just taking me down a flight of stairs."

She smiled and nodded knowingly. "Okay, Riley, two things," she began as she held up two fingers. "First, allow me to apologize that my ability to navigate the infinite complexities of the space-time continuum isn't sufficiently—majestic—for you."

Terry waved his hand dismissively, a limp-wristed gesture that flashed his long manicured nails. "I'm sure you're doing your best. What was the second thing?"

"I just wanted to let you know that I'm already aware of the events that transpired today, so I'm...sympathetic...that you probably have some trepidation about reliving them."

"You're hardly in a position to—"

She kept talking right over him. "And I'm well familiar with your trademark snark as your go-to defense mechanism, so there's really no point in intentionally trying to antagonize me in some ham-handed attempt at manipulation. So to speed things along, how's about we just dispense with the bullshit?" Her tone was measured and even, and she regarded him calmly. But the look she was giving him was all business.

Terry started to object, but as she maintained her resolute gaze, he caved. He glanced away and then back at her, and he broke into a smirk as he tossed his hair over his shoulder. He shot her a side-eye look, which his glam makeup gave a decidedly coquettish flair.

"In my defense, that would have worked on the real Samm," he said.

"Keep telling yourself that, Riley," the Spirit retorted.

They were interrupted by the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs, with Dave and Bonnie followed by the two girls.

"I liked it better when we had family meetings in the kitchen," Claire said.

"Quiet, I don't want Angelique to hear," Dave said. "But most importantly before we begin, nobody is allowed back behind the curtain there." He indicated a corner of the basement that had been cordoned off with a hanging bedsheet and had handwritten signs saying "SECRET!" and "KEEP OUT!" in large letters.

"Wasn't gonna," Madison said. Then she made a little "oh" noise and began to rummage through a nearby box that was labeled "Halloween Decorations, 1 of 3."

Claire rolled her eyes. "Dad, nobody cares what nerdy costume you're going to make for the sci-fi dorkfest convention."

He gave his daughter a reproving look. "Claire, you know very well that the preferred term is speculative fiction. And since two years ago, I won—"

"Honorable mention," Bonnie and the girls all chorused together.

"...Yes. And this year I think I've got a good shot at—"

Bonnie put a hand on his arm. "Honey? Focus, please?"

The Spirit Terry watched the scene, but the Spirit Samm edged over to peek behind the sheet to see what was back there.

"It's pretty great, you want to see?" she asked.

"Not even a little," Terry sighed. When he turned and saw her displeased expression, he plucked at the frilly white trim that framed his bosom. "Every day is Halloween for me."

"'Bah, humbug,'" she mocked.

Dave looked to his wife. "How are we doing on the preparation?"

Bonnie switched on her phone and pulled up an electronic spreadsheet. "I bought the decorations, and the food is mostly ready. I still have to pick up the drinks, the cake, and another bag of ice."

Dave nodded approvingly and grinned. "I'm impressed. And I gotta say, you're throwing yourself into this more than I expected. You and Angelique must be finally starting to get along."

Bonnie and Claire scoffed simultaneously. Madison didn't seem to be listening since she had busied herself rifling through the box of decorations.

"Or not," Dave sighed.

"If I didn't do it, it wouldn't get done," Bonnie contended. Then she amended it by adding, "Properly."

The Spirit Samm playfully nudged Terry. "Aww, see how much work they did putting together that birthday party for you? That's nice."

"Bonnie just likes making spreadsheets," Terry contended. "And considering how this all turned out, I'd just as soon they hadn't bothered." He crossed his arms and the Spirit glowered at him.

Bonnie checked the paper again. "I can pick the last few things up, but we need to start setting up this afternoon. Put up the decorations and set out the food."

Claire frowned slightly. "If it's supposed to be a surprise, how are we going to do that while Angelique is here?"

"We'll need to get her out of the house for a couple hours. Someone will need to run interference."

A look of understanding crossed Claire's face. "You mean we need an expert at distraction who's also not gonna be very helpful doing the actual work to get everything ready."

They all fell quiet, and soon the only sound was that of Madison rummaging through the box. Eventually she noticed the silence and poked her head up, wearing a horned Viking helmet that was too big for her. She peered uncertainly at the rest of the group.

"How come everybody's looking at me?" she asked.

The Spirit made a sweeping gesture and the scene shifted to Terry's bedroom a short while later. The two of them watched invisibly as the Terry from earlier that day rushed to get ready, looking especially sexy in one of his more revealing French maid's costumes. It was the exact same outfit that the Spirit Terry was currently wearing and was one of the more provocative outfits in his wardrobe. Considering that Terry habitually wore the sexy costumes to work around the house and to run errands, he'd learned the wisdom of looking for ways to make the outfits somewhat more comfortable, if not any less embarrassing. He'd learned from hard experience that sometimes sneaking in some chunky high heels or more comfortable underwear could help make his outfits moderately more bearable.

For his current outfit, however, he was pulling out all the stops, with everything designed for maximum seduction. His push-up bra pressed his already sizable bosom into an expansive cleavage, which the low-cut bodice of the black dress displayed to utmost advantage. His skirt and petticoats were so scant that his stocking tops were already on display, and very nearly his black-and-white ruffled panties if he wasn't careful when bending over. Every touch of the outfit from his lacy headband to the frilled white apron lacked any utilitarian function and was there only there to be sensual and inviting. This philosophy was firmly reinforced by his choice of footwear, which were towering strappy stiletto heels that were borderline fetish wear.

The invisible pair watched as Terry fussed at his hair and makeup, scarcely pausing even as his cell phone began to ring. He pulled his phone out of his purse and audibly groaned when he saw who was it was. The Spirit Samm, curious, leaned closer to peer at the display and then turned to glare at the Spirit Terry.

"You have me in your phone as Sleazy Cindy?" she said accusingly.

He held up his hands. "Hey, that was your choice. Her choice. Samm's choice. Whatever. The point is, that's how Delgado knows you. If you ever called and he saw my phone, it's a little less suspicious than having it pop up as 'FBI Handler.'"

"That—!" She stopped short. "That's actually a really good point. Good thinking, Riley."

They watched as his counterpart took the call. He put the phone on speakerphone and placed it on the dresser as he fumbled in his purse to retrieve his lipstick.

"Yes, I know! I'm walking out the door now."

"No, you're not, Riley," Samm's voice came from the phone. "I know that because of a little thing called surveillance. That's also how I know that most of Delgado's people have already arrived. Whatever they're doing over there is huge, Riley. I've never known him to call a summit meeting like this, and we need you over there to find out what's going on. If you don't get over there right now, you're going to miss your opportunity to—"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Don't worry, I'm making myself irresistible," Terry said as he touched up his lipstick. Then he paused to admire his reflection with a seductive half-lidded kissy-faced pout and a sexy wink. He nodded at himself, impressed. "Hell, even I'd fuck me, looking like this."

The Spirit Samm's eyes cut over at the Spirit Terry, who was giving his counterpart a distinctly lascivious once-over, and he nodded in agreement. She rolled her eyes.

"Okay, just stick to the the plan. Adams wasn't able to get any listening devices in Delgado's house, so you're our only chance. Just make sure to turn on the recorder in your headband when you get inside. Now remember, it's a simple five-part plan, which as we discussed, I've given a BLART acronym to help you remember."

Terry sighed heavily.

"The B stands for Background, so that part you should already have done. You've laid the groundwork and spoke to Delgado yesterday about needing to get together, right?"

"Oh, absolutely," Terry lied, rolling his eyes.

"Good. Now the L stands for Lugubrious, because you need to—"

"Samm, would you just relax for once? It'll be fine."

There was a pause. "I just feel like you weren't fully on board with the BLART plan."

"And yet, how could that even be possible. Look, I've got it covered, okay?" he said, checking his makeup.

"Except that every time you say that, I—wait a minute. Am I on speakerphone?"

Terry froze his primping in the mirror. "...No."

The Spirit Samm glared at the Spirit Terry, who just gave a shrug.

"I am!" she declared as Terry went back to fussing with his hair and arranged it prettily around his decolletage. "Riley, take me off speakerphone right now!"

At the moment, Terry's hands were on his boobs as he gave them a heft to press them into a deeper cleavage. "Okay, it's off," he said without touching the phone. Instead, he reached over to retrieve some diamond earrings that he started to put in his ears.

"Riley, you can't take chances like..." She stopped short again. "I'm still on speakerphone, aren't I?"

The Spirit Samm gave the Spirit Terry another evil glare as he chuckled.

"Jesus Christ, Riley, how old are you? This is childish. You're taking a hell of a chance, you know. Anybody could overhear this."

He rolled his eyes. "Samm, I told you, I've got it cov—"

Just then, Madison walked into the bedroom, opening the door without bothering to knock. She glanced down at the phone.

"Oh, hey, are those the FBI guys? Is Adams there? Hi, Adams!" she said brightly.

"Hey, Madison!" Adams' voice chimed in from the phone. There was another pause, which from experience Terry knew almost certainly coincided with Adams receiving a warning look from Samm. "What? I was just being polite. We have to be good role models," he said.

Terry stopped primping and leaned against the dresser as he looked down at the phone. "And how is it okay for you to be on speakerphone but not me?" he challenged.

"That's different! I'm...in a secure location!"

"Adams...?" Terry asked slowly, looking for confirmation.

There was a pregnant pause. "Well, it's pretty secure," he hedged.

Samm's voice raised as she became audibly more agitated. "You think this is all a big joke, but you just try telling that to Manfredi and Johnson. Oh, wait, you can't, because the mob rubbed them out after they were sloppy with their phone security!"

A moment later, Adams' voice added, "In hindsight, we probably shouldn't have put undercover agents on the FBI's friends and family plan."

The Spirit Samm cleared her throat quietly. "I, uh, think maybe it's time to move on," she said.

"Uh huh," the Spirit Terry said flatly as he gave her a decidedly dubious look.

The scene jumped forward in time several minutes, and the Spirit versions of Terry and Samm found themselves following along with a glamorously made-up Terry in his sexy outfit as he marched out the front door of the house. Madison trailed along behind him, still complaining about her latest crusade, a small hanging air plant that she'd recently purchased.

"It's bull is what it is," Madison sniffed.

"Language," Terry chided her.

"What, I can't even say bull? It's a boy cow. Which is completely different from a cowboy, which is weird if you think about it. But c'mon, it's not like I actually said the word bullsh—"

"Madison!"

"Ugh, fine," she said, exasperated. "But I still think the air plant is dumb."

"Madison, you ordered it from a photo you saw online. Besides, what's not to like? Your dad even hung it up so that it looks like a terrifying little jellyfish monster with freaky tentacles that hangs over your desk. I thought you said that's what you wanted."

She scrunched up her face and folded her arms. "You wouldn't get it."

They walked quietly for a moment. "You thought it was actually going to fly, didn't you?" he said with a sly grin.

"You could not see the string in the picture!" she complained. "It was almost invisible. That's false advertising! Plus, you don't even have to feed it, you mostly just have to spritz water on it."

"Madison, it's a plant. What'd you think, it was going to eat chicken?"

She shifted uncomfortably. "Venus Flytraps eat meat," she contended. "I thought it might eat bugs or something cool like that. But I still say it's bull—loney," she said, checking herself.

"It's part of growing up. I remember when I was your age, I ordered some X-Ray specs from a comic book that were supposed to let you see through walls."

Madison's face contorted into a perfect combination of disgust and abject pity. "Oh my God, were you an idiot."

"Thanks," he said dryly.

"Plus, Uncle Terry, if you're trying to tell me a cautionary tale, how about the one from when you were your age, and you thought you were getting a vitamin shot or whatever and instead you grew a big pair of boobs? That's a winner."

"She has a point," the Spirit Samm interjected.

"Shut up," the two Terrys chorused in unison.

As they reached the sidewalk in front of the house, Terry stopped and turned to Madison.

"Where are you going?" he asked her.

She shrugged. "Wherever you're going."

He took her by the arm and pulled her close as he lowered his voice to an exasperated hiss. "Madison, I'm going to Delgado's next door! What'd you think, I was going to bring a kid along for a summit meeting with a bunch of mobsters?"

"Why not? You're going."

"I'm supposed to be Delgado's girlfriend, remember? I'm going to go over there and cozy up to him, and...and..." His voice trailed off as he made a noncommittal shrug.

Madison's eyes narrowed. "And what?" she probed.

"It's adult stuff. You're too young to understand."

"That's what Mom says whenever she doesn't want me asking a bunch of questions," she reasoned. Then she gave him a shrewd look. "You don't have any kind of a plan at all, do you?"

"Of course I do!" he sputtered. "It's...complicated."

The Spirit Samm was aghast. "Holy crap, you're winging it again, aren't you? Are you for real? Your big plan was to dress real sexy and then go knock on the front door like a drunk sorority girl going trick-or-treating?" She jabbed a finger at him. "I knew you weren't on board with the BLART plan!"

The two versions of Terry, both identically dressed, stood there on the sidewalk as they silently faced down the accusatory glances of their female companions. The one facing Madison found his voice first.

"Go home, Madison. This is dangerous," he said as he spun around quickly enough to twirl his skirts as he stalked off towards Delgado's house.

"At least we agree on something," said the Spirit.

Terry's approach, predictably, did not go unnoticed. There were a number of cars parked in the driveway that were each accompanied by serious-looking men in dark suits who were clearly there to keep a lookout for trouble. They appeared fully ready to handle the kind of trouble that might come from an attack by a rival organization or the unannounced arrival of law enforcement authorities, but they seemed uncertain what to do about the arrival of what appeared to be a hooker dressed as a French maid marching straight up the driveway.

Terry kept his eyes riveted on the front door and the two burly guards who were stationed there, and he tried to ignore the cat-calls and the odd whistle that came from the rest of the men. Most of Delgado's men knew that "Angelique" was dating the mob boss and therefore knew to show Terry a bare modicum of respect, but most of the other guys were guards for the out-of-towners there for the big meeting, and therefore likely figured that the bosomy girl in the skimpy costume was a stripper hired as entertainment for their bosses. As such, they weren't at all shy or subtle about showing their appreciation. As Terry passed by the line of cars, one of the men got close enough to touch his bare thigh and flip his skirts, but Terry squirmed away before he could try anything more aggressive.

As he climbed the front steps, Terry forced a smile to his lips as he made eye contact with the two goons who stood guard by the door. He had no idea what their names were, but he'd mentally named them Rocco and Guido. He'd seen them around before accompanying Delgado, but more importantly, he knew they'd seen "Angelique" with Delgado, which would give him some leverage.

"Boys," Terry said, lowering his voice into a seductive purr as he gave them a kittenish grin. In point of fact the two men terrified the hell out of him, but he was determined not to show it. It was bad enough to have to stand there in front of them in his skimpy costume looking like a sex toy with his boobs hanging out, but the two thugs were built like gorillas. There were times when Terry felt like he was just a guy in a dress as he ran around in his embarrassing feminine outfits, but when he stood next to these guys it was easy to feel small and frail by comparison.

"Sorry, Angelique," 'Guido' said as his arm blocked Terry's path to the door, an arm that was almost as big around as Terry's thigh. "Today it's invitation only."

Despite the insanity of the situation, Terry's first unbidden reaction was to bristle at the guy's casual use of his first name. Had Delgado been in earshot he most certainly would have rated a more respectful "Ms. Isabeaux," but on his own he apparently warranted the same level of familiarity that the guy would have afforded a stripper gyrating in his lap at a strip club. Still, that familiarity suggested a connection, and he figured he could take advantage of it as he kept his smile frozen on his face.

"Ohh, but I came all this way," Terry said with a pout, wishing he knew the guy's real name. He plucked at his skirt and bent forward slightly to show off his cleavage, not that he needed to make much effort given how low-cut the neckline was. "I just bought a new dress, do you like it?" he asked flirtatiously.

The guard and his counterpart clearly enjoyed the show, but also weren't complete idiots, and knew better than to get too familiar with Delgado's girl, especially on his front porch and in full view of the other guards.

"Yeah, it looks good," Guido said. His tone was neutral, but his wandering eyes took in the full show. Terry wriggled his shoulders to give his boobs a noticeable jiggle.

"Hell yeah, it does," Rocco agreed in a far less neutral tone.

Terry subtly switched targets and centered himself between the two men, but he made a point to provide Rocco preferential treatment on the view.

"I'm glad you boys like it," Terry said with a simper. "I was really hoping to show it off to Lucius. Maybe just a peek? I'm sure he won't mind."

The men looked visibly uncomfortable at Terry's familiar use of their boss's first name, a less than subtle reminder of the closeness of their relationship. But then they made eye contact with each other, and even before they opened their mouths, Terry knew they weren't going for it.

"Say, maybe—"

Just then the door opened. The two men snapped to attention so quickly that it caught Terry by surprise. He hoped it might be someone coming out so he could sneak past the guards long enough to find Delgado—or even better if it was Delgado himself—but unfortunately fate was not so kind.

"Angelique!" a woman's cheerful voice came from inside. "I didn't expect to see you here today."

Terry held his breath at the sight of Krystal Delgado, the daughter of the man himself. The last time he'd seen her had been at the cataclysmal dinner party where—among other things—she'd learned that "Angelique" was dating her father. She hadn't taken the news at all well. Now, as her dark eyes flickered up and down as she took in Terry's outfit, he squirmed slightly under her gaze, figuring she wasn't likely to do him any favors.

"Well, don't you look fetching," she observed as she invited him inside, and if the two guards had any remaining misgivings about Terry's presence, they kept it to themselves. As usual, Krystal was looking particularly radiant with a bright stunning smile and with her black hair worn in a style of loose sexy curls that was meant to look relaxed and casual, despite being carefully coiffed. She habitually wore fitted stylish clothes that showed off her lithe figure, and today was no exception as she was dressed in a breezy off-white sun dress that contrasted with her soft mocha complexion. But if she still bore Terry any residual animosity about dating her father, she was playing it close to the vest.

"She's pretty, I can see what you see in her," the Spirit Samm commented as they followed the pair as they headed through the house.

"Saw," the Spirit Terry replied brusquely, obviously uncomfortable with the subject.

Krystal blithely wended through to the back of the house, towards where Delgado maintained a large meeting room. "Wow, so many people visiting today! I swear, Daddy's pizza business has always got something going on," she said.

The Spirit Samm made a snort. "Not too bright, though. Definitely seems like your type."

Terry looked about ready to snap back an angry retort, but before he could respond, his counterpart cleared his throat and said, "Um, look, Krystal, about me and your dad..."

Krystal stopped in her tracks and turned to face him as she reached down to take his hands in hers. "Angelique. I am so sorry I blew up like that. Finding out about the two of you like that just caught me by surprise. I thought...well, it doesn't matter. But you make my dad happy, and that's the important thing." She leaned in and gave him a little kiss on the cheek. "Forgive me?"

"Sure," Terry said, the surprise evident on his face. "Yeah. Of course."

Krystal, still holding his hands, took a half step back and looked at him more seriously. "You are coming with Daddy to my art show tonight, aren't you?"

"I wouldn't miss it," he replied as she smiled and then continued to lead him through the house, eventually stopping in a small sitting room.

"Wait here, I'll go and check to see if Daddy is free," she said as she turned and left the room.

"Bitch," the Spirit Terry muttered as she glared at her.

The Spirit tilted her head in neutral agreement. "Not that you knew that at the time, of course. If only you knew then what you know now, huh?"

He turned to look at her. "Can I do that?" he asked.

"Tell...me," he said as he pointed at his counterpart. "Warn myself."

She recoiled at the suggestion. "Ohh, no. Nope. No, no, no, no, no. Noooo..." she intoned in a mocking contralto.

He crossed his arms defensively and wriggled his shoulders. "Fine. I was just asking."

"Yeah, not remotely how it works, gorgeous," she said with a laugh as she shook her head in wonder. "Wow, can you even imagine?" She clapped her hands together and waved them in a broad flourish like she was a dealer working in a Vegas casino about to go on break.

"Okay, thanks. I get it," he huffed.

The Spirit smiled and gave him a contrite look. "Riley," she said gently, but he ignored her and continued to sulk. "Riley," she repeated more firmly. No response.

"All right then, suit yourself," she said, exasperated.

She was clearly annoyed at being rebuffed, but this time her words were accompanied by a tingling sensation that raced over Terry's body, a soft prickling feeling like static electricity that raced over his skin and then passed almost before he registered it in the first place. At first he wondered if he had imagined it, but a look at the Spirit's self-satisfied expression told him what had happened even before he looked down at himself for confirmation.

His ultra-sexy French maid's outfit was gone, replaced by a short and ridiculously frilly pink frock, like a sexy fetish version of a little girl's elaborate party dress. The front of the dress was a cornucopia of ribbons and bows that fit snug against his bosom. The short sleeves were topped by two big puffs at his shoulders, and when he looked down all he could see was a sea of lace and ruffles, all in a baby pink color. It was possible that his skirts were even shorter than his French maid's uniform, making him look like an overgrown toddler, if not for the decidedly sexy additions to his outfit. He caught sight of the pink confection in a nearby mirror and saw that he wore white knee socks and a pair of pink platform high heels more suitable for a stripper. His makeup had been redone, and his hair swept up into two big bouncy pigtails.

He turned to face the Spirit. She seemed quite pleased with herself as she took in the sight of him in his new outfit.

"What, tired of the French maid's outfits already?" he asked.

"Now I can tell the two of you apart," she said as she indicated his doppelganger, who was still waiting nearby in his elaborate maid's outfit. "And if you're going to insist on acting like a pouty little girl, now you can at least look the part."

"That's hilarious," he said as he took a couple steps towards her. He was unsteady on his new footwear, and as he took an uneven step, his mass of skirts swished about gaily, even as his big pigtails bounced around his prettily made-up face. The sensations of the ridiculous costume drove him to distraction, but he sneered at the Spirit.

"You know, if you're trying to humiliate me, you're doing a lousy job of it. You should at least drop me off downtown like this so that everybody can get a good laugh."

"You're a real piece of work, you know that, Riley?" the Spirit said, sounding for a moment more like the Agent Samm that he knew. "You'd really let me do that, wouldn't you? Maybe I should drop you off down at Fisherman's Wharf or Ghirardelli Square clinging on to a sweet little dolly and with a big pacifier stuck in your mouth, and we'll see if you can charm your way home that way." She let the threat hang for a moment to read his expression, which remained steely and firm even in his preposterous outfit.

"Why don't you?" he challenged her.

"Wow," she said, shaking her head. "Just, wow. Are you honestly that desperate to be anywhere except right here and right now?" But when he didn't answer, she sighed deeply and rubbed her temple. "Riley, it might surprise you to know that I'm not here to torment you."

He flopped his head to one side, a sudden move that caused his pigtails to swing about in a bouncy, animated way. He then plucked at his frilly pink skirt and held it out in a sarcastic half-curtsy that fanned his petticoats out prettily.

"Oh, you were asking for it," she countered with a chuckle. "But you can't change the Past...what's done is done. And you can't constantly worry about the Future, either."

"Even when I know I'm screwed?"

"Especially then. You need to focus on the Present."

Terry jabbed a finger towards his counterpart standing there in the French maid's uniform. "A fat lot of good that's doing him! I mean me. You know what I mean."

"Riley, I'm not here for him, I'm here for you."

His brow furrowed slightly as he took that in. He caught sight of his reflection in a nearby mirror and realized how preposterous he looked, like a caricature of a frustrated little girl who was trying to recite the alphabet from memory for the first time.

"But if I can't change anything..."

"...then just be. Shut up and be present in the moment."

He cleared his throat slightly and looked at her sheepishly. "I'm not so good at that," he admitted.

The Spirit snorted loudly. "Out of the mouths of babes," she laughed as she mischievously plucked at one of his bouncy pigtails.

"This is bullshit!" Krystal screamed as she suddenly stormed back into the room.

The Terry in the French maid's uniform spun so quickly to face her that he almost lost his balance on his high heels. "What is it? What'd I do?" he asked in a panic.

He got his answer a moment later as Lucius Delgado quickly followed her into the room. "Krystal, you need to calm down..."

"Calm down?" she countered in a challenging tone that was decidedly far from calm. "You did this on purpose! You were looking for an excuse to miss another one of my exhibitions. I knew you weren't serious about supporting my work!"

"What's going on?" Terry asked. "Did your, uh, meeting...get canceled?" he asked the silver-haired gangster.

"Postponed," Delgado said. He did a double-take as he saw Terry in his sexy maid's outfit and raised his eyebrows in silent approval. He seemed about to say something, but was taken aback by the sight of his furious daughter glaring at him, and switched targets.

"Krystal, I can make it tomorrow."

"It won't be around tomorrow," she snapped. "It's a pop-up exhibition. One night only, remember? I asked you about the date. I made plans! Reschedule your stupid pizza meeting!"

Delgado ran his hand down his face. Terry was so used to seeing the man as a confident and dangerous mob boss that it threw him a bit to see him as a flustered father dealing with an agitated adult daughter. There weren't many people on Earth who could talk to Delgado the way that Krystal was talking to him and live to tell the tale.

"Krystal, the...businessmen...have already arrived from out of town," he said, choosing his words carefully. "I can't reschedule. One of them got delayed, so we'll have to start this evening when he gets here. I'm sorry."

"I bet. You're good at being sorry," she sniped. "You get lots of practice."

"Less than you'd think," Terry muttered under his breath.

"What was that?" Krystal challenged.

Terry's eyes went wide. "I, uh, was only thinking it's a shame we can't go to the exhibit first? Or maybe you could go during a dinner break? Y'know, or whatever."

The Spirit Terry walked up right into his counterpart's face. "Idiot. You just had to open your big mouth. Just because you look like a bimbo..."

Delgado shook his head. "I don't think there's time for us to—"

"Wait. That's a great idea, Angelique," Krystal said as she turned to her father. "At the place we're having the exhibition, there's a room right next door with a big table. We could turn it into a conference room, and you could have your meeting there."

Delgado seemed dubious, but also unwilling to further antagonize his daughter. "Krystal, that's generous of you, but we have certain security needs..." he hedged, clearly not wanting to explain the logistical considerations of a gangland summit to his daughter, who remained seemingly oblivious to his extralegal business activities.

"Oh. Well, we don't have to tell anybody you're coming. And it's not much to look at, I mean it doesn't even have any windows..."

Delgado nodded slowly, obviously warming to the idea. He snapped his fingers and gestured over at a guy in a dark suit over in the corner who'd been hovering nearby, apparently having surreptitiously entered at some point during the conversation. The man stepped quickly over to his boss.

"Get the address, check it out," Delgado told the man. "If it seems okay..." His eyes cut over to his daughter. "Let the others know."

Krystal's face lit up like Christmas morning. She threw her arms around her father and gave him a kiss on the cheek. "Thank you, Daddy!" she enthused before she hurried out of the room.

As Delgado's man left as well, the mobster's eyes settled on Terry, slowly drinking in the sight of him in his scant and sexy outfit.

"My goodness. It's always a treat to see you, Angel, but you've outdone yourself this time. Maybe tonight you can do some cleaning over here for a change. There are some things in the master bedroom that are absolutely filthy."

Terry wrinkled his nose in delight. "Ooh, I'd like that, honey badger," he said as he snuggled up against the man and fell into a passionate kiss.

As they parted, Delgado's eyes drifted over him. "Was there something you wanted?"

Terry shook his head. "Nothing that can't wait. You're busy. I'll see you tonight," he said as he gave the man another lingering kiss before turning to leave.

The Spirit Terry stood there a moment, watching his counterpart's petticoats swish back and forth as he wiggled his butt for Delgado's benefit.

"Something wrong?" the Spirit Samm asked him.

"That's the second time I've seen what I look like when I get kissed by that man. It's bad enough when I'm doing it, but now that I see what I look like doing it, it gives me the creeps."

The Spirit nodded agreement. "It could be worse, he could see the way you look right now," she said as she cast an eye over at him in his very adult-looking sissy girl outfit. "You might discover some whole new fetishes."

Terry shuddered.

The Spirit then gave him a more serious look, an all-business expression that was favored by the real Agent Samm. "Delgado really does care for her, you know."

"Who, Krystal? No duh."

"No. He cares for Angelique."

Terry was taken aback by the notion, and his brow furrowed slightly as he paused to ponder the idea.

"Does it bother you that you're toying with his heart to achieve your own ends?" she asked.

"Not even a little bit," he said without hesitation.

The Spirit Samm considered that. "Yeah, me neither."

By the time they caught up with Terry's counterpart by the front door, they saw that he was taking a moment to collect himself. He seemed to be steeling his nerves before having to face all of the burly men who stood watch outside, men who were no doubt looking forward to having another opportunity to ogle the busty French maid in her slutty costume. But when he opened the door, he stopped short as he saw the two muscled thugs who were still standing guard just outside. That in itself wasn't so shocking, except that standing right there with them was the 10-year-old Madison, who was holding up her phone in front of them while the two men peered at the display.

"Oh, yeah, you can barely see the string," said Rocco.

"That's sketchy as hell," Guido agreed.

"I know, right?" declared Madison.

Rocco shook his head and cast a glance at the young girl as he made a low grunt of disapproval. "You gotta watch out for scams, kid."

"The heart wants what the heart wants," Guido opined.

"Madison!" Terry exclaimed as he hurried out onto the porch. "Stop bothering these...nice men." He flashed the muscular goons a pretty smile as he grabbed her by the hand and practically yanked her down the front steps. The men who stood guard by the cars outside watched their retreat with undisguised interest as Terry forced himself to smile harder and pretend like this insanity was all perfectly normal.

"Ow, you're hurting me," Madison complained as Terry dragged her along until they were out of sight and earshot of the guards. It looked like she was about to say something, but Terry silently shushed her with a raised finger and a stern look. With his other hand, he fished out his phone and dialed Agent Samm.

"No. No! Yes, I got in! Jesus, where's the trust? No, I'm not there now. I did not screw up! It's not my—" He looked up at the heavens and tossed his hair over his shoulder and waited for a conversational opening as Samm chewed him out. Meanwhile Madison continued to stand there uncertainly, and he shot her a look that communicated "You're next, young lady" in a fairly capable imitation of a mommy look. Finally, he got tired of waiting and interrupted Samm.

"Look, the meeting got moved, okay? They're holding it tonight somewhere. No, I don't know where. It's wherever Krystal is holding her art exhibit. She didn't say! Because Delgado will be driving me over, and it was awkward for me to ask for directions so that the FBI could attend as my 'plus-one' guest. I don't know, I think Krystal's about to go over there, so maybe have Adams tail her or something. Look, I gotta go."

He hung up the phone and shook his head in disbelief. "Our tax dollars at work," he muttered. Then he turned his full attention over to Madison.

"And you! What were you thinking, going over there by yourself?" he hissed.

Madison gave him a carefree shrug. "I don't have a costume for the convention yet, so Mom said you had to take me to the costume stores so I could try and find something."

Terry stared at her blankly.

"Claire said we could borrow the convertible. It's parked out front. Here, I brought the key," she said as she handed Terry the car key.

Terry stared at her for a long moment, looked down at the key in his hand, and then his shoulders slumped as his eyes focused off somewhere into the middle distance. He had a pensive, far-off expression, not unlike that of a hero near the end of the second act of an action movie, right after his best friend (who was only two days away from retirement) gets killed by the bad guy, and now the director wants to communicate to the audience the depth of the character's pain but doesn't trust the acting ability of the guy they got to play the hero, so instead he has him mutely stare off through a window at night towards the lights of the city in the distance, usually while it's raining, while some maudlin overproduced cover of a classic rock ballad plays in the background.

Admittedly, it was a pretty specific look.

"Are...are you okay?" Madison asked, concerned.

He peered down at the key in his hand again, pausing to look at the long prettily-manicured nails that adorned his fingers.

"I'm just trying to place the moment when my life went totally spinning out of my control," he said.

"Oh," she replied as she slowly nodded. "Probably about the time you started wearing dresses and asked everybody to call you Angelique?"

"Yeah, that's about where I'd put it," he agreed.

"Okay, chop-chop!" Madison said brightly as she took him by the hand and tugged him along. "I got three stores in mind, maybe four..."

As they wandered off, the Spirit had a decidedly impish grin as her eyes cut over to the Spirit Terry. He looked particularly grumpy, which combined with his precious pink frock, once again gave him the appearance of a pouty little girl.

"What?" he groaned.

"Oh, come on. It's cute, right? She's running interference to keep you out of the house while they set up for the party."

"She lied to my face, and I fell for it like a schmuck."

The Spirit cocked an eyebrow. "Are we still talking about Madison, or are we talking about Krystal?"

When he didn't respond, she threaded her arm around his and snuggled close as they walked down the sidewalk. "Oh, don't be such a sourpuss. You did a good thing there by Madison. What you did was—"

"A rock fetch? A snipe hunt? A fool's errand?" Terry interrupted.

"—very thoughtful, was what I was going to say. Although I was interested in one moment in particular that transpired..."

She tugged him along and the dizzying sensation again raced through him as he felt himself being swept away again.

The first thing Terry became aware of as his disorientation began to pass was the sound of people talking. It was a mishmash of voices that echoed in the space, overlaid with the sounds of shoes and boots on a tile floor. In the distance he heard the sound of a crying child and what sounded like the ding of an elevator. Underlying it all was the sound of soothing nondescript music playing from distant speakers.

Without even looking, he could tell he was in the middle of a shopping mall.

He forced his eyes open and took in the space and saw all of the people milling around, but he quickly realized that he was by himself. The Spirit was nowhere to be seen.

Terry found her absence rather disconcerting. Until now, he'd been invisible to the people in these "visions," but in all of those situations, the Spirit had been close at hand. So now with her missing, he wondered if this might not be a deliberate prank on her part to dump him in a public space in his costume to see how he'd react.

Terry was no stranger to being out in public as Angelique, often dressed in skimpy revealing dresses or his ridiculous French maid's uniforms. But as he looked down at himself, he realized that he was still wearing the babyish dress that the Spirit had dressed him in, and he felt a surge of anxiety. It was bad enough to be seen as a French maid in public, but while he drew stares and leers and the occasional giggle, most people seemed to assume that he was a woman headed to a costume party or one who'd lost a bet.

It was something else entirely to be seen as a buxom woman in a fetish fantasy version of an elaborate little girl's dress, wandering the mall like he was a porno actress on his way to do an adult photo shoot somewhere. Dealing with laughter and cat calls were one thing, but if he wandered too close to a Build-A-Bear Workshop in this outfit, that story would almost certainly end with a pointed discussion with any security guards who happened to be on duty, no doubt keen on giving him a hard time even as they enjoyed the view.

Belatedly, Terry realized that he didn't even have a purse, which meant that he had no identification, and no car keys. Or a car, for that matter. Or a phone. He could practically feel his anxiety rising as he wondered who he could call to pick him up, and what possible excuse he could invent for why he apparently decided to go on an impromptu walk through a shopping mall dressed as an oversexed adult caricature of a little girl.

He wasn't sure what the Spirit could possibly hope to achieve by stranding him like this, and he felt his face flush in embarrassment as he saw a group of teenage girls coming in his direction. Teens were always the worst...sharp-eyed and sharp-tongued, looking to score points with their friends by putting down an easy target.

Except...as they got closer, they didn't seem to be paying any attention to him.

Puzzled, it took Terry a moment to realize that just like in his previous "visions" or "visitations" or whatever these were, the people here were seemingly oblivious to his presence. He felt a bit of relief at that for not being exposed, but also even more confused than ever. What did the Spirit hope to—

"Hey, Riley!" the Spirit Samm called to him as she crossed the broad open space to where he stood. She'd changed clothes and was no longer dressed in the form-fitting and scant clubbing outfit, and now wore a black pantsuit and white blouse, a professional look that the real Agent Samm favored.

And she was eating a Cinnabon.

He stared at her in disbelief as she approached. In one hand she held a small cardboard container with her cinnamon roll as she fussed at it with a plastic fork and took another bite.

"Mmm. Sorry, I saw this over there and had to stop. Here, try a bite," she offered as she held up a forkful in front of his face.

"I'll pass, thanks."

"Ugh, you are so grumpy! I swear, you're going to make me dress you up in baby clothes and a diaper and push you around in a stroller while you drink from a baby bottle. Seriously, try some."

"I'm on a diet."

She shot him a look. "What, you're worried about phantom calories, now?" she teased. Then she gave him a knowing look and added, "That's—"

"—the humor of the dearly departed. I get it." He made a face and then expelled a sigh as he leaned over and took a bite of the cinnamon bun off the fork. "Mmm," he intoned in an unconvincing murmur of delight. "Look at me, I'm living in the moment."

"It's a start," the Spirit shot back. She took another bite as her eyes darted around the space. "You recognize where you are, now?"

"Yeah," he said. He'd only been to this mall once before, earlier that day with Madison. It had been the third costume store they'd visited, ostensibly in search of a costume she could wear to an upcoming sci-fi convention, but after an exhaustive search—and countless costumes she'd tried on—she'd been unable to find anything to satisfy her requirements, which somehow managed to be both exceedingly particular and incomprehensibly vague.

Of course, now armed with the benefit of hindsight, Terry knew that she had been deliberately stalling him. That didn't make it any less frustrating.

As he wended through the mall towards the store with the Spirit snacking away next to him, he became distracted by the feel of the costume he wore. In many ways it wasn't all that dissimilar from his French maid's outfits, with the short skirt and soft mass of petticoats that tickled his thighs as he walked. Even though he knew nobody could see him like this, the sensations brought him back to earlier that day when he'd made this same walk with Madison.

At the time, he'd been mortified at having to blithely mince along in his stiletto heels while everybody got a good look at the sexy lunatic who went to the mall dressed in a risque French maid's costume. He'd worn similar outfits in public several times before, but few quite so daring or provocative. At one point, a bunch of teenage guys had spotted him and Madison as they headed for the store, and they'd hooted at him like a pack of horny orangutans. Terry had quickened his pace—no small feat in those heels—and it had set his boobs to jiggling and his petticoats to swaying in ways that the guys seemed to appreciate. There was no winning.

He and the Spirit entered the store, and he immediately saw his earlier counterpart seated there, impatiently checking the time as he waited for Madison to emerge in another costume that she had no intention of buying. But after a moment, his counterpart stood up in annoyance and turned to look at himself in the three-mirror arrangement that the costume store had set up and busied himself by primping. The Spirit Terry found that quite singular since he had no recollection of doing so, and it bothered him that he'd apparently internalized the need to always look his feminine best so as to avoid detection. But he found the image of his earlier self fairly startling.

Whenever he went out as Angelique—especially in those ridiculous outfits—he got through it by staying focused on whatever task was at hand and attempting (to varying degrees of success) to ignore the reactions of the people around him, especially the men. But now with the benefit of seeing himself thanks to the Spirits' various "visions," this was the first time that he'd seen what he looked like in such a public environment. Glamorously made up as he was, he realized he made quite an attractive woman, something that stirred up within him a confused mix of both pride and chagrin. But what really struck him was that for the first time he felt like he could finally get a sense of what other people saw when they looked at him.

The woman he saw there was clearly dressed to thrill in her skimpy and sexy outfit with her racy stiletto heels, long legs, meticulous hair and makeup...to say nothing of the prodigious amount of cleavage she flashed in her low-cut top. But what he found so striking about her wasn't her beauty or sex appeal, but rather her attitude. She had a relaxed and blase attitude about her, like being out in public dressed in that outfit was the most natural and normal thing in the world. But it wasn't because she was comfortable with it or loving it, but because there was a quiet defiance there. She was provocative in every sense of the word, practically daring other people to take issue with how she looked or how she dressed. It was her world, and everybody else was just living in it.

The Spirit tossed the remainder of her snack in a trash can and sidled up to him. "Not exactly what you thought, is it?"

"No," he admitted.

He watched as a pair of college-aged guys walked past, and the second his counterpart's head was turned they nudged each other in disbelief, and one of them made an obscene gesture about what he wanted to do. Terry didn't even remember having seen them at the store, but the longer he shadowed his earlier self, the more self-conscious he became. He harbored no illusions that he was a spectacle, but he'd been able to convince himself over time that most people were simply disinterested in whatever he had going on, or that they contented themselves with a smile or a smirk. But now as a third-party observer, he was able to see the heads turn, and all the giggles hidden behind hands as people whispered to each other. What people thought of him when they thought he wasn't looking.

The Spirit Terry awkwardly fussed at his dress, glad for once to be invisible. Invisible to most people.

"A bit different seeing things like this, isn't it?" the Spirit said. "They're not exactly cruel, but the little eye-rolls and ogling leers are easier to spot."

"It's cruel," Terry muttered as he caught sight of a guy trying to sneak a picture of his earlier self from behind.

"Is it, though? Really?" the Spirit countered. "I mean, c'mon, Riley. You're a sexy hunk of woman mincing around in public in a French maid's costume. What did you think was going to happen?"

Terry shot her a look. "Okay. I get it. I used to check out women in short skirts or gawk at their cleavage, and now I get to experience what that feels like."

"'Used to'?" she echoed dubiously as she raised an eyebrow. "Riley, you do it to Krystal Delgado, you even do it to me. Hell, I've even seen you do it to yourself." Her eyes cut to the side and Terry watched as his counterpart took a peek around to make sure nobody was watching, and he stepped closer to the full-length mirror to check out his own reflection.

Terry gave a dismissive shrug. "Oh, come on, that's nothing. Women do that all the time! I'm just checking my makeup. I—" He watched as his earlier self turned to the side and gave his cleavage a fluff, his fingers lingering a little too long on his fulsome breasts.

"The point is conceded," Terry muttered.

Just then, Madison emerged from the dressing room dressed in her latest costume. "How about this one?" she asked. She looked uncharacteristically adorable in a pretty pink princess dress, complete with a conical hat with an attached veil.

Terry's counterpart turned from the mirror to look at her and his jaw dropped. "Oh, my God, are you fucking with me?" he challenged her.

"Hey, language!" she chided him.

"No, no, no. That was a deliberate choice on my part, because no other word in the English language can adequately capture my motherfucking feelings on the matter."

Madison looked taken aback as she headed over to the mirrors to check herself out. "What? I think it looks good," she replied. Though she had a strange tone to her voice as she said it.

"Really," he said dryly. He moved up right behind her and crossed his arms so that they were both visible in the mirror, making for an interesting pair in their respective costumes. "What do you like best about this one?"

"Uhh..." Madison intoned as her eyes darted about and she surveyed her reflection. "I think the, uh....the hat is...cool."

"Madison, you hate princesses."

"What? No! I don't hate them..."

"Hate. Them." Terry said emphatically. "Your mother still tells the story of when she bought you a Mulan t-shirt at Disney World, and you fed it to a crocodile."

"Technically, it was an alligator. And it had no business being that close to an air boat."

"Wasn't that the same trip when you assaulted a woman dressed as Sleeping Beauty?"

"No!"

Terry eyed her dubiously.

"She...got in the way. I was going after the prince! I mean, c'mon, he kissed a sleeping girl without her consent! That is not okay!" she declared.

"Uh huh. And what about that time you took Claire's old Barbie dolls, dressed them up in ball gowns, and reenacted the burning of Atlanta by setting her Barbie Dream House on fire?"

She chuckled at that. "Okay, that was a good one," she admitted. Then she checked herself and looked down at her dress and hurriedly suggested, "Maybe I could wear it ironically?"

"Aaaand we're done here," Terry announced. "Get your stuff, we're leaving."

"Just one more!" she said as she hurried into the dressing room. "One or two more! I'll be quick!"

"Now, Madison!" He checked the time. "Damn it, it'll take us an hour to get home. I barely have time to change as it is," he muttered to himself.

The Spirit Terry scoffed at that. "Not even that much, with all of that cross-town traffic. I swear she planned that." He looked towards the changing room. "I can't believe I didn't figure it out before that princess costume."

"Maybe she likes princesses," the Spirit offered.

"No. No, she does not. We have that much in common."

"That, plus a snarky sense of humor and a devious streak a mile wide," she teased.

Terry didn't respond, but a moment later he felt a familiar tickling sensation rush over his body. This time, however, the change was more significant. His clothes had changed again, and this time the dress was a good deal bulkier and heavier. His eyes cut over to the mirrors and he saw that the Spirit had dressed him in an elaborate light blue Cinderella costume, complete with a voluminous glittering ball gown. However, instead of the character's signature blonde hair, he retained his usual chestnut brown tresses that had been styled into an elaborate updo...which only served to better draw attention to the pretty blue headband and bow that was perched there.

He shot her a look, but she appeared to be quite satisfied with herself.

"At least this means I get to take off one of my shoes," he muttered.

Just then, a woman in jeans and a red 49ers t-shirt who had been browsing through the store smiled as she looked at the other Terry in his maid's outfit. "I love your costume, you look amazing. I wish I had your confidence!" she complimented him.

"Um...thanks," he said, blushing slightly.

She glanced over in the direction that Madison had left. "Your daughter seems like a handful."

Her remark brought him up short, in no small part because of the matter-of-fact way she'd stated it. "Oh, um, she's..." he paused. "Uh, yeah," he finally agreed, clearly not wanting to get into it.

The Spirit's eyes cut over at the Spirit Terry, who also seemed equally uncomfortable from the woman's comment. "Not so sure about being a mommy, huh?" she teased.

"That's not—"

"Well, the two of you look really cute," the woman said to his counterpart. "You'll be the hit of the party. Is it her birthday?"

"No, it's...mine..." Terry offered without thinking. His voice trailed off, and he got a faraway look on his face as he started to put things together.

"Oh, happy birthday! I hope your daughter finds a good costume," she said with a smile before turning and leaving.

"Oh, she did," Terry muttered to himself. He walked up to the changing area and paused in front of the curtain long enough to hear the quiet electronic beeps and chirps that he recognized from a game that Madison habitually played on her phone. He threw the curtain open to reveal her still in her costume, sitting there and playing on the device.

"Hey, occupied!" Madison cried.

"You little sneak! You brought me on this wild goose chase to get me out of the house, didn't you?"

"What? No...."

"Good God, your parents are planning something stupid for my birthday, aren't they? That's why none of you wished me a happy birthday this morning."

"Oh, is today your birthday?" she asked innocently.

"Madison!"

She coughed out an entirely unconvincing scoff. "No. We just...forgot. We're very disorganized. And self-centered."

"Your mom's not the least bit disorganized."

Madison considered that. "Yes, but...she thinks you're a dick."

He brought his hand to his forehead as he replayed the day in his head. "This is why you volunteered to 'navigate' our route on your phone, isn't it? I knew there was no way we could have accidentally run into three construction zones and got caught behind two accidents."

Madison gave him a mischievous half smile. "I'm kinda proud of that, actually..."

"All right, that's it," Terry announced as he reached down and grabbed her bundle of clothes along with the plastic bag in which her costume had been packaged. He spun around quickly enough to give his petticoats a pretty twirl as he marched to the front of the store.

"Wait, what are you doing?" she said apprehensively.

"You're done. That's your costume."

Her face fell and she did a double-take as she caught sight of herself in the mirrors dressed in her pink princess costume. "What?! Are you nuts? I can't go out in public dressed like this!"

"Live my life," Terry deadpanned as he headed towards the cash register. Then he paused and looked right at her panicked face. "And as payback for that 'navigation' prank, we're gonna drive home with the convertible top down."

Her eyes narrowed into angry slits. "You wouldn't dare."

"A dream is a wish your heart makes, princess," he declared as he headed to go pay for the costume, and she rushed after him as the gossamer veil that was attached to her little conical hat twirled after her.

As they moved off, the Spirit paused and shook her head. "For real, Riley? Tormenting a little girl?"

Terry lumbered up alongside of her, struggling to hold handfuls of his voluminous skirts to avoid stepping on his gown. "That one can take care of herself," he countered. "And you're giving me grief for dressing someone up as a princess against their will?"

The Spirit looked him over and broke into a broad smile. "Yeah, but this is different."

"Yeah? How?"

"I could say that this is balancing the cosmic scales for your little prank. Or I could say that this is an attempt to teach you a modicum of empathy." She reached up and plucked at one of his tresses that had fallen out of place and tucked it behind his ear. "But the truth is, Riley, you really do make a pretty, pretty princess," she said with a winning smile.

As Terry and his Spirit companion followed both Madison and his earlier counterpart through the mall, it became pretty clear to Terry that the Spirit was doing this solely for her own amusement, since she seemed to be the only one who was enjoying herself. He was still burdened with his voluminous ball gown and had trouble keeping up, but he was at least thankful that people couldn't see him.

Madison and the other Terry were not nearly so lucky, getting stopped more than once by people to compliment them on their costumes. Madison was keen to cut the encounters short, but her smirking crossdressed uncle was only too happy to let the women take a good long look at his embarrassed niece, as they proclaimed in singsong voices what a sweet and pretty princess the little girl made. Madison looked like she was about to pop, but she apparently felt slightly more vindicated when she noticed that Terry's smug look disappeared when the men shamelessly ogled him in his skimpy French maid's costume while their wives were distracted admiring Madison's outfit.

“All right, that’s it. What’s the opposite of allons-y?,” the Spirit Terry groaned as he leaned against a nearby wall to catch his breath. “No mas.”

“What are you bellyaching about now?” the Spirit asked.

“C’mon, this dress weighs a ton. I can’t even see my feet! And these stupid heels—“

“Glass slippers,” the Spirit corrected.

“—are for the birds. Can’t you at least turn a few mice into coachmen to give me a hand with this thing?”

The Spirit seemed dubious, but somewhat to Terry’s surprise, he felt his outfit change…or at least it changed in front. The bulky mass of skirts and petticoats in the frontmost panel of his dress vanished, exposing his legs and leaving nothing but a tiny microskirt in front that scarcely covered his crotch. Above, the top part of his dress transformed from the pretty low-cut V neckline into a cleavage-enhancing bustier that seemed like something straight out of a burlesque show and had a nearly pornographic effect on his bustline. He seemed to be in danger of exposing himself if he took too deep a breath or raised an arm above his shoulder. Meanwhile, his already imposing stiletto heels went up an additional two inches.

“Oh, come on!” he complained. He wavered unsteadily on his towering high heels as he tried to reorient himself to the remaining bulk of the dress that was still arrayed in the sides and in back.

“Now who’s ‘Sleazy Cindy’?” teased the Spirit. When Terry shot her an unamused glance, she added, “You have to admit this is more your style, Riley. It shows off those sexy legs! And you’ve been a woman long enough to appreciate that it’s all about the shoes.”

He put his hands on his hips, his fingers brushing the curving transition point where his trim corsetted waist exploded out into the elaborate ruffles of his gown. “Uh huh. And these?” he asked pointedly, sticking out his chest to indicate his prodigious cleft of cleavage.

“Yes, well, that’s probably not official attire if you’re planning to tour the castle at the Magic Kingdom, but I don’t think the guys will mind,” the Spirit Samm countered. “You still want me to summon up a couple of coachmen to help you heft those coach pumpkins?”

“I’m good, thanks,” Terry said as he shuffled unevenly over to a nearby padded bench and sat down heavily. Despite the mass of crinolines and skirts, he realized that his skirt in front was so scant that he was practically in danger of exposing his crotch, and he crossed his legs in a ladylike fashion.

The Spirit looked down at him with a slightly amused expression, and then glanced over her shoulder towards the other Terry and Madison as they disappeared further into the mall. She then made a move to sit down next to him on the bench, being careful not to step on his cascade of skirts as she approached. However, Terry’s gown covered most of the bench, so she made a show of plucking the fabric out of the way to give herself a corner to sit down. Terry didn’t seem very amused.

“Why…did you have to put…a corset in this thing…?” he gasped as he put a hand over his stomach and panted for breath.

"I wanted to make sure you got the full princess treatment," the Spirit teased as she idly fussed at the layers of skirts and crinolines that layered the bench between them.

"Hey, Madison had it coming!" he protested as he pointed in the direction that they'd left.

"So did you, gorgeous," she said with a smile. Then, as he continued to pant in distress, she finally relented. "Fine," she said.

Terry's outfit changed again, and he practically gasped in relief to be free of the corset and the heavy ball gown. But he soon realized that what his new outfit lacked in volume it more than made up in color, being made up of a clash of different hues and fabrics and patterns. It didn't seem to lack for accessories between his colorful tights, leg warmers, and the stretchy exercise bands on his wrists, but his hot pink brassiere was a fashion accessory unto itself, as it was plainly visible under the loose camisole top that was slung low across his bosom. Down below, his brightly-colored froth of short skirts were held out by layers of tulle, and had patterns of both check and animal print. As he turned his head, he felt an oversized pair of earrings tug heavily on his earlobes, and he did a double-take as he spotted his image reflected in a nearby shop window. His face was covered with dark heavy makeup, and it was surrounded by a huge mass of hair that had been teased and ratted in a style that probably required enough hair spray to punch a new hole in the ozone layer. He looked like a caricature of a teenage mall rat from the 1980s.

He turned to face the Spirit and felt as his voluminous mass of hair swung around with him. "Still not the stupidest thing I've ever worn," he informed her.

"I'm glad you like it. Which reminds me...later tonight when you go out with Delgado, you're apparently still dressed in that French maid's outfit you just left wearing. Why didn't you change before your date?"

"Ugh, don't remind me," Terry groaned. "It was Madison's fault, since we were so late heading back. Then we ran into traffic, so by the time we got home, Delgado had already pulled up in his car to pick me up. I couldn't very well tell him to sit in his car for thirty minutes while I changed."

The Spirit Samm nodded knowingly. "And if he'd come inside with you, he'd have been treated to a rousing chorus of 'Happy birthday, Angelique,' and likely wondered why the family was celebrating her birthday on what's supposed to be Terry Riley's birthday. Yeah, that could have been awkward."

She lifted her hand and seemed about to make a sweeping gesture, and Terry grabbed at her hand to stop her. "You're about to dress me up in the maid's outfit again, yeah?"

"I was going to."

He shook his head, setting his big plastic earrings to swinging. "Look, uh, considering what happened, if it's all the same to you, I'll stick with the 'Preoccupied with 1985,' Valley Girl, Mall Rats outfit."

She made a pained face as she looked over at him sympathetically. "Oh. Yeah. Right. Fair enough."

Their next stop was one that Terry recognized all too well, and he felt himself becoming apprehensive since he knew what was coming. He and the Spirit stood on the sidewalk in front of a strip mall, and night had already fallen. And while the strip mall had clearly fallen on hard times with a few of the shop fronts closed, the one they stood in front of was brightly lit, with a number of people inside and several cars parked in the parking lot. And standing nearby at the front door, he saw a pair of Delgado's goons standing guard and trying unsuccessfully to look inconspicuous.

Terry and the Spirit watched as Delgado's car pulled into the parking lot and paused, as the mobster was evidently confused by what he saw. But after a nod and a shrug from the goons to their boss, the car slid into a parking spot, and Delgado and the other Terry emerged. The Spirit Terry watched as his counterpart hung girlishly off of Delgado's arm and was trying to be all smiles, even as both of them puzzled at the store front. His earlier self swished by in his maid's outfit and wondered aloud, "So I guess they're serving sandwiches at this thing?"

The Spirit Terry paused as they entered, and he looked upwards at the signage before following them in: Vie de France Restaurant and Bakery.

Inside, Krystal had already rushed up to greet them as they entered and gave her father a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

"Daddy! I'm so glad you made it! Oh, and Angelique! I'm just delighted you came. Why, look at you, all hot and spicy in your outfit. I love it!"

"I'm not sure I understand...?" Delgado haltingly said as his eyes took in the space. There were a number of people milling around as many of the tables from the fast casual bakery cafe had been removed, and a number of pieces of artwork—obviously Krystal's—lined the walls.

Krystal sidled up next to her father and took him by the arm. "It's what they call a pop-up installation, Daddy," she explained brightly. "The restaurant went out of business, so I was able to rent the space for an evening and use it for an impromptu art gallery. Clever, right?"

"Yes...."

"And of course when I found out this place was available, I snapped it up since I knew how much you like anything that's...French." The burning disdain in her voice as she landed on the final word was impossible to miss, doubly so since she stared directly at Terry in his French maid's outfit when she said it.

Both Delgado and Terry were about ready to speak up when a well-dressed couple brushed past them on their way out the door. As they did so, they handed their empty wine glasses to Terry.

"Thanks, babe," the guy said as he held the door open for his wife and they left.

"Hey, excuse you," Terry said incredulously. He turned in disbelief to Delgado to get the man's read on the affront, but the gangster's attention was instead riveted on something that he'd spotted going on further inside the "gallery." His face was beet red, to the point where Terry felt a surge of panic race through him as he scrambled to think what could possibly have aroused the mobster's ire in such a fashion. But as he turned his head to trace Delgado's line of vision, he got his answer.

There were several people milling around and admiring the artwork, and it seemed to be a good turnout with people smiling and having a good time. But skimming through the crowd—and totally impossible to miss—were a number of waitresses that Krystal had hired to serve the guests. And all of them were dressed in French maid costumes.

The girls were young and attractive and beautifully made up, looking very sexy as they flitted about carrying trays of hors d'oeuvres and drinks, their petticoats swishing about as they navigated the crowd and smiled prettily as they waited on the guests.

Terry was struck speechless, his face flushed red to the point that it extended down to the top of his breasts. Delgado, however, was quicker to find his voice.

"Krystal, this is not amusing," he growled.

She affected a face of pretty confusion. "You don't like it? I went to all this trouble for you. Besides, all your guests are already here."

Just a moment earlier, Delgado had seemed fully ready to storm out of there. But her words suddenly reminded him of why they were there in the first place, and his jaw dropped just slightly.

"They're over there, in the back," Krystal said as she indicated a hallway off to the side. "We set up a nice quiet conference room for you. They're waiting on you now."

The silver-haired mobster shot his daughter an angry "this isn't over" look, but he realized that his hands were neatly tied. He turned to Terry and said, "I...have to stay. But you should go."

Terry had been mortified by Krystal's prank, but Delgado's words brought him back into the moment. He still had the recording device that the FBI's Agent Adams had hidden in his ruffled headband, and he knew that whatever happened, he needed to try and get at least some footage of the gangland summit meeting that was about to take place. But he was finding it difficult to focus, and his eyes kept cutting over to the waitresses. He watched as one asshole in the crowd made a handsy grab under one of the girls' skirts and she swatted his hand away. He and his friends laughed at her as she walked off in a huff, visibly angry but maintaining a forced smile on her face for the benefit of the other guests.

"I could come with you," Terry suggested, batting his eyelashes as he tried to mask his pained expression with a smile. "I wouldn't be any trouble, I could just sit."

Delgado looked him up and down in his sexy outfit. "That would be...inappropriate," he said slowly. He then turned and signaled one of his men to come over. "Take Angelique home. You can pick me up in two or three hours—" he started.

"No!" Terry said, a little too forcefully. "I-I mean, I don't mind waiting," he said, figuring he might be able to sneak in for at least part of the meeting or get some footage for his trouble. But then when faced with Delgado's dubious expression, he glanced towards the girls in their costumes and fluttered his fingers dismissively. "Oh, that? I don't mind. The girls look great. I think it's...fun." He practically choked on the word as he said it, mortified that he'd have to wait around with an insipid smile on his face pretending like it was no big deal.

Terry took a shaky breath, finding himself caught off guard by the intensity of his own reaction...he'd dressed up in public so many times in the stupid outfits that he'd thought he was in danger of getting used to it, but Krystal had targeted her cruel prank with pinpoint accuracy. Suddenly Terry wasn't merely dressed in a sexy outfit, he was wearing a ridiculous costume. It didn't make him special or brave, it made him just another sexy girl in a demeaning outfit who hustled drinks for minimum wage. He wasn't even the girlfriend of a powerful mobster, he was just another bimbo waitress with a painted-on smile who had to stupidly pretend like she didn't notice how she was being ogled by horny guys who checed out her long legs and big boobs, and simpering as they tried to play grab-ass and get a better view of her ruffled panties. He realized how ridiculous he must have looked trying to seduce Delgado in his foolish costume. A sob welled up within him, but he choked it down and forced himself to maintain his smile. He wasn't sure why this was affecting him as strongly as it was, but it was all he could do to put on a brave face.

"If you're sure...?" Delgado said.

"Pfft, totally!" Terry chirped in a singsong voice even as he felt himself becoming choked up. "You go to your meeting, I'll be fine."

Delgado leaned down to give him a quick kiss and then headed towards the back to leave Terry standing there by himself. Belatedly, Terry realized that he was still holding the two empty wine glasses that the couple had handed to him, and he looked for a place to put them down. As he did so, he made eye contact with Krystal, who was looking directly at him with an expression of seething contempt that shifted into a look of smug superiority.

The Spirit Samm edged up next to the Spirit Terry. He looked every bit as distraught as his counterpart who had started to anxiously navigate his way through the crowd. The Spirit cast an eye over at him—looking particularly ridiculous in his “mall rat” costume—and she made a gesture and his clothes changed again, this time to a navy blouse and a dark pair of slacks. The fitted blouse still showed off a good bit of cleavage, but that was true of almost anything he wore, these days.

"I'm sorry, Terry," she said quietly.

After Terry collected himself a little, the Spirit jumped them forward in time a few hours. Unfortunately, not much had changed.

The earlier version of Terry in the maid's outfit had attempted to charm his way into the meeting with Delgado, without success. So instead, he'd found himself sidelined and forced to act like he was enjoying himself. But the moment he poked his nose out to the "gallery" portion of the converted restaurant, people simply assumed that he was one of the waitresses, and was subjected to demeaning looks and derisive giggles from the guests. So, by the time the Spirit Samm and Spirit Terry caught up to him a few hours later, he was hiding out in the kitchen flanked by a tray of hors d'oeuvres on one side and a tray of drinks on the other, and he guarded them in a decidedly territorial fashion as he morosely picked away at them.

One or two of the young waitresses in the French maid costumes tried to talk to him, but he was in a foul mood and not inclined to be reminded how ridiculous he looked and felt. At one point when one waitress tried to reach for one of his serving trays he'd confiscated, he hissed at her like a cat.

"Okay, sorry!" she muttered as she retreated to a safe distance.

The Spirit Terry was seated nearby and sighed as he beheld the scene. From his perspective this had only happened a few hours earlier, so the wounds were still fresh and having to relive it again was particularly unpleasant. He had a pained expression as he beheld his earlier self, thinking it was such a shocking counterpoint to the self-assured figure he'd seen at the costume store. Then, he'd looked silly in his outfit, but also sexy and confident. The woman he'd seen then was a force to be reckoned with, someone who wore her petticoats with pride. The version he was looking at right now looked like a jilted sorority girl sitting by herself at a Halloween party, a feeling reinforced by the sounds of the guests gathered just a few feet away, chattering away while music piped in from the overhead speakers.

He sighed heavily. "What an embarrassment," he said.

The Spirit was standing a short distance away, perusing Krystal's artwork that was on display. "No kidding. Her line work is sloppy and workmanlike, and her pieces completely lack in existential depth or emotional resonance. She has a few interesting concepts, but she clearly has no idea how to frame the imagery in order to draw in the viewer or engage her audience."

She turned from the artwork she'd been inspecting to find a flummoxed Terry staring right at her. "Oh, you mean embarrassing about the French maid thing. Yeah, that was a shitty trick for her to play."

Terry's eyes cut over at the piece that she'd been studying and then looked back to the Spirit. "How did you...?"

"I wasn't always an FBI agent, Riley. I minored in art history. Of course, nowadays I have more of an appreciation of still life." She waggled her eyebrows. "That's the humor of the dearly departed."

"You're about as funny as the real Samm is," Terry grumped.

"I like this one," she said in an offhand way. Since she didn't seem to approve much of Krystal's work the comment intrigued Terry slightly, but from where he was seated the piece she was referring to was just out of his line of vision. She continued to admire the piece, and eventually curiosity got the best of him as he hauled himself up out of his seat and went over to see what she was admiring. He immediately wished he hadn't.

"Ugh," he groaned. The artwork was somewhat abstract but clearly depicted a scene of a mother holding her baby as she stood against a dark swirling background.

"Oh, I agree, certainly. It's vulgar emotional manipulation. The composition is awkward, and her choice of colors mystifies. But there's something here that speaks to me. What do you think?"

Terry had already turned around and started to head back to where he had been seated. "I like the frame," he said.

The Spirit moved quickly and slid in front of him to block his path.

"What?" he said, exasperated. "Now I'm supposed to be an art critic?"

"Tell me."

"What's to tell? I don't like it, either. You said it yourself."

"All right," she said as her eyes cut over at the piece. "What specifically don't you like about it?"

"The color! The size! The way it fails to insightfully comment on the fleeting fragility of the human condition, or whatever! What does it matter? Look, I'm tired and I want to go sit down, okay?"

Her expression immediately turned sour. It caught him off guard since it wasn't a look he was used to seeing from the normally upbeat Spirit...or Agent Samm, for that matter. For a fleeting moment, Terry flashed back to a different encounter he vaguely remembered having, but before he could fully register the thought, a prickling sensation washed over him, and he realized that she'd changed his outfit again. The comfortable blouse and slacks she'd dressed him in was gone, and he realized he was dressed in a stylish black dress and heels that was more appropriate to this venue. But it only took him a split second to realize that he'd also picked up a good deal of weight.

He was pregnant.

"What the hell?!" he cried as he gaped in shock as he looked down at himself. Based on how his chestnut brown hair framed his vision and the amount of cleavage that blocked his view as he looked down at himself, he realized he was still in his usual body as Angelique, but based on the weight he was carrying around his belly, and the way that it was sticking out in front of him, it was a supremely disquieting experience.

"Samm!" he cried as his hands reflexively darted to his rounded belly. But when he made contact with it, he paused uncertainly.

"Oh, relax, drama queen," the Spirit said. "You're not really pregnant, it's just a costume. Jeez, you'd think you were going into labor or something."

"Change me back! Get me out of this!" he demanded.

"No." She said it so firmly that it caught him off-guard. But she had a strange expression on her face as she said it, somewhere between annoyance and...something.

"I don't get you, Riley," she told him. "I dress you up like a porno queen in a sissy pageant princess outfit, and you hardly blink an eye. But ten seconds on the mommy track, and you fall to pieces."

"Fine, do whatever you want, I don't care."

"I think you do care. Back in that store when that woman thought that you were Madison's mom, you turned into a gibbering idiot."

"I'm not anybody's mom, okay? Would you just let this go, and stop...harassing me?!" he snapped.

She got right up in his face, and her face was so red it looked like she was about to pop. "Dammit, Riley, this whole thing would go a lot better if you would maybe assume for a second that I'm not using my ability to bend the fabric of time and space to show you all of this for my own fucking amusement!" She then spun around and stormed off to one of the tables and threw herself into a chair.

Terry, wide-eyed, stood there quietly for a long moment just staring at her. She had her back to him, but from her tense body language it was obvious she was still fuming. He fidgeted and realized that one of his hands was idly resting on his faux "baby bump," and he sighed heavily. Then, slowly, he made his way over to where she was seated as the extra weight he carried put a waddle into his walk. She didn't even look up at him, so he pulled out a chair next to her and moved to sit down, but he quickly realized that the extra weight was making that difficult. He put one hand on the table to brace himself as he heavily lowered himself into the chair and let out a little "whoof" as he plopped down into the seat.

The Spirit shot him a look that practically screamed, "Really?"

"It's just...awkward..." he said, a little feebly, gesturing down at his belly.

She rolled her eyes and looked away.

"Look, Samm..." he started before shaking his head. "God, I don't even know your real name. Or the real Samm's first name, for that matter. I mean, you two could have the same name for all I—"

"Riley!"

"Right. Sorry," he said, chagrined. Then he sighed and looked her in the face more earnestly. "I'm sorry," he apologized. "I know I can be kind of a jerk sometimes."

"I hadn't noticed," the Spirit deadpanned.

"Especially to people who are trying to help me. I don't know why, I guess it's just easier to take advantage of someone who cares." He shifted in his seat. "I'm not proud of that."

She visibly tensed, obviously trying to suppress the emotions that were roiling just under the surface. "Do you have any idea what's at stake, here?" she asked.

Terry looked like he was about to say something, but then he gave her a helpless shrug. "Not really. Jingle told me I needed to decide between Sugar and Spice."

The Spirit stared at him blankly, and then after a long moment she slowly blinked her eyes as if she was having trouble processing that statement. She then made a tiny shake of her head and gave him a bewildered look.

"You know, being naughty or nice, or whatever," Terry explained.

The Spirit's eyes went wide as her mouth went slack, clearly at a loss for words.

Terry gave her another shrug. "I told the first Spirit I was good with either one. You know, I can—"

"That's what that jingle-belled twerp told you?" the Spirit said incredulously.

"Yeeees?" he replied hesitantly.

She threw herself back in her seat. "Oh, that's rich. That is just typical, is what that is. That little..." She held out her trembling hands in front of her like she was choking an invisible foe.

"Okay," Terry said, uncertain if he wanted to get involved in what appeared to be some kind of domestic dispute between these supernatural entities. "So...why am I here, then?"

The Spirit stopped short. Her mouth moved wordlessly for a moment and then she let out a long and heavy sigh. "I can't tell you."

"At least Jingle gave me something to go on," Terry objected.

"Jingle's an asshole!"

"No argument there," he agreed.

She pressed her lips together into a somewhat exasperated sideways pout. It was a look that Terry was somewhat used to getting out of the real Agent Samm, especially after he'd said or done something annoying. She made that face pretty often.

"I'm not allowed to say. There are...rules. You'll either get there or you won't. For what it's worth, I hope you do."

"Thanks," Terry said.

Then she reached out with her hand and poked him in the swollen belly with her finger. "And don't think you're off the hook for this, either."

He squirmed uncomfortably in his seat and shifted unsteadily as he tried to cope with the extra weight that was pressed against him. "This is really uncomfortable. And now I feel like I have to pee," he complained. "You could change me back."

She fixed him with a steely glare. "Yes. Yes, I could."

A few tense seconds ticked off, and after it became apparent that relief would not be forthcoming, Terry finally relented. He looked down at himself and ran his hand over the big belly that tented out his dress.

"Look. My life...it's totally insane. I literally woke up one morning to discover that my body had been pinched and squeezed into the shape of a Maxim cover model. I spend my days flitting around in a French maid's outfit and my nights getting felt up by a ruthless gangster who desperately wants to find me and kill me. Every single day of my life, I have to redefine the word 'impossible.' But this," he said as he ran his hand over the pronounced curve of his belly, "this really is impossible. No matter how crazy my life gets, this will never be an outcome. Because I don't have—"

"A uterus?" the Spirit said dryly.

He loosely bobbed his head in agreement. "Okay, two reasons," he conceded. "And that's a good one. But I don't just mean being pregnant, I mean being a parent. Even if I found a woman who'd have me like this," he said, gesturing down at himself, "or if I somehow find my way back to being a guy, it's not going to happen."

"Why? I've seen you with Madison. You're good with her."

"That's different. She's different."

"No, you're different around her. That's not the same thing."

"Don't you see? I'm the zany aunt who drops in and does crazy things. I'm not cut out to be a parent."

"I'm sure your brother felt the same way when Claire was born."

Terry scoffed at that. "Dave was freaking born for it. He and Bonnie have it all. Their own business, a big house, two kids, they've got it all figured out. I'm just...a screw-up."

"You're not."

He looked her square in the eyes and shot her an incredulous glance. His dramatic makeup magnified the look, from his beautifully made-up eyes that flashed their sultry disbelieving gaze from beneath his perfectly plucked and arched eyebrows, down to his heavy bright red lipstick that adorned the lips that had curled into a mirthless smirk. He lowered his chin and his long brown locks tumbled downwards to sexily frame his feminine face, and their soft curls enticingly surrounded his prominent cleavage.

She blinked once at the picture he was portraying and cleared her throat. "You've made some mistakes," she acknowledged. "But believe me, not everything is perfect with Dave and Bonnie, either. There's more going on behind the scenes than you realize," she said cryptically. "Riley, everybody is a mess. You're just wearing your mistakes more—"

"Hilariously?" he interjected.

"—I was going to say 'openly,'" she hedged. She then tilted her head and regarded him more carefully. "What about Cassie? You were ready to marry her. Did she want kids?"

The question caught him by surprise, and he fluttered his long eyelashes before he caught himself and glanced away in a dismissive half-lidded pout. "Cassie? No," he said quickly.

The Spirit raised her eyebrows.

He broke into a sly smile, a practiced 'this dame means trouble' sort of look that he'd come to favor. "Oh, c'mon. I may not have a uterus, but I'm woman enough to appreciate that not everybody is governed by their biological clock. She didn't want kids," he said firmly. The Spirit had kind of a funny look on her face, so he followed her line of vision downwards to discover that he'd been absently running his manicured fingers over his rounded belly. He jerked his hand away and blinked a couple times and added, "I mean...we never talked about it. We were too busy just living in the moment. You of all people get that, right?" he said. Then he tossed his hair and pressed his lips into a sexy pout and shot her a sensual come-hither look that was decidedly more Angelique than Terry. "Seriously. Do you see me going to PTA meetings?" he purred.

The Spirit leaned forward in her seat. "Riley, let's be honest. If I'd walked up to you six months ago and told you what your life would be like right now, you'd have laughed in my face. These days you can walk into a room dressed as a sexy French maid and you're the woman of the hour, but you don't think you could handle some dirty diapers? I get that you're scared of change—and you've got better reason than most!—but you also handle it better than anybody I know."

He laughed once. "So, what, I should go find a nice girl, get her knocked up, and be somebody's dad looking like this?" he sniffed. He pumped his fist and chucked a thumb over his shoulder as he affected a deeper tone of voice. "C'mon, son, you want to go play catch with your old man? But we gotta be careful, I can't get my petticoats dirty."

"You know what, Riley? I one hundred percent believe you could do it. You'd make it work. I don't know how, but you would. That's your gift." She stood up and held out her hand to help him up, and he found that he needed it, what with all the extra weight he was carrying around.

The Spirit leaned closer. "You want to know something else? I think you'd make someone an awesome parent. Dad or mom." Before he could say anything in response she turned and walked down the hallway. "Now come on. I don't have very long, and you need to see this."

The two of them headed over to where Terry's younger counterpart was still nursing his rotten mood. He'd advanced to picking idly at the flowers that graced the squat decorative vase that sat in the middle of the drinks tray, and he plucked off the petals one by one and dropped them on the floor as he glared over at Krystal Delgado in the distance, who was laughing at some joke that someone had made.

"She hates me, I hate her lots. She hates me, I hate her lots," he said as he picked off one petal after another.

The Spirit Samm watched the display and then turned to the Spirit Terry. "I don't understand why you didn't go talk to her?"

Terry gave an annoyed toss of his hair. "What was I supposed to say? Even before tonight, it was no secret that she didn't approve of me dating her father, but I thought we'd put that behind us. But she went to a lot of trouble tonight to make her feelings on the matter pretty blindingly clear, don't you think? I'm just the gold digging bimbo with the French maid fetish who's doing time with her father, a man who's old enough to be my father. I can hardly blame her."

"Why does it even bother you? If you get your way, Delgado will be carted off to prison for the rest of his life, leaving you free to live your life. Is being friends with his daughter really that important to your plan?"

"It's a bit more complicated than that."

The Spirit gave him a playful, knowing look. "You're attracted to her."

He got a little flustered at that and tucked his hair back behind his ear, and then fussed at one of his earrings. As he did so, he felt as his elbow bumped against his boob, and he glanced downwards before he realized she was still grinning at him.

"What am I supposed to say to that?"

"Riley, it's nothing to be ashamed of. You were attracted to her as a man, and you're attracted to her as a woman. She told you she's had both boyfriends and girlfriends in the past. She might rather enjoy your—" she cleared her throat, "—what you have to offer."

"I'm still 'dating' her father. And if he ever found out what I 'have to offer' as you politely put it, it'll be a quick trip to that big ol' French cabaret in the sky."

"I'm not saying the relationship wouldn't be without complications," the Spirit conceded.

Terry peered across the restaurant at Krystal, and then he looked at his earlier self who was looking gorgeous and despondent in his French maid's dress, and then down at himself, still looking like a pregnant woman. He looked down at his expanse of cleavage and then at his hand with the manicured nails and then finally looked off in another direction entirely.

"This is ridiculous. How would that even work?" he asked, gesturing towards Krystal.

There was a pause, and then the Spirit slowly raised her hands, one making an "O" shape and the other with her index finger sticking out. "I think the two of you would—"

"Yeah, I got that part, thanks," he interrupted. "I mean—God, just look at me. I'm supposed to be a guy, not a freaking Playboy Bunny."

The moment he said it, the Spirit's face lit up brightly. Her eyes cut over at him as she started to make a sweeping gesture with her hand, but Terry grabbed her by the wrist and looked her straight in the eyes.

"Don't even think about it," he warned her.

"Spoilsport," she grumped. "You'd look good."

"I'll have to use my imagination."

The Spirit pressed her lips into a frustrated moue, but then turned her attention back over to Krystal. "It might not bother her, y'know. You being...bunny material."

"It bothers me!" he cried. "The longer I'm like this the more— I mean, I can maybe imagine a future when I get out from under Delgado—figuratively speaking that is—but what if I'm like this forever? I can't even."

The Spirit nodded sympathetically. "Sorry, the Future isn't really my thing. But speaking for the Present, maybe don't be afraid to open yourself up to some new possibilities."

"So, you're suggesting I should have sex with Krystal?" he asked dubiously.

"Oh, hell, no. I'm just pointing out that you could find someone, but that bitch is crazypants. I mean, sure, you'd enjoy one night of carnal earthly delights, but then she tells daddy what she saw, and it's au revoir, Angelique. Live in the moment, but don't be a fucking idiot about it."

"Yeah, that's...that's good advice," he said, nodding.

"Hey, what the—?"

The confused murmur hadn't come from either of them, and they turned to Terry's corporeal counterpart, who had been idly demolishing the floral centerpiece on the serving tray. His brow was knitted as he tugged at something he'd discovered hidden in there, and with his long fingernails he plucked at it to reveal an electronic wire connected to what was very obviously some kind of miniature high-tech listening device.

The surprised expression on his beautifully made-up face was almost comically overblown, and he quickly sat up and glanced around him to make sure nobody else was standing nearby who might have noticed. He brushed his hair back and more closely examined the little device.

"Adams, you mad genius, you did get in here," he muttered to himself. He hurriedly replaced the device and then tried to arrange the remaining flowers to conceal it.

"What are you doing?" the Spirit asked.

The Spirit Terry shook his head and shrugged. "I screwed up again," he said as he watched his other self.

"Riley, come on..."

"Okay, this one may not have been entirely my fault," he granted. "But once I saw that bug, I realized that your partner—Samm's partner, you know what I mean—must have tailed Krystal here and planted some listening devices. That was halfway clever of him to hide one in the serving tray, since he was probably able to get easier access to the catering truck than the restaurant itself."

"And...this?" she asked as they watched his other self fluff out the flowers into a sparse but charmingly nondescript floral arrangement.

"Well, there's no way Adams could have been able to plant very many of those bugs, and for the last two and a half hours the only footage this one got was me sighing and feeling sorry for myself. So I knew I had to get it back into circulation where it would do some good."

The two of them watched as the other Terry stood up from his seat and took a moment to primp, fluff out his skirts, toss his hair over his shoulder, and give his cleavage a healthy fluff for good measure.

The Spirit gave the Spirit Terry a deadpan look. "I notice you grab those a lot."

"They open a lot of doors," he countered defensively.

The other Terry peered out of the kitchen area and watched as one of the other waitresses headed over to the bar area and put in an order for several drinks, including one aged bourbon from a special bottle that Terry knew Delgado favored. He waited until the girl was headed back with her tray of drinks and intercepted her.

"I've got this one," he told her as he plucked the tray out of her hand.

"But—!"

"You're on break, honey," he told her in a no-nonsense feminine contralto.

For a moment it looked like the waitress was about to take issue with it, no doubt having been given strict instructions that she was to serve the men in Delgado's private meeting. She might even have assumed she would receive a big tip for her trouble, and that the brunette newcomer was trying to horn in on her action.

Terry took a step closer, close enough that their petticoats were touching. Even with both of them perched on their in high heels he was a few inches taller than her, and his generous bosom was practically intruding on her personal space. Terry knew it was a fairly ridiculous intimidation display, but he wasn't looking to throw down, just assert a little female dominance. He had absolutely no idea if he was doing it correctly. For all he knew, he could have been seconds away from a French maid catfight, with the two of them rolling around on the floor with long hair and petticoats flying as they clawed at each other with their long polished nails.

It would probably go on for several minutes before any of the guys present did anything to break up the fight.

"Whatever, slut," the girl said with a sneer as she gave him a disgusted once over and stalked off.

As briskly as he could, Terry hurried over to the kitchen area and discreetly placed the floral centerpiece with the listening device on the tray. He then picked up the tray and made his way back into the restaurant to cut through over to the area where Delgado and his men were having their meeting. His heart raced as he made his way through the crowd and was about to turn down the adjoining hallway when he was confronted with three guys directly in his path who were all staring directly at him.

Terry hesitated, worried for a moment that they might have been guards, but he quickly recognized them as some patrons who he'd seen hassling some of the other waitresses, and it looked like they were feeling no pain. And as they all gave Terry an appreciative once-over, they had hungry looks that made it clear what was on their minds.

The guy in the middle gave Terry a drunken leer. "You definitely could'a taken her, hot stuff," he slurred, obviously having witnessed his altercation with the waitress.

Terry coughed out a nervous chuckle and forced a bright smile to his lips. "Damned right I could have," he said confidently as he took a step forward. The guys didn't move.

He cleared his throat and held the tray out in front of him and said, "If you boys would excuse me."

At first the guys didn't move, clearly enjoying the game of messing with the sexy French maid. Terry pushed gently forward, and eventually the guys turned just slightly to the side and provided him a tiny gap between them for him to squeeze through. Terry didn't want to cause a scene, so he forced a smile and played along as he found himself having to raise his serving tray higher and higher until he was balancing it on one hand over his head and turned sideways as he tried to sneak through the gauntlet they'd created with their bodies. Fortunately, in his history of menial jobs, Terry had been a waiter a couple of times, so he knew how to handle a serving tray. However, he was finding the experience significantly more challenging what with having to contend with his long fingernails, to say nothing of his high heels. He took an uneven step and practically fell into one guy's arms.

"Careful there, sweetie," the guy said in a condescending tone as he availed himself of the opportunity to give Terry's breast a friendly squeeze.

Terry flushed red in anger and embarrassment, but by this point all three guys were practically on top of him, and with one hand holding the tray above his head and his other hand needed for balance, there was little he could do to prevent this unwanted intrusion. His every screaming instinct was to drop the drinks on their heads and then haul off and slug the guy, but he didn't have time to make a scene. And if he dropped the tray and the vase broke, then the bug could be broken, or even worse, discovered. If that happened and any of Delgado's men noticed, there was no way he could sweet talk his way out of that by just batting his eyelashes and flashing some cleavage. And to complicate matters further, he knew that Delgado's meeting had to be wrapping to a close soon, so he didn't dare delay. But if he could get the tray with the bug planted in there, he hoped that the FBI might be able to learn something useful in the wrap-up.

So instead of decking the three assholes or screaming for help, he gritted his teeth and wriggled his way through their group grope with what few shreds of his dignity he was able to cling on to.

Vulnerable and off-balance, he tried to shove his way forward and cringed as he felt their hands all over him. Terry was used to solving his own problems, but just this once he wished that Delgado would emerge to witness this behavior so that these three assholes would find themselves in some real trouble. But as it was, he felt as one of them brushed a froth of his white petticoats out of the way and stroked Terry's silken thigh in an exploratory fashion as it drifted over one of his garter straps. Terry pressed his thighs together just in case the guy decided to get bolder and probe a more private area where he might discover something that could complicate matters in a decidedly unwelcome way.

Terry finally saw daylight and muscled his way through with a sharp jab of his elbow. He hoped that he'd maybe hurt the jackass, although from the drunk's reaction the guy seemed to think it was more like kitten play. Terry looked over his shoulder and shot all of them an angry look, but it only served to make the guys laugh louder, as they made cat-calls and disappointed grunts that their prey had escaped. Terry tossed his hair with an angry sniff and continued down the hallway as they called after him to come back.

"Ahh, fuckin' prick tease," one of them slurred.

Terry made it to the end of the hallway and peered around the corner, and he saw the door with the two guards standing outside. He'd tried to sweet talk his way inside earlier in the evening and they'd rebuffed him before, so he knew that this time he had to make an impression. He brushed his hair into place with his fingers and painted a huge smile on his face as he rounded the corner, swinging his hips enough to set his skirts to dance about in an animated fashion.

"Special delivery, boys," he cooed as he gave the guards a sexy wink. But as he reached for the doorknob, one of the guards blocked him.

The guys were clearly enjoying the show, but they were also there to do a job, and the one who'd blocked the door made eye contact with the other guy, who clearly had the same thought.

"Nice try, Angelique. He's busy."

Terry pressed his bright red lips into an impressive pout. "Can't I even say hi? Look, I'll tell you what, I'll just sneak in there and drop off these drinks—" he said as he moved towards the door, only for the muscular man to again block his path.

"What, are you worried I might be hiding something?" he teased. Terry then gave the guard a cocky half-smile and arched an eyebrow as he leaned forward to show off his cleavage to best advantage. "I'll let you frisk me."

The guy chuckled. "That'd be fun, but I don't think the big man would appreciate it. Here, you give me the tray and I'll bring it inside. And you wait out here."

Terry made a big show out of being disappointed as he handed the tray of drinks over. "You can't blame a girl for trying," he pouted.

Just then the door opened wide, and Delgado's man, Gabriel Ventresca, stood there in front of them. Terry fought back a gasp.

The last time Terry had seen the gangster was that fateful day in Delgado's office when he'd threatened him with grievous harm over the default of his substantial loan. So at the moment Terry wasn't doing a very good job at hiding his shock at seeing the man again. A flash of panic surged through him as he made eye contact with Ventresca, and he had to remind himself that the gangster had no idea who he was as Angelique. He hoped.

"Well, I know you," Ventresca said as he stepped out of the doorway and right up to Terry.

"I—I—" Terry stammered.

In that moment, Terry found his attention split several directions at once as he felt a surge of adrenaline race through him. With the door momentarily ajar, he was able to get a glimpse inside the room, and he saw a number of men gathered around a conference table and several more hangers-on seated around the outside edge. There might have been at least ten or twenty in there, he wasn't sure. He recognized Delgado's salt-and-pepper hair, but he had his back to the door, so Terry couldn't even signal him to see if he could maybe sneak his way inside. Meanwhile, Ventresca came right up to him and took Terry by the bicep in a friendly but firm grip as he guided him down the hallway back towards the party. Terry looked back over his shoulder to try to see what was happening, if only to confirm that the guard with the serving tray had left it inside the room, but Ventresca's pull was strong and tenacious.

And the predatory grin that he was giving Terry sent a shiver racing up his spine.

"I must say, this is a treat. And very, very overdue. My name's Gabe," the gangster said. He spoke in a breezy and conversational way, but his crisp and no-nonsense manner betrayed his seriousness, and his dark piercing eyes were riveted on Terry. As with the first time Terry had met the man, his dark hair was slicked back, and he wore an expensive black suit that seemed to have been custom-made, from the way it showed off his toned and athletic physique. The only splash of color in his outfit came from his fitted purple shirt beneath, an unusual and vibrant color that might have been fashionable, but Terry suspected it was a provocative choice on the gangster's part to maybe invite a snide comment from the unwary or uninformed so that he would have an excuse to lower the boom on them, and demonstrate the power of his position. Ventresca affected a friendly demeanor but was clearly not a man to be trifled with, nor underestimated.

Terry's immediate preoccupation, however, was how the gangster's hand had retained a determined grasp on Terry's left bicep. His grip was firm enough not to hurt, but strong enough to clearly indicate that it was more than just casual. And the man had positioned his grasp exactly so that the back of his hand brushed up against the side of Terry's left breast in a way that was more than incidental or accidental.

"Lucius has mentioned you," Terry quavered, trying to present a calm and pleasant demeanor and not let his distress at the man's touch show. In point of fact, Delgado had never so much mentioned the man's name in Terry's presence, but Terry wanted to use the opportunity to remind Ventresca that he was on a first-name basis with his boss. "I didn't realize you were here, it's good to finally meet. I'm Angelique."

Ventresca laughed. "Of course you are, my dear. Who else would you be?" he joked. "And yes, unfortunately I didn't get in until this evening, so I was glad that Lucius was able to reschedule things on my account. Although I must say I wasn't expecting such...diverting company."

Terry forced a smile to his lips, but he could tell the guy was trouble, especially the way he parroted back Delgado's first name and then went out of his way to signal that he was important enough to the crime boss to reschedule the entire meeting. He obviously wanted to make damn sure that Delgado's uppity new girlfriend knew where everyone stood in the power dynamic.

As Ventresca led them through the restaurant, he paused at the bar to order a scotch for himself. The woman working the bar wore a French maid's outfit like the rest of the waitresses, and even Terry had to do a double-take when he saw her. She was stunning with her copper red hair up in a sexy loose bun, and her figure was on resplendent display in her scant and frilly costume. Suddenly there was a less of a mystery why so many guys had been hovering around the bar all evening. However, Ventresca barely seemed to notice her and merely accepted his drink with his free hand. The entire time, his other hand never moved off of Terry.

By this point, the physical contact was starting to freak Terry out. The man's grip was clearly meant as a control move, but every time Terry felt the man's fingers brush up against his breast, he inwardly cringed. Meanwhile, Ventresca showed absolutely no outward sign of even acknowledging the awkward brush of his hand, but it was impossible for him not to have felt it. Which told Terry that the gangster damn well knew and damn well didn't care. But Terry figured that two could play that game, so he moved his right arm across his chest and placed his hand atop Ventresca's hand, playing as though the gangster was being a gallant escort.

"Where are we going?" Terry asked as blithely as he could manage as they wended their way past the remaining people who were there for the exhibit. By now the hour had gotten late, so the crowd had thinned significantly, and they passed several open seats and tables. Across the way, he spotted Krystal Delgado talking to an older couple, but her eyes were fixed on Terry and Ventresca as they crossed the room.

"I thought we might talk somewhere a bit more private," he said conversationally. He then looked Terry over in a polite way. "You know, Angelique, when I'd heard the boss had started dating a stripper with a fascination for wearing French maid costumes, I confess I was rather amused."

"Yes, well, I'm retired," Terry said, bristling slightly. Angelique being a stripper made for an effective cover identity for Terry since people usually took one glance at him and seldom felt the need to look any deeper, but he was never comfortable with it, for obvious reasons. And the way that the mobster had tossed it out so casually was another not so subtle dig at Angelique's lack of importance in the scheme of things.

Ventresca made a disappointed little tsk noise. "More's the pity. But I have to say, you've made a believer out of me. You look positively ravishing. I daresay you were the most stunning woman here tonight."

"I'm flattered, there were a lot of pretty girls here tonight."

"You misunderstand. I didn't say you were the most beautiful, I said you were the most stunning. Oh, don't get me wrong, you're a hot piece of ass and eminently fuckable. But I feel like you're trying too hard with the heavy makeup. The dark red nail polish, the dark red lips, it's just a bit much. With the hair and everything you've got this 1950s pinup model thing going on, which I guess is what Delgado sees in you, but it's kinda over the top. Great tits, though."

"Wow," Terry said. "You are fantastically shitty at giving a compliment."

Terry had assumed that the gangster had been leading them towards the kitchen area, so he was surprised when they walked right past it and instead led them down a short corridor over to the bathrooms. Ventresca didn't even pause as he led them straight into the women's restroom.

The ladies' room was apparently deserted, not that Ventresca appeared to be overly concerned with such trivialities. As they entered, he finally released his hold on Terry's arm, and put his glass down on the countertop. Relieved to finally be free of the man, Terry backed up against the row of sinks and watched as Ventresca headed into one of the stalls. The door swung shut behind him, but he didn't bother to secure the latch.

"It wasn't a compliment, it was an observation," Ventresca said as Terry heard as the man lifted the toilet seat up and unzipped his zipper. "You wore that getup desperately hoping to get noticed."

"Maybe I like it when Lucius notices me."

"And maybe you overshot the mark a little."

By this point Terry could plainly hear the sound of Ventresca urinating into the bowl, and he found himself becoming flustered. Terry was no stranger to either men's or women's public bathrooms, but with the risk of other women around, he always sat down to pee as Angelique. So he found himself disgusted by both Ventresca's crassness and the ease with which he violated this space for women, but also more than a bit envious of the man's ability to do what he wanted, when he wanted.

The toilet flushed and Ventresca emerged, and without bothering to put the toilet seat down, Terry noted. As he washed his hands, Terry watched dispassionately before turning to the mirror to check his own appearance. However, the image of the two of them reflected there made Terry feel very uncomfortable. They were a sharp contrast, a man and a woman, both attractive and dressed to get noticed, and standing there at the sinks gave it a strangely domestic quality, almost like they were a married couple getting ready to go out somewhere. Terry blinked quickly and pushed the thoughts out of his head as Ventresca dried his hands.

"Well, maybe next time I'm desperate for Lucius's attention, I should wear a purple shirt under a dark suit," Terry sniped.

Ventresca feigned a hurt expression and clasped both hands to his heart as though wounded. "Touche, pretty lady. But that's not what I wanted to talk to you about."

"I suppose you want to know all about the last time I saw Terry Riley," Terry said. From his interactions with Delgado, he'd created a web of lies of his fictitious 'sightings' of his male self, a series of tantalizingly near misses to keep Delgado on the hook. Close enough to placate him so he could be assured that Angelique was doing her job as his spy, but not so close as to question why she didn't just call him to send his thugs over to bag his prey.

Ventresca shook his head. "Not especially."

Terry watched as the gangster gave him a leering once over and smirked at his outfit. Ventresca then ambled confidently over so that the two of them were face-to-face and dangerously close. Terry stood his ground, a gesture that the man took as an open invitation to reach out and slip his hand around Terry's narrow waist and then down around to his rounded ass that was buried beneath his petticoats.

"Well. You like to live dangerously," Terry said in a level tone. Inwardly he seethed at the violation, but knew it was unwise to antagonize the man.

Ventresca's hand continued its journey to the small of Terry's back and yanked him close. "We seem to have that in common."

After his earlier encounter with the three assholes by the bar, Terry had enough of men taking liberties with his body, and the only thing he wanted to do was to disentangle himself from the man's firm grip and put some distance between them. But Terry needed information, and he knew that he wasn't going to get any by storming away in a petulant huff of swishing petticoats.

Terry twitched his lip in the beginnings of a smile and gave the man a sexy half-lidded look. The two of them were now so close that he could feel the ruffled skirts of his dress bunched up between them, and Terry took the initiative to edge closer still, and he felt as his jutting breasts made contact with the man's chest. He moved his head forward in a teasing motion like he was going in for a kiss, only to pull back even as slightly, hovering mere inches away, enticingly close.

Ventresca watched Terry's coy seduction ploy with obvious interest. But he clearly wasn't about to take the bait.

"That was a slick move, swapping yourself in for the other waitress to bring drinks into the meeting."

"I'm a very thoughtful person."

"I'm sure. And it also would have let you listen in. Hell, dressed in that outfit, Delgado might even have let you stay for a few minutes just to park you on his lap and show you off to the boys, and maybe even let you say a few funny things to amuse them. You know, like a yappy little toy poodle. That's very clever."

Terry squinted just slightly and gave the man a hard smile. "I think you're giving me too much credit."

"I doubt that. How's that working out for you, being clever?"

"Oh, can't complain. How's quoting Brad Pitt in Fight Club working out for you?"

The gangster fixed Terry with a steely glare. "I don't trust clever women. They're always up to something."

"Sounds like a personal problem."

Ventresca gave Terry an admiring shake of his head. "Damn. I knew you'd be worth the trip out here, and you do not disappoint, baby doll." He then pulled back with a chuckle, leaving Terry feeling a bit foolish for his failed seduction attempt.

"If you're serious about finding Riley, you're going to need my help," Terry said in an attempt to reassert some measure of control over the conversation.

The gangster made a dubious snort. "Yeah, Delgado told me what you've been up to, staking out Riley's brother's place, trying to flush him out. Seems like you're always just a little bit behind him."

"He's slippery."

"Hiding in plain sight, I'm sure," Ventresca said dismissively, but he had a funny look on his face as he gave Terry a once-over. "The way I got it figured, there are three possibilities. One is that Riley made you, and he figured out that the bimbo in the sexy outfits was put in his brother's house as bait by Delgado. In which case he's not quite as big an idiot as I pegged him for."

"I've been careful," said Terry.

"Honey, I'm sure you have a very soft sell with the boys, but subtle you ain't," Ventresca scoffed. "Which brings me to my second theory."

"Which is?"

"You're working with him. Maybe even romantically involved with him."

"That's ridiculous," Terry retorted. "There is nothing going on between me and Terry Riley. I could never be with him. It's impossible."

Ventresca nodded. "You know what, honey? I believe you. You're too smart to get mixed up for something as schmaltzy as love, and too greedy to hitch your wagon to a deadbeat loser like Riley."

Terry stood there seething. He desperately wanted to jump to his own defense, but he managed to swallow his pride since he didn't want to invite the gangster to start exploring possibilities that were uncomfortably close to the truth.

"Of course, the last option is the one I'm leaning towards. Namely that you haven't done shit to find Riley, and that you've used this whole caper as an excuse to get into Delgado's pants, jiggling your fat stripper ass around in those ridiculous outfits to keep him distracted and interested. You're not the first piece of tail to try and get in with the boss, but I'll give you credit for the most entertaining approach I've seen."

Terry struggled to get his surging emotions under control. He was still in a lot of danger, but all he could do was play it cool. "So, what are you going to do?"

"Well, I'm not going to believe a damn thing you have to tell me about Terry Riley, you can count on that. I'll find him on my own, and rest assured, I will find him. Or I'll skip the middle man and find what he's got of Delgado's and take it. Either way, Riley's life expectancy just took a turn for the worse. But one way or the other, this gravy train you've been riding is coming into the final station, baby cakes."

"What does he have that's so valuable?" Terry asked.

Ventresca chuckled. "That's the smartest thing I've heard you say yet. If you don't know, then you're smart to try and find out. And if you already know, you're even smarter to make me think that you don't. So let's just say that you don't need to worry your pretty little head about it, and you should just go on doing what you're good at," he said as he reached over to 'adjust' the lace trim that surrounded Terry's cleavage, "and let me do what I'm good at."

Terry did his best to remain impassive and not recoil at the man's touch. "I don't suppose you're telling me all this out of the goodness of your heart. What's it going to cost me?"

"Damn. It's always a pleasure dealing with gangsters, businessmen, and whores...everything is a business transaction," Ventresca said. "Let me give you some inside information, hot cheeks. No matter how this plays out, Delgado won't be around forever. And forever is coming a damn sight sooner than he realizes. The organization needs someone in step with the times, and that ain't him. It needs someone with vision."

Terry sniffed. "What's that make you? La Cosa Nostradamus?"

Ventresca chuckled. "You got a big mouth, honey. I've got something that I'd love to see you use that talented mouth on, but that'll have to wait until later," he teased.

He reached over and retrieved his drink from the countertop and took a sip. He took a moment to savor the taste as he shook his head. "I do give the big man credit, he's got good taste...booze, cigars, cars, women. Nothing but the best. But with you, he outdid himself. You got looks, but any broad who works a stripper pole can say as much. But you, honey, you've got a devious mind. You're a survivor. And you're willing to say or do anything to get ahead. I admire that."

"You don't know me at all," Terry snapped.

"Honey, I'm probably the only one who does know you. Delgado only sees the woman he wants to see, and you're only too happy to stuff your tits into your frilly little dresses to show him what he wants. And I bet you've got Riley's family snowed, playing them like you're a reformed bad girl. But you and I both know better. You're not on anybody's side but your own. You don't have friends, you just have people you can use. You scamper along from one con to the next, skating by on your looks and charm, and then you skip out when the bill comes due and leave some chump with the check. How am I doing so far?"

Terry just stared at the man, his mouth moving mutely as Ventresca put his glass back down and then moved up right in front of him.

"But a time is gonna come—and come soon—when you're gonna find yourself in a shit storm without an umbrella, and old Gabriel here is gonna be your only friend in the world. And when that day comes and you've used up all of your friends and you've got no place to run, well, don't you worry. Because you're still gonna be wearing those sexy outfits all the time, but you're gonna be wearing 'em for me."

Before Terry could say anything, Ventresca swept in and pulled him into a kiss. It wasn't a tender or loving kiss, it was fierce and demanding, the move of a man who saw something he wanted and just reached out and took it, heedless of the consequences. Terry was caught off guard by the aggressiveness of the move, and at first merely wriggled in displeasure as he tried in vain to pull away from the muscular gangster who held him tight. But then one of the man's hands slid up and cupped Terry's breast and gave it an extremely familiar and possessive squeeze.

As Ventresca loosened his grip, Terry angrily squirmed out of the man's grasp, but the gangster grabbed him by both wrists and held him fast. Terry fumed as he peered up at the mobster through some strands of hair that had fallen into his face.

"You'd better hope Lucius doesn't find out about this," Terry snarled as he struggled against the larger man's iron grip.

Ventresca lowered Terry's hands in front of him and then moved in close so that they were standing cheek to cheek. Terry flinched as he felt the man's hot breath on his face, and he made another ineffectual tug at trying to escape.

"You and me both, beautiful," Ventresca whispered in his ear. He gave Terry a kiss on the cheek before releasing him, and Terry gripped his hands into fists as he glared impotently at the gangster. Ventresca then winked playfully before he headed towards the door, giving Terry a swat on the butt as he passed by.

After the door swung shut behind the man, Terry choked out an anguished gasp, furious at himself for allowing himself to be accosted by yet another man who seemed to view his body as some sort of public playground. He tried to remind himself that he did what he had to do, but that didn't make it any easier. He took a moment to try and compose himself and tidy up before facing the world again, and then took a deep breath as he headed to leave. But as he exited the ladies' room, he hadn't taken ten steps before he stopped in his tracks as he found the way blocked.

By Lucius Delgado.

"L-Lucius!" Terry stammered. "There you are, I've been waiting for you. Is your meeting over?"

The gangster stood there silently for an interminably long moment and stared at Terry with a look on his face that might have been carved from stone. At first, Terry thought that maybe the man had gotten some bad news at his meeting, but then he realized that it was very possible that he'd just seen Ventresca come breezing out of the ladies' room...followed closely by Angelique. And it wouldn't take very much imagination for him to jump to some dangerous conclusions about what the two of them had been doing in there together.

"It's time to go," Delgado said as he turned and left, leaving Terry to scamper along behind him on his high heels to catch up to the gangster.

The Spirit Samm watched as the two of them left, but the Spirit Terry was no longer paying attention the scene and instead made his way into the nearby kitchen. He was still in his pregnancy outfit with the dark dress tented out by his bulging belly, but any sense of whimsy about it was gone, and he was clearly still upset about having to relive the encounter they'd just witnessed. His brash manner was gone and had been replaced with an agitated restlessness.

The Spirit Samm followed him into the kitchen, but her eyes glanced over towards the restaurant in the direction that Terry's counterpart and Delgado had just left.

"Do you think Delgado saw?" she said.

"You mean did he see his girlfriend coming out of the ladies' room right after his right-hand man? You tell me, you're the omniscient one," Terry snapped. "I mean, the fact that I don't have any bullet holes in me suggests no, but he sure as hell suspects something. He didn't say ten words to me the entire drive home."

He scowled and let out an annoyed hiss. "So now he's suspicious of Angelique, and meanwhile, I've got Ventresca hot on my heels...and the only thing I've got to show for my trouble is a half-eaten tray of canapes. And—oh yeah!—for all of my efforts, I still have nothing I can use against Delgado or even have any idea why he's after me."

He lashed out with his hand and viciously struck one of the serving trays and sent it flying, where it landed in the corner with a resounding crash.

The Spirit watched his tantrum dispassionately and pursed her lips. "Do you feel better?" she asked in a neutral tone.

"You know what? I do. Do you know why? Because underneath all of—this!—" he said as he gestured down at himself, "—I'm a guy, okay? And I know I don't look it, but under all of the nail polish and lipstick and high heels and stupid dresses and costumes, that's what I am. I think I'm allowed to get fucking pissed off."

She nodded. "Because women can't get pissed off."

"Okay, you know what? To hell with you. This isn't about me being a man or a woman, this is about how totally screwed I am. So, thank you so very much for helping to remind me of that." He pulled at his long brown hair in a fit of pique. "Aaaaggh!"

He paced back and forth like a caged animal. "God, I hate you. I hate all of you. Everyone wants something from me. You want me to learn some lesson you won't tell me, Jingle says he wants me to pick a lane, but that's apparently a lie, unless it isn't. Delgado wants me to be his girlfriend, and Ventresca wants me to be his side piece. Oh, and they both want me dead as Terry. Meanwhile, the FBI wants me to risk my life to get incriminating evidence on Delgado, and my family...my family..."

"Your family wants to throw you a birthday party," the Spirit offered.

Terry was taken aback by her comment, and paused, momentarily flustered. "When they're not enjoying the sight of me humiliating myself as a French maid and bossing me around," he muttered.

The Spirit made an equivocal expression. "That's one interpretation," she acknowledged. "Fine. So, what do you want?"

Terry sighed heavily and leaned against one of the counters as his whole body seemed to fall into an exhausted slump. He looked down at the pronounced curve of his faux "baby bump" and started to reach for it, but then moved his hand away.

"I just...I want it to be over. I want things to go back to the way they were."

The Spirit Samm moved up to the counter directly opposite him and then hopped up onto it and sat perched on the edge. She then looked down to peruse a tray of canapes on the countertop next to her.

"You mean back when you were a man," she said absently as she picked through the selection of food on the tray.

"Yes!"

"Like when you were living with your brother and his family."

"Yes, exactly."

"Mooching off of them, not working, partying at night, hiding out from Delgado..."

Terry eyed her uncertainly. "Okay, maybe not exactly like before. But something along those lines."

The Spirit continued to poke through the food that remained and finally turned up her nose and shoved the tray away. She then turned her attention back to him.

"Okay, so not on the run from Delgado. But I'm guessing you'd rather not pay your gambling debts, either. And you don't want to work. Just live someplace nice rent-free, sleeping away your days and partying the nights away, and basically being a ghost to your family."

Terry folded his arms, which he discovered was not an easy task between his protruding stomach and his fulsome breasts, but he was determined to make it work. "Is that the humor of the dearly departed?" he retorted.

"This isn't about me, Riley. I just asked what you wanted," she said as she locked eyes with him. "Is that what you want?"

"No," Terry shot back sarcastically. Then he blinked and his tone softened. "No. I-I mean—" He pointed over in the direction of his encounter with Ventresca. "Listen, The Godfather Part II over there has no idea who I am, okay?"

"Okay," the Spirit agreed with a shrug.

"It's complete bullshit, everything he said. All of it!"

"Gotcha."

He made a nervous lopsided grin. "I mean, where does he even get off? He doesn't even know who I am! He's just seeing me as this Angelique person. She's not even real! She dresses up as a French maid. That's not me."

"Totally get it. You're not Angelique Isabeaux, you're Terry Riley."

"Yes. Yes. Exactly. Thank you."

"And with every fiber of your being, you want to run away from all of this as quickly as those sexy high heels can carry you. To ditch everyone and everything and pretend like it all never happened."

His eyes flashed in anger, and he was about to snap something back at her, but something he saw on her face stopped him before the words could reach his lips. Then he broke eye contact with her and looked down and away.

"I don't... I'm not..." He sighed heavily. "God, yes," he admitted quietly.

"What's stopping you?" she prompted.

He fidgeted and played with his fingers in a restive manner as a pained look crossed his face. He took a little breath and then cut his eyes over at her. "Because... I don't want to be like that anymore."

The Spirit Samm broke into an elfin grin and hopped down off the counter, and then slid over alongside of him and gave him a supportive nudge with her shoulder. "It's a good start," she said.

Terry frowned in distress as he glimpsed over at the Spirit. "I have literally no idea what I'm supposed to do next. I'm still totally screwed here."

She raised her eyebrows and nodded emphatically. "Oh, yeah. It's a mess, for sure," she agreed as she reached her arm around him.

"I was hoping for something a bit more constructive."

"Sorry. I tend to be more about living in the moment," she said. Then she edged closer to him, and for a moment he thought that she was reaching around him to offer a supportive hug, only to realize that instead she was reaching her arm to retrieve something from the countertop behind him. As he watched, her hand came back with a deviled egg that she popped in her mouth.

"These are so good," she said with her mouth full.

Terry looked at her incredulously. "Seriously, do they not feed you?"

As the two of them exited the kitchen, Terry saw that the restaurant was empty, which he thought was a little strange. Admittedly it was late, and earlier the crowd had already started to significantly thin out, but even the bartender and waitresses were nowhere to be seen. Even if the show was over, it seemed unlikely they'd all just take off before cleaning up.

The Spirit Samm stopped and turned to look at him. She appeared to be particularly edgy and distracted as she put her hand on his arm. "I only have a short time, but you need to listen carefully," she said.

"Okay," he replied warily. He perched against one of the tables, glad to take some of the weight off his feet for a minute. He might not have been genuinely pregnant, but the extra weight he was carrying was definitely aggravating.

"Riley, I can't tell you all of what's going on, but I can tell you a few things. The Spirits—the ones like me—you have to understand, the dead can't change. Sometimes we get stuck, and we can't move on. But sometimes interacting with a living person like yourself can help to give us the nudge we need."

"So how can I help—"

"That's not important now. I'm telling you this because the first Spirit and me, we showed you things that have already happened. We might challenge you or question you, and maybe you can learn something or get a different perspective, but we're stuck in amber. But the one who's coming...she's different."

"The Spirit of the Future," Terry said.

"That's right. Riley, the Future can change, but she can't. She was born out of fear, and she can't let go of that. But you can. You have to."

The look on her face caught him off guard. Her earlier playful demeanor was gone and she had a look of deadly earnestness. For a moment she reminded him of the real Agent Samm, to whom it seemed like everything was a matter of life and death.

"I understand," he told her.

Just then, there was the deep ringing of a clock chime. Terry looked around him for the source, but he couldn't tell where the sound was coming from. Even more curiously, it sounded like the chiming of the grandfather clock in the foyer of Dave and Bonnie's house, although clearly there wasn't anything like that present in the restaurant. Terry was just about to ask the Spirit about it when he heard the sounds of a woman's footsteps approaching.

The bell struck twelve which once again didn't make any sense to him, and he found it very disorienting. He then turned to look at the Spirit Samm, only to discover that she had disappeared.

And the footsteps were getting closer.

The lights of the restaurant flickered a couple of times, and when they came fully on, the footsteps had stopped.

Just across the restaurant stood Krystal Delgado, still dressed in the outfit that she'd worn for her "pop-up gallery" show that night. It was a stylish black dress cut in a conservative style, but it still managed to showcase her curvaceous figure in an intriguing fashion. She was beautifully made up and exuded confidence—that same obnoxiously bubbling self-assuredness that Terry had seen from her all evening as he hid peering out from the kitchen after her humiliating prank. She held a glass of champagne in her hand, and for a moment Terry thought that perhaps he was still looking at the version of Krystal from her gallery show earlier that evening. Except that this version was looking right at him with a big self-satisfied expression.

"You're the Spirit," he realized.

"In the flesh! And looking drop dead gorgeous, I might add," she said as she flashed him a bright smile. "That's a little humor of the dearly departed."

"You must be the life of the party," he deadpanned.

She wagged a finger at him. "Ah, I see what you did there."

"Since Ray was my guide to the Past, and Samm was my guide to the Present, does this mean that Krystal will be a part of my Future?"

"A significant part, I hope," the Spirit purred. She walked closer to him, and a look of amused disbelief crossed her features as she beamed at his pregnant belly. "Angelique, I must say you're positively aglow. Have you given any thought as to names? I'm thinking Babette if it's a girl, and if it's a boy...then also Babette. Apropos, no?"

He said nothing, but merely pressed his lips into a sarcastic simper.

"What, no quick comeback? No witty retort? And here I had hoped the two of us could spend some quality girl time together. I went to all this trouble to decorate this gallery for your benefit, and you hid out in the kitchen all evening. I'd wanted to catch you before you left, but you and Daddy seemed to be having a bit of a lover's quarrel on your way out," she teased as she took a sip from her glass.

"Well, I'd say something like, 'I hope you didn't go to any trouble on my account,' but considering that your 'gallery' was a vacant fast-casual restaurant, it's pretty obvious you didn't. Couldn't you at least have gotten a soft-serve ice cream machine? That might have attracted more of a crowd."

Krystal giggled. "Oh, there's my spicy Angelique! I have missed your wit. But this look doesn't suit you at all." She made a casual gesture with her hand, and Terry felt as his outfit changed once again, and he found himself dressed once again in his oversexed French maid's outfit that he'd worn earlier that evening. Krystal looked him over with a provocative leer that left little doubt what was on her mind. "Ooh, so much better, this is really you. Don't pretend you don't love this."

Terry put his hands on his hips and discreetly ran his fingers along his trim feminine waist. He didn't want to give her the satisfaction, but he was glad to have the bulky pregnancy belly gone. Even if it meant having to give her a sexy little show.

He nodded. "So, if you're the Spirit of the Future, show me my Future and let's get this over with." He made a vague gesture towards the floor in front of him. "How does this go, anyway? You show me the big open grave here in front of me, and I drop to my knees and swear I'm a changed man?"

If his disrespectful sass annoyed her at all, she gave no outward indication. Instead, she just mirrored his dismissive attitude and rolled her eyes.

"Man, I wish it was that easy. Maybe that was good enough a hundred and fifty years ago, but nowadays all people care about the Future is to learn about their pedantic hopes and dreams and blah, blah, blah." She made a contemptuous roll of her shoulders as she took another drink from her glass.

"Would that 'blah, blah, blah' also include fears?" Terry asked.

The Spirit's nonchalant demeanor changed as she fixed him with a look, but she quickly covered it with a playful wrinkling of her nose. "Ooh, the saucy and sexy French maid thinks she's got something on the mean old Spirit, does she? Pretty Angelique, I am not the enemy here. I'm here to show you the Future! This is a gift. But what you do with it is entirely up to you."

"Forgive me if I'm a bit skeptical. The last guy who gave me something for nothing was a doctor with Coke-bottle glasses, and the next morning I woke up trapped in a body that makes me look like a backup dancer in a rap video."

"'Trapped.' Now that's funny."

"Meaning what?"

She gave a half-shrug and took a final sip from her glass before she put it down. She circled around him like a predatory cat playing with a mouse.

"Okay. You want to talk about fears, let's start there. You tell me, let's say I showed you that open grave. What would be the first thing you look at?"

"The date."

"Sure. Makes sense. 'Cause that's what people want to know, right? How long do they have? Is it a week, a year, twenty years? But in your case, my dear, I have to call bullshit. Because while that's important information, it's not what preoccupies your thoughts. What you really want to know is whose name it is that's etched in stone right there above that date...is it Terry, or is it Angelique?"

He said nothing.

"Let me spin you a little hypothetical, gorgeous. Which option to you would be more frightening: to see Terry's name there and learn you only have a couple months to live, or to see Angelique's name there along with the inscription, 'Beloved wife, mother, and grandmother,' and a date far in the future?" She paused and waggled her hand back and forth. "Don't feel like you have to answer that."

"Aren't you supposed to show me one of those futures and get me to change my wicked ways?"

"But I like your wicked ways," she retorted with a seductive grin. "But that's the problem, I can't show you your Future until it's clear what path you're on."

He nodded. "Okay. Or—alternate theory, just tossing it out there—maybe you suck at your job."

The Spirit daintily touched the top of her chest and affected a wide-eyed look of guileless befuddlement. "Moi?" she said, fluttering her eyes. "Oh, sweetie, don't play coy. The source of your problems has always been you."

"You don't say."

"I do say," she countered. "Take these delightful frou-frou costumes you love to run around in—"

"I don't like to wear them," Terry interrupted.

"Oh, reeeally," the Spirit Krystal said, playfully drawing out the word. "Fine, I'll play. Remind me again, why do you wear them, Angelique? And I don't mean just this one. I know you sexed yourself up tonight to try and seduce Daddy to crash his little party, not that that worked out very well for you. I mean all of them."

"You're the all-knowing Spirit. You know why."

"I want to hear you say it."

Terry sighed. "You were there that day. Krystal was. I got caught wearing one of these stupid costumes my first time out, and I made up some story about how I wear them for female empowerment."

The Spirit gamely nodded. "Yes, and if I can be forgiven for the use of the term, that was some truly grade-A humbug," she teased. "And now?"

Terry hesitated slightly at the question. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," she said dramatically, "why do you still wear them? Angelique, you are a gifted liar and a consummate bullshit artist, and that's even before you flash those two big weapons of mass distraction you're packing in your bra. In all this time you couldn't think up one plausible lie to explain why you might have changed your mind and decided to wear regular clothes?"

A dozen plausible excuses leaped to Terry's lips. Certainly there were the confluence of unlikely circumstances that had conspired to dress him this way that first day, soon followed by how he'd told Dave and Bonnie that he did this at some fictitious therapist's guidance to see how it felt to be objectified. Then later, Bonnie had worked with Claire's friend Jasper to purchase a variety of French maid costumes for him to wear. And he himself had told Delgado how he'd ingratiated himself into the Rileys' household to work as a maid. But now his mind raced as he thought through a variety of ways he could likely have fast-talked his way out of it. If he'd wanted.

"This is ridiculous. I hate wearing these outfits," he said defensively.

"Oh, pardonnez-moi, ma petite bimbo," the Spirit said as she waggled her hands in a mockingly apologetic gesture. But when faced with his sour and peevish expression, she regarded him more evenly.

"Clearly, I have a lot of work to do here," the Spirit decided. "Fine, we'll get to that. I suppose we'll just have to start with something...simple."

She swept her hand in a casual way, and Terry lurched unevenly as he found himself standing atop the nearby countertop at the front of the restaurant where people used to place their orders. Although the line of cash registers had been removed, it was still a comparatively narrow platform, especially perched as he was on his high stiletto heels. To complicate matters further, his petticoats held his skirts out to the sides and blocked his view as he looked down, making his situation that much more precarious. He realized that if he wanted to get down, his only recourse would be to squat down, plant his butt on the counter, and clamber down in what would be a fairly graceless maneuver. Not wanting to give her the satisfaction, he instead stood there with his hands on his hips.

The lights in the restaurant went low. Direct lighting spotlighted Terry on his tiny makeshift "runway," and the Spirit took a seat so that she was looking up at him, and at an angle where she was practically peering up his skirt.

"And here we have the lovely Ms. Angelique Isabeaux!" she crooned like an emcee at a fashion show. "Straight from her sex-change wake-up call, Angelique's first move was to squeeze that bangingly bodacious bod into a skimpy and sexy costume sure to turn the guys' heads! Give us a twirl, girl!"

Terry folded his arms. "No. And that's not how it went," he retorted.

"Ugh," the Spirit Krystal complained. "Fine. See if this puts you more in the mood."

The spotlights that were already in Terry's face became much brighter, and he squinted against the sudden glare, but he had a sense that the darkened room had become much larger. That feeling was confirmed a moment later as he heard the loud murmur of a large crowd of people, and he realized that he was on stage, standing there in front of everyone in his sexy costume. However, as he peered into the darkness, he couldn't make anyone out, which led him to suspect that the crowd noises had just been added to give his "fashion show" an air of authenticity. And as his eyes darted around nervously and he felt his chest tighten, his flash of anxiety informed him that it was working.

A moment later, some peppy upbeat EDM house music started to play from distant speakers, and Terry practically jumped at the noise as he crossed his arms in front of himself defensively.

"Once again, with feeling," the Spirit directed him. Terry looked and saw that she was still seated in the front row, but as near as he could tell was still the only other person there, even though the sounds of the crowd made it seem like a packed house. She made pointed eye contact with Terry and then raised her index finger and twirled it around to indicate what he was expected to do.

Terry considered rebelling, but he decided against it since he didn't particularly relish the idea that she might escalate, perhaps to fill the seats with actual people. He executed a halting pirouette that caused his skirts to sway gently about his thighs.

"Ooh la la!" the Spirit chortled. "Our vamp Angelique is all dressed to break some hearts! This winsome coquette pulled out all the stops in a racy outfit that's sure to titillate! See as she gives the boys a thrill as she shows off those long, sexy legs. And with that spectacular cleavage, she's certain to be the center of attention of any room she enters. Just look at that makeup...why, one flirtatious wink of those big fluttering eyelashes would be enough to—"

"All right, that's enough," Terry said. "I'm not playing this game anymore."

The Spirit blinked. "Oh. Well, fair enough. After all, this is a little old hat, isn't it? I get to see this look every day as you try to keep Daddy beguiled and distracted. Hmm...perhaps something new? Ooh, I have a thought, maybe let's see some of the secrets you keep to yourself, shall we?"

The feel of a cool breeze wafted over Terry, and he felt a shiver, almost as though a ghostly hand had just run up his spine. But to his surprise, the feeling slithered slowly down his back, and he suddenly realized that it was lowering the zipper that ran up the back of his dress.

"Wait!" he cried out as his hands darted to his dress. Too late.

In a swift and fluid move, his dress and petticoats were yanked down his body by an unseen force and pooled down by at his feet in a pile of black and white satin and ruffles, leaving Terry standing there in nothing but his underwear.

"Whoa," the Spirit whispered in amazement.

Terry's skimpy dress had left little to the imagination, but it was now obvious that the real show had been taking place hidden beneath that thin veil of fabric. His bra, panties, garter belt, and stockings were doing a phenomenal job of showing off his curvaceous female body—the push-up bra alone was a marvel of engineering, and had created a cavernous cleft of flesh that a pack of Boy Scouts could have gotten lost exploring—but what was so striking and unexpected was that this lingerie was not even remotely utilitarian, and was clearly meant to be worn in the bedroom—and not for very long. The lingerie was a matched set of a very fine quality, vibrant in an eye-catching scarlet red color decorated with a delicate floral black applique.

Standing up there on the brightly-lit stage, Terry's impromptu turn on the runway suddenly looked a whole lot more like the Victoria's Secret Fashion Show.

The Spirit fanned herself with her fingers. "Mercy, mercy, me! Did it get hot in here, or is it just you?"

"I-I don't normally dress like this," Terry stammered as he shifted uncomfortably under her gaze.

The Spirit Krystal wasn’t even paying attention as she bounded to her feet to ogle him more closely. “Oh, honey. I knew you were hiding something good, but I had no idea. I would have jumped your bones ages ago had I known.” She peered at him knowingly. “The sight of you flitting about in those pretty maid’s outfits are a gift to the world, but this is just for you, isn’t it? A special thrill for you when you slip out of your sexy ensemble after a hard day working that feather duster? Oh, here, let me paint a picture.”

She waggled her fingers in his direction, and he felt as a long flowing satin robe draped over his shoulders and sinuously ran down his body, tickling him with the soft kiss of its fabric against his skin. The garment was in a matching scarlet red color and edged in delicate black lace that perfectly matched his underwear. But rather than providing any sense of modesty it only served to sex him up even further, framing his sexy undergarments in an eye-catching way. Terry then felt a tug at his ears as his earrings became heavier and his jewelry changed to complete the look. Even without looking, Terry realized that he must have looked like a randy girlfriend who had just strutted out of her boudoir to greet her appreciative man with a come-hither invitation for an evening of wild sex.

“It’s not like that,” Terry protested.

"Oh, Angelique," the Spirit chided him in a dismissive tone. "I'll grant that you dressed up in your seductive little outfit in a clumsy attempt to seduce my father and distract his men as part of a graceless attempt to try and vamp your way into that meeting. But this? You never thought anybody would see you this way. If somehow my father actually had seen you like this, he'd have sent everyone home and ravished you immediately. You're human Viagra, honey! Of course, once he discovered what you've got tucked back in those very expensive panties, this would have been the very last outfit you ever wore, I can promise you that."

Terry stood up on stage awkwardly, the bright spotlights and empty runway providing him no refuge. He glanced down at himself and moved his hands uncertainly, as if trying to decide what if anything he could cover to regain some bit of modesty, but between his curvy body and provocative undergarments, it was an impossible task. And he had little doubt that if he’d dared to try to cover himself with the robe, the Spirit wouldn’t approve and would take swift action. Meanwhile, his movement only served to draw attention to his long red fingernails, which matched the scarlet red lingerie that stood out as a daring contrast against his creamy skin. His look of distress was only magnified by his glamorous and heavy makeup, and he fluttered his long eyelashes.

"I had to get into character..." he tried to explain.

"Liar," the Spirit said flatly. "Don't try to sell me that doe-eyed, 'Oh, this old thing, I just pulled it out of the dresser' crap. Those spicy unmentionables were already purchased and tucked away in your lingerie drawer long before you dressed for Daddy this morning. Hell, you were probably thrilled to have an excuse to finally wear them. But if you're looking to get 'in character' as Angelique, let me help."

Terry felt as the scene shifted again. He was still up on the lighted stage, but now the satin robe had disappeared, leaving him exposed wearing nothing but his skimpy lingerie and high heels. But the energy from the darkened room had transformed completely. The peppy EDM music had changed into a hard-rocking song with a heavy thumping base rhythm, and the sounds of the crowd became louder, filled with cheers and whistles and cat-calls, all male. And right next to Terry on the stage, and brilliantly illuminated in the lights, was a tall silver stripper pole.

"You're the one who wanted Angelique to be a stripper," the Spirit reminded him. "Don't pretend like you don't know how this works. Here, why don't you do a set, dance a few songs, and shake your big titties for the boys?"

"This isn't funny," he snapped.

"You'll notice I'm not laughing."

He sniffed and looked away. A heartbeat later, she appeared on the stage next to him and whispered in his ear.

"This is what you want, admit it. The power, the control, the attention. Everyone's eyes following your slightest move. It's what you crave."

"Could I maybe talk to one of the other Spirits again? Or do you have a manager I could talk to? Because I really feel like you're doing a substandard job here. I thought we were going to talk about the Future."

The Spirit prowled around in front of him, still barely an arm's length away. She wrapped her fingers around the stripper pole and languidly swept around in front of him as she maintained constant eye contact with him.

"Such a witty girl. When did that start, I wonder? Probably when you were young, maybe about the time when you realized that your brother Dave was going to be the successful one, and you were...not. He was so driven, so focused. But you never had a clue, did you? So instead, you played the class clown, always with a smart remark, always the center of attention. And then as you got older you hopped from one failed scheme to the next, hoping to strike it rich without having to do any real work to get it. And then one day—poof!—the princess wished upon a star and her every dream came true."

"You think I like looking like this?"

"I think that you truly, desperately, and dearly love all the trappings that come along with it, baby cakes. To be noticed, admired, adored. Tell me, Angelique, what did it feel like that first time when you realized you were beautiful? That that word even applied to you? I mean as a guy you were fine, but as a woman you're a fucking dime, and you know it. Literally overnight you went from being a nobody—just some loser desperately trying to scrape together enough money to skip the country to run from my father—to being the woman who has Lucius Delgado wrapped around her dainty little pinky. Don't tell me that doesn't turn you on."

"You're dreaming."

"And you never answered my question before about why you love to wear all of those sexy French maid's dresses."

"I told you, I don't like it. I hate it. It's humiliating."

"As humiliating as having this conversation in nothing but your ladies' unmentionables?" the Spirit said with a leer as she peered down at his half-naked body. "You got over that real fast, I see. I mean don't get me wrong, I'm sure your very first time out in that sassy little uniform you were positively mortified as you served all those smirking people at my cousin's wedding while you were all made up with your boobs hanging out. Though you learned something that day, didn't you? You learned that while you may not like being a woman very much, you're really good at it. And you're not the least bit shy about using your looks to your advantage."

She kept her eyes fixed on his as she moved in closer. "But there are a lot of pretty girls in the world, and that wasn't enough for you, was it? You wanted to be the girl, the one everybody was looking at. So, you got yourself a frilly little gimmick that was sure to turn heads: Angelique Isabeaux, the girl with the French maid fetish. Confident, sexy, and adored. Look but don't touch, boys!"

The Spirit shook her head in wonder. "You do have to admire the sheer chutzpah. I mean, you took what should have been your fleshy and jiggly prison, and instead you turned it into your castle and declared yourself the motherfucking princess. Though I can't say I blame you...given the choice between being a mediocre man and a magnificent woman, it was kind of a no-brainer."

Terry lifted his chin and squared his shoulders as he faced the Spirit. He was still dressed like a lingerie model, but you never would have known from the way he carried himself. "You don't know me at all. I may be making the best of a bad situation, but I'd get out of this body in a heartbeat if I could. Do you honestly think I'm that vain and superficial?"

"Oh, yes. Unquestionably," the Spirit assured him. "I know it because I am, too. And I also know it because of how you reacted to my gallery show this evening. Or did you think I hadn't noticed?"

"You mean what the real Krystal did," Terry said. "What of it? She was pissed off at her father and wanted to tick him off."

"That, ma chere, was merely the icing on the cake. I annoyed him, but I skewered you. You were fully prepared to march right in there on his arm all tits and petticoats with a big smile on your face as everybody gawked at you in your outrageous little outfit, but I kicked you where I knew it would hurt the most. Because all of a sudden, you weren't special anymore. You weren't Angelique Isabeaux the daring seductress, you were just another pretty girl in a silly costume surrounded by lots of other pretty girls in silly costumes."

Terry was uncharacteristically quiet as her taunt hit home. His eyes were downcast, and the look of hurt on his face impossible to miss. The Spirit read his expression and used the opportunity to move in for the kill.

"Face facts, Angelique. Underneath all of your monumental snark and sass, the thing that gnaws at you—what really gets under your soft and supple skin—is the fear that the only two things in life that make you special were growing a nice pair of tits and your willingness to debase yourself by running around in your ludicrous maid's costumes."

He stood there quietly in front of her, his head hanging down and unable to meet her gaze as he reeled from her words. His unsteady breaths came faster and deeper, and she reached over to brush back some of his long brunette locks that had fallen down and framed his bosom. He flinched slightly at her touch. But as she swept his hair over his shoulder, it uncovered the strap of his brassiere and the sparkling charm of the four stars in the shape of a W that he had pinned there. Cassie's pin.

"That's sweet," the Spirit said. To Terry's surprise she sounded almost earnest, lacking the mocking tone that he expected.

The Spirit took a long slow breath as she looked at him. Her demeanor had changed and didn't seem quite so biting and caustic, but rather seemed to have a sense of quiet resignation about her, like she'd settled on a course and was now determined to see it through.

"Fine. Okay, Ebenezer, you want to see your scary Future? Now you're ready."

The scene shifted again, and the environment changed dramatically. The bright spotlights that had blinded him were gone, replaced with a muted indirect daylight that streamed in from large windows that looked out onto an expansive backyard. He looked around and realized that he was in a fairly spacious kitchen, but one he didn't immediately recognize. It was a warm and cozy space. Over on the refrigerator were a number of pieces of children's artwork, a bunch of school notices and reminders, and a smattering of refrigerator magnets with funny sayings on them. Hanging on the wall next to the refrigerator was a monthly calendar that was covered with handwritten notes in various colors. But what caught Terry's eye was that he recognized the handwriting as his own.

He began to step closer to get a better look, and the swish of his skirts caught his attention. The fact that he was wearing high heels or that he felt the gentle caress of a petticoat was by this point practically commonplace for him, but as he looked down, he realized that he wasn't dressed in one of his maid's uniforms. Instead, he wore an almost classic house dress. It was a sleeveless pink polka dot dress with a flared knee-length skirt and a sweetheart neckline that on another woman might have been considered modest, but which Terry was filling out impressively. It looked like a vintage 1950s dress, or maybe just something that was made to look that way...a throwback to a different era, flirtatious and feminine.

For a moment he wondered if the Spirit had thrown him into a mock-up of a 1950s kitchen, but he realized that all of the appliances were modern. Then, as he turned and glimpsed his dim reflection in the microwave that hung under the counter, he did a double-take.

His makeup was stark and colorful in keeping with his vintage feminine look, a captivating appearance, but one not as aggressively sexualized as how he often wore it for Delgado. His hair, however, had completely changed. His normal chestnut brown hair was now a good deal shorter and in a striking shade of red that had been swept into an elaborate 1950s updo that showed off the button earrings that graced his ears. The look caught him by surprise not merely for how fastidiously it had been put together, but also because he was unused to wearing his hair up off his face as Angelique. Terry stayed alive by never giving Delgado any reason to suspect that Angelique and Terry were the same person, and a hairstyle like this, while flirtatious and feminine, was also downright dangerous.

"Why on earth...?"

A loud and insistent beeping sound came from the oven as some timer went off, and Terry started as the noise shattered the silence. Not sure what to do, he hurried over to the oven and opened it to peer inside, and was instantly hit by the sugary-sweet aroma of a sheet of freshly-baked cookies. Almost reflexively he reached for a nearby oven mitt, but he froze in mid-reach as he noticed what was on his hand.

His left hand.

The ring finger of his left hand.

He stared in disbelief at the two rings that graced his finger, one a thin ring with a pretty diamond and the other a plain gold band, elegant in its simplicity. And impossible for it to mean anything other than what it obviously signified.

"Aren't you going to get that?" a woman's voice came from behind him. He spun around and saw that it was the Spirit Krystal, seated at the kitchen table and perusing a tray of cookies.

For a moment Terry moved to say something to her, but then chose to focus instead on the task at hand. He put on the oven mitt and silenced the still-beeping alarm before retrieving the cookies from the oven. He then put the sheet on the cooktop before turning to her.

"What the hell is this?" he challenged her in a nearly panicked tone as he gestured at himself and the kitchen. "And this?" he added, yanking off the oven mitt to show her the wedding and engagement rings which sparkled prettily on his finger.

The Spirit made an offhand shrug. "Seems pretty obvious to me," she said as she took a bite of a cookie. "Mmm, not bad. You'll have to give me the recipe."

"Oh, no. No, no, no. I am not...this. I am not Susie Homemaker material. Are you trying to tell me I find myself a nice guy, and he makes an honest woman out of me?"

"Doesn't have to be a guy," the Spirit offered.

"Mom!" came the call of a young boy from another room in the house. Terry froze like a statue as the sounds of squabbling children sounded.

"Yeah, it's probably a guy," the Spirit conceded as she took another bite from her cookie.

Terry stood there with a shocked expression on his face as his mouth fell wide open. "But I'm not—I can't—I don't even—!" he stammered.

The Spirit wrinkled her nose. "I guess you adopt? Maybe he already had kids. I'm sure you're great with them."

"Mo-ooooommmm!!!" the cry came louder and more insistently this time.

Terry was uncertain what to do, but he was absolutely certain that he didn't want to come face-to-face with whatever portion of his so-called Future was taking place in that other room.

"Whatever you're doing in there, knock it off!" he yelled as the sounds of squabbling continued.

"See? You're a natural," the Spirit said. With a cheeky smile she looked at him, and she held up her hands as though she was framing a shot in a movie. "I wish I had a camera right now. This is priceless."

He stalked over towards her. "I am not somebody's wife, and I am certainly not anybody's....that!" he insisted as he jabbed a finger towards the sounds of the children in the other room.

"Is it really so impossible to believe? You said you'd wanted to marry Cassie. Who knows, maybe after a few years as Angelique, you—"

She was interrupted by the rapid sounds of footsteps in the hall. A teenage Madison poked her head in the kitchen and said, "Don't worry, Aunt Angie, I've got it," before heading off towards the sounds off the children.

"Aunt Angie!" the Spirit mocked, laughing loudly. Terry pursed his lips and nodded along impatiently as she had a good laugh. "Ohh, 'Aunt Angie.' That was worth the price of admission right there."

"Laugh it up. But now I know this is just some fabricated fantasy you've concocted. Because there's no possible future where Madison volunteers to be helpful."

The Spirit was still smiling, but nodded sympathetically as she stood up and walked over to him and guided him to sit at the kitchen table. "Okay, it's a lot to process. Here, why don't you have a seat, and I'll get you a nice cup of coffee."

Terry grudgingly allowed her to escort him to the table, but the moment his butt hit the seat, the entire scene changed again.

The world spun around, and Terry felt a jarring sensation as his well-rounded butt landed in a wooden seat. He blinked as he tried to orient himself, but he smelled it first—the pungent aroma of coffee beans. He heard people talking around him and realized that he was seated at a table in a coffee shop somewhere.

"Hi, are you using this chair?" a man's voice asked.

At first Terry didn't realize that the question had even been directed at him until he realized the guy was only a few feet away and staring right at him. The guy was maybe in his late twenties and good-looking with a toned physique. He was casually dressed in shorts and a t-shirt and had an unruly mop of dark brown hair and sharp, inquisitive eyes. He raised his eyebrows questioningly.

"Huh? Oh, uh, yeah, sure," Terry muttered as he peered up at the man. He wrinkled his nose as he realized that he was wearing glasses, which he didn't normally do.

"Thanks," the guy said as he picked up the chair. But just before he turned to leave, he smiled and said, "Hey, I like your nails."

Terry looked down at his fingernails and noticed that they were painted in a vibrant shade of aquamarine and mumbled something in gratitude as the guy left. He then glanced down at himself and saw that he was no longer wearing the flowered house dress, which he viewed as a small kindness.

His current outfit was almost sedate compared to what he was used to. He found himself wearing a lightweight charcoal cardigan atop a simple white camisole that showed off slightly more than a modest bit of cleavage. Although a pair of distressed skinny jeans clung to his legs, the cardigan was long enough to mask his curves. His long hair was up off of his face, and as he touched it, he felt the tug of some dangly earrings. It seemed that the only real bits of flash in his outfit were the earrings, his ever-present cleavage, and his vibrant nail polish.

He glanced around at the other patrons, and realized that he likely blended in fairly well with the crowd in the coffee shop. That in itself was a fairly novel experience considering some of the outfits he was used to wearing out in public. The maid's outfits were bad enough, but some of the clubwear-style dresses that he used to "entice" Delgado also made him walking eye candy. This was, he realized, very likely the most modest outfit he'd ever worn as Angelique.

"Now you look like an Angie," the Spirit teased in a nasally Midwestern accent as she walked up to the table. He noticed that she was carrying a pair of coffee cups. "Cute frames, by the way. Very boho."

Terry removed the glasses and flipped them around, and he saw that they had oversized square frames and a faux wood grain pattern. A cool fashion statement, but just a tiny bit forced. He groaned and tossed them down on the table. Then he glanced around at the people sitting around them, including the guy who'd spoken to him who was now seated with his friends.

"They can see us?" he asked her.

"Of course. Madison spoke to you in the last vision, didn't she? The Future is more fun that way. It's more...flexible. More opportunities. Sneaking around as an invisible Spirit can be entertaining, but sometimes you need an audience."

The Spirit smirked at him as she sat down next to him. She was dressed in tight jeans and a loose flowing blouse, still very sexy but in a more casual, suburban way. Terry realized that the two of them probably looked like a couple of women friends who had stopped to take a break after a morning spent breezing through stores like Ann Taylor and Williams Sonoma. She handed one of the cups to Terry, who accepted it and took a sniff. The moment he did so, he immediately recognized the scent.

"Pumpkin spice," he said.

"Nothing wrong with being a little bit basic," she teased. "Honestly, I think we may have found a look for you. I never imagined you as a sexy suburban MILF, but you're gonna break some hearts when they see you wiggle that tush as you push your shopping cart down the aisle of a Trader Joe's."

"I suppose I should be grateful I'm not pushing around a baby stroller."

"Yeah, I might have taken things a skosh too far with the June Cleaver thing, but don't kid yourself, that's absolutely a distinct possibility, Angie. But it was freaking you out, so I thought you might prefer this instead," she said as she took a sip of her coffee and winced at the hot temperature.

Terry regarded her with a circumspect look. Although she was trying to make it sound like she was doing him a favor, based on her behavior so far he wasn't about to lower his guard around her. He put his cup down on the table and pushed it to the side.

"I'm delighted you've decided to take an interest in my well-being," he said with more than a hint of sarcasm. As he glanced around at the other patrons, he had kind of an edgy demeanor and tugged on the edge of his cardigan. But rather than covering himself up, he seemed to be opening it up further, even as he arched his back slightly.

"It's part of the job," she said with an incremental shrug. "Though I have to say, it's a treat to see you dressed like that, if only to get a load of how much it obviously bothers you. You're something else, you know that? I mean, you could march right in here in skyscraper heels, petticoats, and a push-up bra, and you'd act like you owned the place, but being invisible bothers the hell out of you. Oh, you're still pretty—and if you'd flirted with that guy, you absolutely could have gotten his number—but it's killing you to not be the center of attention."

He snorted dismissively. "Ugh, you're back on that again?"

"I never left it. Face facts, gorgeous, you want to feel special. You always have. You love feeling clever and believing that you've put one over on people. You get to stand inches away from my father every day, and he has no idea who you really are. That must give you quite the rush."

"It gives me an entirely different feeling when he's got his hands on my boobs and his tongue down my throat. It's called nausea."

"Don't change the subject. He adores you, and you adore being adored. You're not the overlooked younger child anymore, desperate for attention. You had an opportunity to be put on a pedestal, and you scampered right up there, petticoats and all." She leaned closer across the table. "Come on. Just between us girls, 'fess up. That's why you bought that lingerie, isn't it? You wanted to feel special. To feel sexy and beautiful. To have a seductive little secret going on right there underneath your clothes that only you knew about."

Terry didn't say anything, but his face flushed red. He cleared his throat and licked his lips.

"Ohh, it turns me on when you play coy," she said in a throaty purr as she leaned back in her seat, as though to take in the view. "Honest to fuck, I could pounce across this table right now and ravish you."

A guy seated at a table near them glanced over at her and then quickly looked away.

The Spirit turned in her seat to look directly at the guy. "Don't worry, I'm not going to fuck her right now," she said to him loudly. The guy flushed a color even redder than Terry, and he hurried off to a different table. Meanwhile, the Spirit looked like she was about to burst from delight. "I'll let you know when it's time!" she called after him playfully.

"Subtle," Terry said.

"Well, it's not a frilly French maid's costume with a plunging neckline, but I do what I can." She then took another sip from her cup and looked out the window of the coffee shop to the busy street outside. "Okay, you know what? Have it your way. Over there is a news box with a local rag that lists things that are going on. You go get one, and I'll let you choose where we go next. Deal?"

Terry followed her line of vision to the line of brightly-colored news boxes across the street and eyed her suspiciously. "Why don't you get it?"

"Think of it as a metaphorical demonstration of your commitment to your journey of self-discovery. Plus, I've been on my feet all day, and these heels are killing me. Just get one."

Terry shook his head and stood up. He'd barely taken two steps before he froze and turned back to face her.

"Now what?" she said.

He waggled his finger back and forth in the direction of the traffic outside. "This isn't like one of those deals where I'm crossing the street, and then out of nowhere a truck comes out and hits me, and then I wake up in a hospital bed to find out I've been in a coma for 20 years, is it?"

The Spirit rolled her eyes. "What is it with you people? The second you meet a Spirit, you act like you're in a Final Destination sequel, or something," she complained. "Look, I promise nothing bad will happen, okay? Ghost Scout's honor." She crossed her heart—a little sarcastically, Terry noted—and then made a three-fingered salute with her right hand, kissed it, and held it up.

"See, now it feels like you're doing a Hunger Games bit."

"Just go!"

Terry reluctantly made his way towards the door and took a final look back at the Spirit, who gave him another exasperated glare. He sighed and walked through the door onto the busy sidewalk, and he was so distracted that he bumped into a young couple.

"Oh! I'm so..." the guy said, his voice trailing off as he looked at Terry in a look of stunned disbelief. One that was closely mirrored by his female companion.

In an instant, Terry knew without even looking that he'd been changed again, and the gobsmacked looks on the young couple's faces told him it was something striking. Even before he took his first breath, he knew that he was wearing a lot fewer clothes than he had a moment earlier, for one thing. Then he felt the warm afternoon breeze across his bare arms and shoulders, and he looked down to see that his breasts had been pressed together into a stupendously eye-catching cleavage. For a moment he thought that the Spirit had sent him out in nothing but his scant underwear, except that he felt a tight constriction about his midsection that was making it difficult to breathe.

The young guy backed off after the collision but was still very close, and Terry reflexively lifted his arm in a defensive move to keep him from bumping into his breasts. But as he did so, he saw the starched white cuff around his wrist with the little black cufflinks that had the Playboy logo on them. An accessory that was perfectly suited for the Playboy Bunny costume he was wearing.

"Oh!" the guy repeated, giving Terry a wide-eyed once over. "Oh, wow. I mean, uh..."

His girlfriend, who had evidently recovered somewhat more quickly, gave her boyfriend a sharp punch in the arm. She then gave Terry a quick smile. "You look great. Excuse us," she said in a somewhat darker tone as she dragged her boyfriend off, visibly annoyed as he turned to sneak one last look at the buxom bunny.

Terry shook his head and took a deep breath, or at least as deep a breath as his incredibly tight bunny costume would permit, which caused his breasts to heave in an exaggerated way. He turned back towards the coffee shop and felt his hair brush against his bare shoulders, even as he felt the weight of the bunny-eared headband that was perched on his head.

His reflection in the glass confirmed everything he already knew, but even Terry had to do a double-take when he saw himself standing there in the Playboy Bunny costume. It was a bold scarlet color that looked particularly captivating against his long brown hair, and it contrasted with his creamy skin in a striking way. But his shapely figure was nothing short of breathtaking. Terry had seen his female body in all manner of dress and undress, but even he had no idea that he was capable of looking like this. His trim feminine waist had been cinched in dramatically, causing his hips to look even more pronounced, to say nothing of what it was doing to his breasts, which were pushed up and pressed together into a prodigious cleavage. His legs were long and slim and looked fantastic in the dark pantyhose he wore, looking all the more fetching in the matching red pumps that adorned his feet.

Terry turned slightly to the side, and he blinked in surprise at his curvaceous rear end that was on brazen display, especially topped as it was with the huge white powder puff bunny tail. The white color helped to grab the attention of the viewer, and was perfectly matched with the white cuffs and collar of the outfit. All the white was a sharp contrast to his dark pantyhose, as well as the red color of both the bodice and the cute bunny ears that were perched on his head, which were bent in a gamesome, playful curve.

A bit of movement caught Terry's eye, and as he refocused his eyes he could see that the Spirit had moved to a table right next to the window, and she was practically beaming as she took in the sight of Terry checking himself out on the sidewalk. She was leaning forward with her chin resting on one hand, while with her other hand she waggled her fingers at him in an impish little wave. Then, apparently in case Terry was harboring any reservations, she flipped her fingers at him in a nonchalant way to indicate he needed to get moving.

By this point, Terry had attracted a lot of attention on the busy street, and a few cars had slowed down to get a better look at the shapely Playboy Bunny who'd apparently decided to go for a mid-afternoon stroll downtown. Many of the men—and more than a few women—stared at Terry as they walked past. Several smiled, but many others couldn't even seem to look him in the eye.

Terry turned to look at his reflection again, that of a sexy Bunny looking shockingly out of place as she stood there on the busy sidewalk. Almost without thinking about it he struck a little pose, shifting his weight to one foot as he put a hand on his hip. It was, he realized, a classic Playboy Bunny pose, and damned if he didn't look amazing.

He reached up to straighten the little bow tie at his neck, gave his hair a toss, and took a breath. "Okay, let's do this," he said to himself as he headed down the sidewalk.

Terry was no stranger to making a splash in public with his French maid dresses, but strutting along a busy sidewalk in the middle of a day in a scant Playboy Bunny costume was on another level entirely. Every inch of his body was on display, and every tiny curve—and every not-so-tiny curve—was contoured to maximum effect. There was no hiding, even if he wanted to.

And he didn't want to.

The appreciative and sometimes shocked expressions of the passers-by were met with a sly and mischievous little smile on his painted lips, and as he strode sexily up to the corner to cross the street, he was well aware that all eyes were on him. Standing next to him, a nebbishy man in an ill-fitting business suit kept nervously cutting his eyes over at him, obviously wanting a better look, but not wanting to get caught leering.

Terry planted his hands on his hips, and his fingers felt the sharp curve of his nipped-in waist as he turned and flashed his eyebrows at the guy. "How's your day going?" he purred waggishly.

The light changed, and Terry crossed the street in a deliberate and unhurried manner. A car honked its horn in appreciation, and a smile crept to his lips.

By the time Terry had retrieved the paper that the Spirit had asked for, he'd been stopped twice for photos. On his return trip, he got stopped once more for a photo, a different time by a guy who asked him out on a date, and finally by a geeky guy who made an awkwardly-stammered marriage proposal.

Terry flung open the door of the coffee shop and strutted over towards the Spirit. The other patrons weren't bold enough to say anything, but he was unquestionably getting a lot more attention than when he'd been clad in his suburban MILF outfit. Which he suspected was the entire point of the exercise.

He arrived at the Spirit's table and raised his eyebrows as he silently offered her the newspaper.

She took one look at it and wrinkled her nose and gave a minuscule shake of her head.

Terry nodded gamely and tossed the paper on the table, and then slid into the seat opposite the Spirit. He sexily crossed his legs before folding his arms across his chest in a no-nonsense way, waiting for her to make the first move. Their new table was right by the window, and a few sharp-eyed passersby did comical little double-takes as they spotted the buxom Playboy Bunny sitting there, but Terry paid them no mind, as his full attention was riveted on the Spirit.

"In fairness," the Spirit began, "I'll be the first to admit when I'm wrong. When I told you earlier that I thought we'd found a look for you, I honestly had no idea. This is so much better. The little maid's dresses are cute, but what you're doing to that outfit is scandalous."

Terry took a breath and was about to say something in response, when suddenly a man walked right up to their table. Terry recognized him as the guy who'd previously been sitting at the table next to them before the Spirit had chased him off.

"Um, excuse me..." the guy said.

Terry was in no mood for any nonsense, and he blinked slowly and fixed the newcomer with a look. The man cleared his throat uncertainly and then began to lower himself to one knee so that he was practically nose-to-boob with Terry. Then haltingly his hand came up from the floor holding Terry's big white powder puff tail.

"You, uh, dropped your tail," he said as he offered it to Terry.

Terry didn't move a muscle and kept his arms folded. "Thank you," he said crisply.

The guy cleared his throat again as he stood up. "No problem, uh, Angelique. I'll just...put that here," he said as he placed the fluffy tail in the middle of the table.

As the man executed an orderly retreat, Terry made a puzzled face as he tried to figure out how the guy could possibly have known his name. Then he remembered the little name tag that was pinned to his costume, perched on his hip. Because God forbid he should have any secrets from the world in this getup. He turned back to face the Spirit, who had a self-satisfied grin on her face.

He idly flicked a bit of fluff from his starched white cuff. "I told the other Spirit I didn't want to wear this."

"Yeah," the Spirit Krystal agreed. "Me, on the other hand, I'm all about the fan service," she said as she eyed him appreciatively. "Damn, just look at you go. Strutting around like you're freaking royalty. You're like the Queen of the Bunnies, or something."

"I suspect that title has already been taken."

"Mmm. Duchess, then. Contessa? Baroness of the Bunnies, it has a nice ring to it, don't you think? Now tell me you didn't enjoy that just a little."

"Being sexually objectified by men isn't my idea of a good time."

The Spirit shook her head. "You do have to admire the power of the penis. I mean, you are owning that look, girl. Dozens of men and women were in awe of you—both your confidence and that sexy bod—and don't you dare try to tell me that's not a thrill. But if I told you how many men right now are sporting boners because of you, you'd freak out."

Terry shuddered.

"My point exactly, thank you. But do you know what your biggest problem is, my pretty Angelique?"

"At the moment I'd have to say that it's this thong underwear you've dressed me in, which by the way is absolutely not doing the job."

She ignored him. "Your problem is that you're reactive. You sit perched on that spectacular ass and wait for things to happen. Hell, I dressed you like a Playboy Bunny, and look what you did. You could have scampered away embarrassed and hidden in the bathroom, or you could have marched in here and bitched about the unfairness of it. But instead, you owned it like a freaking boss. But you only let your girl off the chain after I basically gave you permission to do it, being dressed like that."

"So, what, you're saying I'm afraid of Angelique?"

"Petrified is a better word. I'll let you in on a secret, beautiful. The reason you bought and wore that sexy lingerie was the exact same reason as every other woman. You wanted to feel attractive and desirable. You wanted to feel powerful, and like it or not right now for you that means claiming your feminine power. But that scares the living hell out of you, because as desperately as you want Angelique to be a role that Terry Riley can toss on and take off, you're starting to realize that she's a real person. She has power. And if she sticks around..." She let the sentence hang.

"...Terry goes away," he said quietly.

"Bingo. And hot stuff, you make a bangin' bunny, but even you can't maintain these crazy 'look at me' antics forever. And when the bloom goes off the rose, it's gonna sting. Terry Riley becomes Angelique Isabeaux becomes Angie Whatever-your-husband's-last-name-is, basic suburban housewife and mainstream MILF. In other words, a nobody. Welcome to your nightmare," she said as she waved her hands in an elegant flourish before taking her coffee cup and holding it up in salute as she took another drink.

Terry didn't say anything for a while. He merely looked down at himself, and then at the other patrons, who had all returned to their own conversations now that the initial thrill of the Playboy Bunny's entrance had passed. He held one hand in the other and nervously ran his fingers across his polished nails, which he noted weren't red to match his outfit, but still painted in the vibrant aquamarine color he'd worn in the MILF outfit. The color bothered him, but more for what it represented. It was such a striking and unusual shade that it was practically begging to be noticed, hoping to draw a compliment. A last desperate cry for attention from a middle-aged woman who was trying to prove she was still hip and stylish.

"I gather this is the part where you tell me that I can avoid all of this if I change my ways?" he asked.

She pointed her finger at him and clicked her tongue as she sat up in her seat. "You're a smart cookie. Okay, so let's say I offer you a hypothetical question. Like maybe sometime in the near future you have an opportunity to be Terry Riley again. No strings, no gangsters or FBI hovering over you, free and clear. No more dresses, no more makeup. No more Angelique."

"I think I'm waiting to hear what the catch is."

"The catch, my dear, is that after that, you'd be on your own. But if you pass it up, you're stuck as Angelique, and stuck but good. Which do you choose?"

He held out his hands palms-up as if not understanding the question. "That's it? That's nothing. I've been on my own before." He gave her a befuddled smile as he shook his head. Then it hit him.

"Wait. You mean—"

"Exactly."

"No FBI. No Ray," he said.

She scoffed. "For starters."

"Claire... Madison..." said Terry, mostly to himself. "Dave... Bonnie..." Then he paused and considered that. "Well, Bonnie," he said, tiling his head agreeably.

The Spirit rolled her eyes. "Don't get all maudlin on me. You'd have your life back. So would they. Who are they to you, anyway? And what, you're telling me you'd even consider the alternative? Please. You think you'd be content to live out the rest of your life in high heels and lipstick?"

He blinked once. "What did you say?"

The Spirit chuckled. "I was wondering if you honestly think you'd be happy to live the rest of your life as a woman? What, did I just blow your mind at the concept?"

"Nobody's happy all the time," Terry said to himself, remembering his brother Dave's words.

"Meaning what?" snapped the Spirit.

"I mean, nobody's happy all the time," Terry repeated.

"So...what? You'd prefer to be unhappy?" she said dubiously.

"No! I want...I want..." he hesitated, and the Spirit gave him an uncertain glance. "I want...what Dave and Bonnie have. I want what you said. I want to be...content."

The Spirit raised an eyebrow. "Content? That's your big dream? Way to set the bar nice and low."

"There's nothing wrong with that!" he retorted. "What's wrong with getting what you want and being satisfied with it? What's wrong with being comfortable and...fulfilled?"

"Fat, dumb, and happy," the Spirit mocked. "Complacent. Bored. You'd blow your brains out in five seconds. You haven't been content a single day your entire life."

A look of dismay crossed Terry's face as he considered that. "Oh, my God, I think you're right," he said, appalled. Then he looked down at himself again and a look of realization dawned. "That's what you were showing me. Here, and in that other vision. I was so freaked out by it I didn't even want to think about the kind of person I must have been—must have become—to make that future happen. I was content."

"And you were a woman," the Spirit reminded him.

Terry peered down at his hand and again regarded his painted fingernails, but this time he had a more contemplative, faraway look on his face. "I don't see it. That future doesn't make any sense to me at all. I have no earthly idea what the path would even look like to get me from here to there."

"Well, there you go, then."

"But that doesn't mean it's not there," he said emphatically. "You and the other Spirits have spent all this time showing me the people in my life. People who care about me. People who I care about. That counts for something, too. Maybe they rub off on me. God knows I don't have all the answers."

"And what makes you think you're not just going to bail on them again when the going gets tough? That is your signature move."

"I...I don't know," he admitted. "Maybe I will. I hope not. But if being Angelique is what gets me to happiness and contentment, then I can't afford to be afraid of that anymore. So maybe I do end up as a basic MILF and end up living the quiet suburban life, but—and I cannot believe I am even saying this—maybe there's a possible outcome where that ends up being okay." He picked up the cup of pumpkin spice coffee in front of him, held it up in salute, and then took a drink as if toasting the Future.

Then he practically retched as his face contorted into a grimace. He put the cup down and shoved it away as he stuck out his tongue in disgust. "Okay, not with that crap, though. That will never be any part of my future. That stuff is vile."

"You get used to it," the Spirit said as she took another sip. Then her face slowly spread into an enigmatic smile that Terry wasn't used to seeing on either Krystal or the Spirit. It filled him with a distinct sense of uneasiness.

"That look. Is that...good?" Terry said uncertainly. "'Cause I still have no idea what I'm gonna do."

The Spirit let out a girlish laugh. "You want to know about the Future, sweet cheeks? The Future isn't set, and it's not because you don't know what to do, it's because you're torn between the dreams you chase and the fears that hold you back. I don't know how your story ends. Maybe you find a way back to being Terry again, or maybe you're Angelique for the rest of your life. And—for now—you've found a place where you belong, but whether or not you hold on to it is entirely up to you. Although, nothing personal, you do have a talent for fucking things up."

"You're not wrong," he conceded.

"Like, spectacularly."

"I get it," he said testily.

"But...you also have a talent for putting things right. Although occasionally yanking your head out of your butt and paying some attention to the people around you wouldn't kill you."

She took one last drink from her coffee cup and stood up from the table with the air of someone with someplace to go.

Terry looked up at her, confused. "Wait. Is that it? I mean...are we done?"

The Spirit checked her watch and made a casual shrug. "I've still got a few minutes, so I thought we'd have a look at your Future, but if you've got better plans..."

"What, no!" Terry said quickly as he stood up and followed her towards the exit. "But...I thought you said I wasn't ready?"

"You weren't. But now that you've got a better sense of what you want, I can get a better idea of your Future. But don't get too excited, I can only see glimpses."

She walked out the door, and he was right on her heels. "Um, any chance you can see Powerball numbers? 'Cause that would be awesome."

The moment Terry stepped outside of the coffee shop, his surroundings changed completely, and he found himself in the midst of an endless gray fog that seemed to be omnipresent. He turned back to look at the shop, and not only was the door to the building gone, but so was the building itself. In fact, everything had disappeared. If there was anything in the fog or anything beyond it, he couldn't see it. Terry looked down at himself, and he saw that he was back in his French maid's outfit, and he felt a peculiar feeling of relief. Faced with nothing but impenetrable and inscrutable uncertainty, he found it oddly comforting to have something familiar to latch onto. Even that.

"Okay," the Spirit said as she poked at a magical scroll like Jingle and the other Spirits had used. "Let's try this."

She made a final sweeping gesture across the scroll, and the fog coalesced into a hazy vision. It was more indistinct than the other visions he'd experienced, but he could see what appeared to be himself at the center. As the vision came into sharper focus, he saw that he was dressed in a singularly bizarre outfit.

The entire thing appeared to be made of a metallic silver fabric, and was as scant and provocative as a strappy one-piece bathing suit that left little to the imagination. The addition of a silver loincloth and some scraps of silver fabric that loosely approximated a skirt added a thin veneer of modesty, and they led down to a wholly impractical set of silver high heels with straps that went up his bare legs. Draped around his shoulders he wore a gossamer capelet which ran down to silver bracelets at his wrists. And perched in his perfectly-coiffed hair was a stunning silver tiara with a silver crescent moon that was prominently set in the center. Terry couldn't make out where he was standing, but he see the rocks and craters of a rough terrain that could very well have been the surface of the moon.

"What the hell is this, I'm the Queen of Space?" said Terry.

"Whoops!" the Spirit said as she frantically tapped at the scroll. "Huh, I guess I must have overshot."

"Losing some confidence here," Terry muttered as the vision faded.

As he waited for the next vision to appear, Terry could hear raised voices come from the mist. They were distant and indistinct at first, but he could clearly hear a heated argument between what he soon realized was between Claire and himself. He thought he could also hear the sound of Madison crying.

He drew back into himself and fidgeted. "Any good news...?"

The scene shifted, and he once again saw himself standing alone, but also heard the sound of voices in a crowd. As it came into focus, he realized he was up on stage somewhere, playing to a crowd that roared with laughter. Terry brightened at that and then watched as the scene changed again. It was another figure up on stage performing, but this time it was Claire. It looked like she was singing something, but she was jumping around like an idiot. He smiled in spite of himself at the picture.

A moment later he saw Dave and Bonnie, busy at work on some project inside the house. It wasn't clear what they were doing at first, but he saw them loading a number of items into cardboard boxes.

Terry rolled his eyes. "Because of course she's cleaning. Probably because I didn't do a good enough job. You just know she—"

He stopped suddenly as he saw Dave put a comforting arm around Bonnie in what was clearly an emotional moment for both of them. As the scene pulled back, he saw that the house was being packed up for a move, and a moving truck was parked outside.

"Wait...wait!" Terry said to the Spirit as the vision started to fade. "They're moving? Why? Where are the girls? Where am I?" He tried to catch another glimpse of the fading scene and turned to the Spirit. "They love that house. Are you saying that's my fault?"

"Not everything is about you, gorgeous. I thought you'd have learned that by now. But if you want something a little bit more personal..."

This vision was different from the others, Terry realized. This time, he wasn't just looking at an image of himself, but this time he stood in the space of his Future self. As things came into focus, he again realized that he was on another stage in front of an audience. They were smiling but not cheering, leading him to wonder what kind of performance he was giving. He turned to look to see if there was a karaoke machine or something, and he did a startled double-take as he realized that Lucius Delgado was there as well, standing nearby. That puzzled Terry since he could hardly imagine Delgado being coaxed on stage for karaoke under any circumstances. For a moment he wondered if maybe this was some kind of business presentation, maybe something for Delgado's pizza business. But there seemed to be a lot of flowers on the stage for a business presentation.

"I don't get it. Is this supposed to be a play, or someth—" Terry started.

That's when he noticed that Delgado was looking very dapper dressed in a tailored tuxedo, and he was gazing at Terry expectantly. As was the well-dressed audience. As was an older man who was standing next to the two of them. Who was wearing an elaborate robe. Standing by the altar.

"What the fuck?!" Terry cried as he lurched backwards. The people in the vision didn't move or react, and it was just as well since Terry stumbled backwards and tripped on his high heels and fell down smack on his butt. However, he wasn't hurt since the voluminous billowing skirts of his elaborate white gown padded his landing.

Terry tried to scramble backwards in a panic, stymied by the seemingly endless billowing folds of his huge wedding gown. He glanced down at himself and saw his bosom on lavish display in the tight fitted bodice, delicately edged with more lace than any of the French maid dresses he wore.

"What the fuck!" Terry repeated as his brain tried to catch up to his situation. He wasn't even sure where to look. His gaze went from his dress, then up to Delgado, to the priest, to all the people in the church, and back to his dress.

"Spoiler alert," the Spirit quipped.

Terry's head snapped around to fix all of his attention on the Spirit. As he did so, his gossamer wedding veil fell down to obscure his vision, and he waved his arms madly as he frantically tried to yank the fabric out of his face, flailing about as though just walked into a spider's web.

By the time he extricated himself from the veil, the Spirit had moved over in front of him and offered her hand to help him up. For a moment he considered angrily smacking it away before he realized that given the size of the gown, he almost certainly required the assistance. With her help, he hauled himself to his feet, and once he got his balance on his heels in the voluminous dress, he pointed emphatically at the scene.

"Perfidy, calumny, and lies!" Terry declared. "Not possible. Not possible. There is no version of this or any future where I end up as Mrs. Lucius Delgado!"

The Spirit shrugged. "I don't know, 'Angelique Delgado' has a nice ring to it. Or you could always hyphenate: 'Angelique Isabeaux-Delgado.' Huh, that's gotta be like 70 points in Scrabble."

"This isn't funny. Show me my real future!"

"Hey, I'm not loving this, either, hot stuff. This means I'm gonna be the same age as my mom. How embarrassing is that?"

Terry turned to look at Delgado standing at the altar and held his hands out helplessly. "How does this even work?! How do we... I mean, does this mean he eventually figures out that I'm a guy? And that he's okay with it? And that I'm okay with it?!"

"Oh, relax, Mom. Besides, you've been stringing him along all this time, are you worried that your mouth has been writing checks that your various orifices can't cash?"

Terry turned to face her and jabbed a finger at her. "Okay, first, never call me that again. Second, eww! And third, who the hell even writes checks anymore? I thought you were supposed to be the Spirit of the Future, or something."

She raised an eyebrow. "Fine. Your peer-to-peer network is requesting invalid cryptocurrency that your blockchain can't support. Happy?"

He blinked, slightly flummoxed. "Okay, it's not as catchy," he conceded. Then he looked helplessly at the scene and turned back to her. "Tell me this isn't my real Future."

She shrugged again. "It doesn't have to be. Like I said, the Future isn't written yet. It's not too late to change."

"Change," he echoed. "Yes. Excellent. Dynamite. You tell me how to get out of this, and I'll do it. Because I want to be clear that I am prepared to do absolutely anything."

The Spirit sighed and shook her head. "You know, Angelique, there are times I think you're halfway clever, and there are times I think you are every bit the brainless bit of fluff that you pretend to be." She took a step closer and caressed his cheek with her hand, and then gave him a patronizing pat before she turned around and started to walk away.

"What is that supposed to—?" Terry said, bewildered as she walked farther away. "Hey! Hey, we are not done here!" He tried to follow after her, but he was seriously encumbered by his voluminous dress. "What does that mean?"

"It means you haven't been paying attention, and I can't help you."

Exasperated, Terry stopped and blew at a lock of hair that had fallen into his face. He then grabbed two big handfuls of his skirts and rushed in a lumbering gait to catch up with her. When he finally did so, he grabbed her by the wrist.

"I still have questions."

She paused and gave him an unimpressed look. "What? About the Future? Nice try, but we're done here."

"No. Not about the Future," he shot back. Then he paused and looked at her, as if looking for something. "You're Krystal Delgado, right? Or...some version of her."

"Your point?"

"I want to know how long she—how long you—have been working with Gabriel Ventresca."

The Spirit's expression changed. There was still a spark of amusement in her eyes, but now she seemed to be examining Terry, as well.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"You two have some kind of history together, don't deny it."

"Of course I don't deny it. He and I used to date, but that was a long time ago. He was an arrogant and entitled shit then, and he's an even more arrogant and entitled shit now. And you're going to have to do a lot better than that, Angelique."

His face lit up and he wagged a finger at her, like he had her on a technicality. "'Angelique.' You're always trying to distract me, but it's not going to work. I didn't see it the first time, but I see it now. You didn't stage that whole French maid thing at your 'pop-up gallery' just to piss off your father and me. You did it because you didn't want us to look any deeper."

The Spirit didn't seem angry or amused anymore. Just...intrigued.

"Go on," she said.

"I found that one listening device that had been planted on the serving tray. I bet there were others. At the time I thought the FBI had bugged the place, but they didn't have time. Neither did anybody else, because the only person who knew where the show was going to be was you."

"That doesn't mean I'm working with Gabriel."

"It's the only thing that makes sense! He was the one who was late to the meeting. He must have delayed his arrival so that the meeting time had to be pushed back, which gave you the opening to suggest the new location. Only you could have bugged the meeting, but he's the one who gave you the opportunity to swap the location in the first place."

She regarded him carefully. "Any other wild accusations you feel like sharing?"

He thought for a moment. "Yes. Your line work is sloppy and workmanlike, and your artwork is completely lacking in existential depth or emotional resonance. Also, you have no idea how to frame the imagery to draw in the viewer or engage your audience."

"That's funny. You're halfway clever, beautiful. But only half."

"Wait..." Terry said to himself as he scrambled to remember. "Ventresca was there at the beginning when I first met Delgado, and he was there again today...that can't just be a coincidence that you and the other Spirits showed me those two days." Then he gasped as he looked wide-eyed at the Spirit. "The beginning! Cassie! This is about Cassie!"

The Spirit's face was calm and inscrutable, but Terry wasn't looking at her as he furrowed his brow and tried to remember the details. His hand reflexively went up to his shoulder where he traced the lacy edge of the V-neck of his wedding dress, and his fingers slipped underneath to his bra strap where Cassie's pendant was. It was always there.

"It was always there," he muttered to himself. "She kept this on her key ring. And I saw her key ring sitting out on her desk that day when I met Delgado. Why would she have left her keys sitting out? That ring had her car key, her apartment key, a key for my apartment, her mailbox key, it..." He froze. "Oh, God, I remember now. There was a USB drive. It was on her key ring. She..."

He turned to look at the Spirit. "She was stealing files from Delgado," he realized. "Why? Why would she do that?"

"I can't help you there, doll face," the Spirit said.

"You can't, or you won't?" he snapped.

The Spirit didn't reply, and merely watched him with new interest.

"Was Cassie working with Ventresca against Delgado?" he wondered. "Did he have something on her? Was he threatening her?" Then a more horrifying thought struck him.

"Cassie was running away. At the carnival, she wasn't just angry at me, she was scared. When she disappeared there for a few minutes, I saw her come back from the parking lot." Terry looked down at the glittering little constellation pendant. "This was in my convertible. She was in my convertible. She knew that she was being followed, and she must have hid whatever she had there, before—"

His face went ashen. "Before they killed her trying to find it. Oh, God."

The Spirit regarded him coolly, and she indifferently examined her manicure as he grappled with the enormity of his realization.

"Not bad. Not bad. So now you have an idea what they're after, you have an idea where it is, and now you suspect Krystal is working with Ventresca. That's enough to deal you in at the big kids' table. Of course, now the real question is what are you going to do with it? Are you going to tell the FBI? You know they'll just take whatever information Cassie stole and it'll get tossed out of court on some technicality. Or maybe you could go directly to Krystal or Ventresca and demand to be let in on the game. Or do you tell Delgado? I'm sure that'd earn pretty Angelique back into his good graces. Face it, kid, you are all alone. But hey, you're the gambler. Not a very good one, but what the hell, right?"

Terry fixed her with a glare. "I'm not alone. And I know who my friends are."

She burst out into laughter at that. It was a pretty, musical laugh that dripped with disdain. "Oh, ri-i-i-ght," she cackled. "Who are you going to enlist? Claire? Madison? Oh, please tell me that your big plan involves getting a 10-year-old girl to help you against a bunch of mobste—"

The Spirit's smug expression was wiped off her face in an instant as Terry's hand darted out in a blur, and he slapped her hard across the cheek. The sound it made, like the blow itself, was sharp and resounding...it was more of a slap than an actual punch, one designed to sting and humiliate. And from the look of intense rage on her face, it looked like he'd hit the mark perfectly. But before she could say anything, Terry got right up in her face.

"I don't know what I'm going to do. But whatever it is, I guarantee you that the real Krystal won't see it coming, either."

Terry half expected the Spirit to attack him back or to use her powers to retaliate in some way, but to his surprise, her look of fury changed into something more akin to curiosity. She rubbed her cheek with her hand and nodded gamely.

"All right. Maybe there's hope for you, yet. Game on, Angelique."

A sudden sensation of lightheadedness overcame him, and Terry stumbled on his heels and fought to remain standing as the Spirit stood and watched impassively. He took shallow, ragged breaths as he fell forward, not even noticing as the all-encompassing gray fog closed in around the two of them and enveloped them like a warm blanket.

As the fog cleared and Terry got his bearings, he realized that he was standing back in his bedroom. The Spirit was gone, leaving him by himself once more. He felt simultaneously both lighter and more burdened somehow, armed now as he was with the truth. But even before he looked, he could tell that he no longer wore the bulky wedding gown, and instead was dressed in something a good deal more familiar.

"You can come out, I know you're there," he said, not even bothering to look.

The jingling sound of the bells preceded the arrival of the diminutive elf. As he appeared, Jingle had a cigar in his mouth and was looking quite pleased with himself. He gave Terry a lingering once-over in his holiday-themed deep red French maid's uniform that was decorated with the little ribbon bows.

"Mmm, mmm mmm!" the elf murmured appreciatively. "Damn, woman, you ever want to come up to the North Pole, I will show you a good time."

"Ugh, please don't tell me that's a euphemism for your penis," Terry groaned. Then he shot Jingle a dubious look. "Sugar and Spice? That was the best lie you could come up with?"

The elf responded with a cavalier shrug. "Eh, I had to invent something. If we tell people that they're going on a vision quest of self-actualization, they kinda lose focus."

"But why do any of this at all? This seems like a lot of trouble just for my benefit."

The sound of Jingle's gravelly laughter filled the room. "You don't know the half of it, sister. Although from where I sat, the costume changes alone were worth it."

"I'm glad I could provide some entertainment," Terry muttered. Then he cleared his throat and raised his eyebrows hopefully. "But seriously. Fun is fun, but I don't suppose you could do me a solid and...?" His voice trailed off as he pointed up and down at himself.

Jingle scoffed and gestured at Terry's feminine body with his cigar. "Far be it from me to rob the world of a masterpiece like that," he said with an impish wag of his eyebrows.

"It was worth a shot," Terry sighed.

"But hey, listen. If it makes you feel any better, I know I go on about your boobs, but you've got a killer ass, too."

"Wow, thanks."

"But you shouldn't hide it under those frilly maid's skirts all the time. Like you should wear a tight miniskirt with a crop top. Maybe get yourself a nice tramp stamp."

Terry closed his eyes and held his fingers against his temples as if fending off a headache. "For a figment of my imagination, you're a real pain in the ass, you know that?"

Jingle gave Terry a lurid little chuckle. "You still think all of this was just a dream?" he asked.

"I think my subconscious may be cleverer than I realized."

The elf gave a dismissive wave of his hand as he turned to leave. "Ehh, I never get any credit. I pull off a genuine 'Olaf's Special Frozen Holiday' Miracle, and this is the thanks I get. Still, I can't take all the credit. It was a team effort."

Terry watched as the elf ambled towards the mirror where thick gray fog had begun to gather. "You mean the three Spirits? Tell them thanks for helping me out."

"'Tell 'em yourself," Jingle said over his shoulder. He then paused at the edge of the fog and turned to look at Terry. He took the cigar out of his mouth and said, "Besides, who ever said any of this was about you?" He gave Terry a wink and disappeared into the fog which spilled out of the mirror, heavier and heavier, until it filled the room and enveloped Terry completely.

The deepening fog soon permeated everything until eventually Terry couldn't see his hand in front of his face. He made his way forward, stumbling slightly as the ground became rough and uneven. He thought he could hear sounds up ahead in the distance, and as he got closer he saw that there were flashing and blinking lights that cut through the haze. He emerged from the fog and realized he was back at the carnival, with the rides and games chattering and plinking away. But there was nobody else there.

"Hello?" he called. There was no response, and he found himself becoming edgy from having to be in this place all alone. "Ray? Samm?" he tried, figuring that one of the Spirits might be about. Then he took a breath and steeled himself. "Krystal?" he called, hoping she wasn't his guide this time.

There was no answer to that name, either. But a few moments later, he heard the sound of footsteps coming from within the fog.

"Good God, this is a shitty place for a date. Whose dumbass idea was it to come here?" a woman's voice came.

Terry spun around to face the newcomer. He instantly recognized the voice but didn't dare hope it to be true.

"Cassie?!" he cried. He hurried over to her and threw his arms around her and squeezed her tightly, as though he wanted to make sure she was real and not just another illusion. She returned the embrace lovingly, and even as they parted, they held onto each other tight and close, still practically nose-to-nose. As they did so, Terry noticed a funny expression cross her face, slightly befuddled, but also amused.

She cleared her throat slightly. "That's gonna take some getting used to," she said.

At first Terry was confused, but then he glanced down and realized that their breasts were still pressed up against each other.

"Oh. Oh!" he said nervously as he took a step back. He looked down at himself, suddenly feeling extremely self-conscious in the festive red French maid's outfit in which Jingle had dressed him as his hands fluttered around his chest. "These...these aren't— I mean they are, but I'm not— That is, I'm still—"

Cassie held up a hand. "It's okay, Terry, I get it. Or would you prefer Angelique?" her face and tone of voice signaled that she already knew the answer to her question, but she also wasn't about to miss out on teasing him about the name.

He looked at her, nonplussed. "Now— You need to— Look...listen. It wasn't my first— I was under a lot of stress that day—"

She smiled broadly at his discomfiture. "Wow, Terry Riley struck speechless. I never thought I'd live to see the day," she quipped. Then with a small smirk, she added, "That's just a little humor of the dearly dep—"

"Don't say it," Terry interrupted. "It's not funny when you say it."

She nodded quietly. "Okay."

He reached out and ran his hand down her arm and grasped her hand in his own. The two of them looked down at their interlocked fingers, looking all the more unusual since Terry's hands were the ones with the long painted fingernails, making hers look plain by comparison.

"Does this mean you're...like them?" he asked. "The other...you know. Spirits."

Cassie took an uncertain breath and scrunched up her face a little. Terry recognized it as an expression she used to make when she was trying to work up the nerve to tell him something. Then, without a word, she took a couple steps back and pulled away from his touch. He started to move towards her, but she shook her head and he paused uncertainly as she took one more breath. Then, very suddenly, Cassie disappeared, and Terry's friend Ray stood there in her place.

Terry shook his head, still trying to process the sudden change. "Ray?" he asked.

The man gave him a lopsided grin and said, "I always liked Cassie, she was good people. I always thought she was too good for you."

Terry froze as he recognized his words from earlier. "You're the Spirit. The Spirit of the Past."

Before Ray could respond, he shifted into Agent Samm. Or, Terry realized, the Spirit of the Present.

"Riley, everybody is a mess. You're just wearing your mistakes more...openly," she said, echoing her earlier words. Then she shifted forms again. To Krystal Delgado.

"I like your wicked ways," she purred as she gave him a seductive look, again mimicking her earlier performance as the Spirit of the Future.

Then she changed again, this time back to Cassie. Terry stared at her numbly as he processed what he'd just seen, and he noticed that the clothes she wore were the same ones she'd worn on her last day with him...the night of the carnival. The night she died.

"It was you," Terry said. "They were all you. Dammit, I knew they seemed off to me." He then looked her square in the eyes. "You tricked me."

"In my defense, I did say there were rules..."

"Rules?!" he cried out. "Cassie, you dragged me through a meat grinder! You pretended to be other people!"

"Oh, I'm sorry, I guess only you get to do that, Angelique?" she snapped back.

"That is not—!" He gripped his hand into a fist and squeezed his eyes shut as he tried to get his surging emotions under control.

"I don't want to fight," he said as he forced a calm and level tone. "Not you. Not like this."

Cassie backed down, chagrined. But then after a moment she wrinkled her nose and waggled her head in an ambivalent gesture. "I kinda do." But when Terry gave her a puzzled look, she added, "I miss our fights. I miss making up afterwards. I miss you."

"I miss you too."

She made a wan smile and began to walk through the carnival and gestured for him to follow.

"Cassie, I don't understand. Why would you put me through all of that? That's not you." Then he paused. "Wait a minute, that really isn't you," he realized. "You wouldn't have made me relive all of that unless you had a reason. I mean, I'm glad I've got a line on that USB drive or whatever it is that Delgado is after, but I would have figured that out eventually. Probably."

She had a quiet demeanor with a distant look in her eyes. "I'm sorry about that. I didn't want to. I had to." After she said it, she paused and seemed to take notice of a nearby food vendor's cart. She picked up a salted soft pretzel and took a bite.

"You had to," he repeated evenly as he remembered her earlier words. "You said the Spirits needed something from me. That means that you needed something from me. Cassie, just tell me what it is, and I'll—" He stopped short and looked at her incredulously, since she was nodding along with what he was saying, but still munching away on her pretzel.

"Jesus Christ, Cassie, is now really the time?"

"Sorry," she said with her mouth still full. He looked at her impatiently as she finished chewing and then swallowed. "I skipped lunch."

"You skipped lunch? Cassie, what does that even mean? Do they not have food wherever you are? Isn't there like a craft services table where you can grab a bagel before you—"

"No," she said as she placed her hand on his arm, silencing him. "Terry, you don't understand. I skipped lunch. And you and I never got dinner."

He stared at her uncertainly. But as she made emphatic eye contact, he started to feel the pieces fall into place. "You mean...your last day. The day you—"

"I told you, Terry. The dead can't change. We carry our experiences forward, like echoes of the people we once were. Most move on. But some get stuck. I got stuck because of you."

"Me?"

Cassie nodded and continued to head down through the main thoroughfare of the carnival as Terry walked alongside of her. "Terry, I'm not entirely dim. I knew that you were mixed up with Delgado somehow. I was worried about you. I knew what he was capable of...maybe even more than you. But I was already gathering information on him, so I thought that if he went to jail, then you'd be okay."

"Why didn't you say anything? Why didn't you tell me the truth?"

"For the same reason you didn't tell me the truth about how much trouble you were in," she countered. "I wanted to protect you, and keep you safe from him." She cast a glance over at Terry as she took in his appearance, stopping to look him in his beautifully made-up face. "Though I have to say you solved that problem in a very creative way."

Terry felt himself blush and then brushed his long hair back behind his ear. He looked down and cleared his throat. "So, what was it you needed from me?"

"I needed three things," she said as she took one of his hands in hers and held it palm up and counted off on his fingers. "First, I wanted to know you'd remember me."

"Cassie, you know that—" he said gently.

"Shush. Second, I needed to know that you'd be okay, and that you wanted to do the right thing and were committed to being...better...than you were. You, ah, sometimes have a problem with that," she admonished him.

"I have the right to remain silent. And third?"

"Third, I needed to know—really know—that you were going to stay the course. Even if it got difficult. Or if you got tempted."

"Past, Present, and Future," he said quietly. Then he took a breath. "Cassie, I have to know—"

"Terry..."

"No, I have to know. The accident. The car that...that killed you. Were those Delgado's men?"

"Oh, Terry," she sighed. She brought her hand up to his cheek and gazed into his eyes lovingly. Everything about the moment was so familiar and yet so incredibly different, since he was so different. He felt her gently brush his long hair back from his cheek.

And then out of nowhere slapped him hard across the face with her other hand.

"Ow!" he cried out. "What the hell was that for?"

"That was for bitch slapping me when I was Krystal," Cassie shot back.

He rubbed his cheek. "That's...fair," he conceded. "But—"

"But nothing. I also did it because I want to make sure what I'm about to say gets through your thick skull. I didn't show you all of this just so that you could go on some glorious rampage of righteous revenge in my name. I did what I had to do. I did what I thought was right. How I died doesn't matter, it's what you're going to do with your life that matters. Don't you dare make this about me, or so help me I will come back and haunt you. I can do it, I know people."

"Okay, all right, all right," he said. Then he sighed. "But...there is one other thing I need to know..."

"Riley, I swear to God," she warned.

"No, it's not..." he sighed heavily. "That night. If I had proposed, would you still have left?"

As the question hit her, Cassie froze in place with her mouth open. Then her expression softened, and she reached up to touch Terry's face.

He flinched away. "You're not gonna hit me again, are you?"

"Do you need me to hit you again?"

"No."

"Then, no," she responded. Slowly her haughty attitude evaporated until she looked more flummoxed as she struggled to find words.

"Terry, I don't know. I wish I did. I wish I could tell you that you and I would be happy on a beach somewhere together right now. Or maybe it's better that I can't. You could drive yourself crazy pining for what might have been. You have people who you love, and who love you. But if you want happiness—or contentment—" she tapped him on his forehead, "—you have to stop using this. And you have to follow this," she said, tapping him on his chest.

He looked down in confusion. "Follow my boob?"

"Your heart! Follow your heart, dumbass."

"In my defense, you can see how that was confusing." He then moved right up to her and put his hands around her waist as he pulled her close.

"I love you," he said earnestly.

"I love you, too. And I always will," she responded as the two of them kissed like the long-lost lovers that they were.

"C'mere, I want to show you something," she said as she took him by the hand and tugged him through the carnival.

As Cassie led them along, Terry felt a pang of emotion from the familiarity of the scene. She always had an abundance of energy, and could be like a little kid whenever she took him by the hand to drag him along to show him some new thing that fascinated her. But now as he felt his breasts jiggle in his brassiere, he was reminded how different he now was. His changed form didn't seem to bother Cassie at all, but as he glanced down at himself, a thought occurred to him.

"Hey. So...you were all three of those Spirits, right?"

A sardonic grin crept to her face. "Uh, yeah, we kind of established that. If you're going to be this scatterbrained, you might want to think about going blonde, lover."

He stopped short and pulled her to a halt. Her shoulders slumped and she gave him a look of huffy impatience, but he wasn't about to let her off the hook so easily.

"So, wait. If they were all you, then what was up with you dressing me in all those costumes?"

Cassie snorted. "Can't a girl just enjoy a little fan service? You looked cute. C'mon, we're almost there."

She tugged on his hand to get them moving again, but he stood firmly in place.

"Cassie."

She maintained her lighthearted smile for a moment longer, but then finally relented. She looked him in the eyes, as though she was searching for something.

"You sure you want to know this?" she asked him.

He nodded.

"I can tell you this...it wasn't my idea."

Terry furrowed his brow for a moment, and his face fell in exasperation. "You mean Jingle? I swear that horny little twerp will—"

"No. Not Jingle."

Her proclamation hung in the air for a long moment as Terry shook his head in befuddlement. "Cassie, if it wasn't you, and it wasn't him, then who? There wasn't anybody else there!"

Cassie raised her eyebrows and chuckled. "It's a good thing you're beautiful," she teased.

"I don't..." he began as he looked her in the eyes, trying to follow her meaning.

Then his face fell.

"No."

"Yes."

"Cassie, no."

"Terry, yes," she countered playfully.

"You're saying that was somehow my idea? Cassie, you know me. This—" he gestured down at his body, which looked particularly fetching in his French maid's uniform, "—this isn't me. I would never choose to run around in these ridiculous costumes. I'm not really—"

"I get it," she said, interrupting him. "I hear what you're saying, but I don't think it's me you're trying to convince."

He was about to say something, but she continued. "This place we're in. This is a place for discovering the truth. I had to let go of what was holding me back, but to do that, I needed to know—really genuinely know—not just that you were okay, but that you were going to be okay. And you will." She gave his hand a squeeze. "Terry, you could have entered this place as anyone, but you came here as Angelique. What does that tell you?"

The distress on his face was evident as he tried to process that. "And the costumes?"

"I don't know. Maybe you felt the need to try something out. Maybe subconsciously you knew this was a safe space and that I wouldn't judge."

"You absolutely judged."

She laughed and tilted her head in acknowledgment. "Okay, I judged a little," she admitted. Then she gave him a lopsided grin, and with her fingers she made an indistinct waggling gesture at the side of her head. "Honestly, the one with the pigtails...?"

"Cassie, I'm not a woman!"

"I don't think you even know what that means. But the common denominator with all of those costumes was always you. And I know you're not entirely comfortable with this...version...of you—"

"That's an understatement."

"Terry, you're not afraid of being Angelique, you're afraid of staying as Angelique. You're afraid of what that means. You're afraid of losing the man you were to this woman you see yourself becoming. I remember when I was a teen, I went through all sorts of offbeat and embarrassing looks as I tried to figure myself out. Maybe those costumes were just like part of your own weird adolescence as you try to figure out who you are."

He nodded slowly as he considered that. "If you're trying to make me feel better, you're fantastically failing," he told her.

Cassie ran her hand down his bare arm, tracing downwards to his hand. As they touched, he felt the now-familiar tingling sensation of his clothes being changed. He looked down and saw that he was now wearing the same navy blouse and dark slacks that Cassie had dressed him in earlier, from when she was trying to comfort him after Krystal’s cruel prank at the gallery show. At the time he’d assumed that she’d just chosen some appropriately nondescript outfit he’d be comfortable in, but this time he noted that she’d added a woman’s suit jacket to the outfit. Reflexively, Terry put his hands into the jacket pockets, a nervous habit that he’d picked up from when he’d worn such sport coats as a man.

As a man…

In a blink Terry looked down at himself and realized why the outfit had seemed so familiar and why Cassie had chosen that particular outfit for him. It was the exact same look as what he’d been wearing during their last night together. It only looked so different because he looked so different.

“Cassie…”

She quieted him as she grasped his fingers in a genteel gesture that caused Terry to pose his hand in a limp-wristed effeminate fashion that put his long polished fingernails on pretty display. She kissed it like he was a lady at a royal court, and then lifted his hand further up and held it against her cheek.

"It's so strange, I know. And I miss the old Terry, too. Hell, I liked the old Terry! Maybe you'll make it back there. But..." Her voice trailed off.

"But what?"

She sighed. "I'll be the first to admit that it kinda bends my brain that the new woman in my boyfriend's life is my boyfriend. But when I saw you in those outfits, you know what? You were sexy as hell. And you were funny! And playful and flamboyant and fearless. Terry, I like those things about you. And I know you well enough to know that you like those things about you, too. So I get that although you're ready to be done with Angelique, maybe you need to accept that she's not quite ready to be done with you."

He wrinkled his nose as he let Cassie's words sink in. "It's not...easy," he told her.

She scoffed. "Yeah, tell me twice. My boyfriend rocks a Playboy Bunny costume harder than I ever could."

A mischievous half-smile crossed his features. "I looked good, didn't I?"

Cassie rolled her eyes. "Yes, you were very pretty," she sighed. "Now, c'mon, gorgeous, I want you to see this."

She guided them to a small bench, just big enough for the two of them. It faced off in the direction of the sun that was getting low on the horizon, and it looked out across a large open meadow with long grass that was seeded with wildflowers, with a line of trees in the distance. The two of them sat down, and Cassie let out an amused snort as Terry paused to fuss at his jacket, which refused to close over his fulsome breasts. But then he suddenly stiffened up.

"What’s wrong?" she asked.

"I just had a terrible thought," he said. "Everything you showed me, all those visions...you didn't really show me anything that I hadn't already seen before, so this could just be my mind's way of putting all the pieces together. So, all of this could be a dream, and you're not real."

Cassie nodded slowly. "Yeah, I guess. But who's to say it can't be both? Or neither? You live in a world where you became a woman overnight, and now you're a French maid named Angelique who outwits gangsters. So maybe you just need to accept there's some magic in the world and leave it at that. Remember what I told you."

"Follow my boob?" Terry offered.

"Close enough." She took his hand and held it as they gazed across the grassy meadow. Colorful butterflies flitted about here and there, and a warm and gentle breeze blew through their hair and brought with it the sweet smell of blooming flowers.

"Will you at least stay to watch the sunset with me?" she asked.

"Sure," he replied gently. Then he looked around at the landscape and his brow furrowed. "When exactly does the sun set in this place, anyway?"

She gave his hand a little squeeze. "Whenever you want it to."

He leaned in and gave her a gentle kiss, and she snuggled in close and rested her head on his shoulder. Without a word, he put his arm around her, and together they watched the sun start to slowly come down on the horizon.

The next morning, the Riley family was up bright and early. Or at least early. They'd just emerged from their bedrooms and were making their way quietly through the upstairs hallway. Bonnie was showered, dressed, and ready for the day, whereas Dave looked a bit haggard due to the early hour, looking scruffy and unshaven in shorts and a t-shirt. The two girls were shambling like the walking dead.

Madison buried her face in her sister's arm. "Uggggh. Doesn't the Geneva Convention have rules against this?"

"Shh!" Claire chided her. "Don't wake Angelique," she whispered.

Dave kept his voice low as they headed downstairs. "She was...pretty upset. And last night we all agreed to just leave the party decorations up and go to bed, but that we'd take them down first thing so that she doesn't have to see them again."

"I didn't know 'we' meant me," Madison complained. "Besides, don't we have a maid for this kind of thing?"

They all stopped on the steps and turned to look at her.

"Kidding! I'm kidding," she said. "I'm mostly kidding."

As they rounded the corner and saw the dining room, they were surprised at what they beheld. The lights were all on, and not only were the decorations still up, it looked like some colorful sprays of ribbons and flowers had been added to make it look even more festive. The food had all been cleaned away, and in its place was a spread of breakfast food, mostly consisting of dry goods, cereal, and muffins from the kitchen, along with a few apples, and a lone can of V-8 vegetable juice. And in the middle of it was Terry, dressed one of his maid's costumes as he straightened things up. He turned to look at them as he heard them enter.

"Oh, hey! You guys are up early. I wanted to surprise you."

"Surprise us...?" Dave asked. Then he turned and looked up at the banner that had previously said, "HAPPY BIRTHDAY ANGELIQUE," but now the letters had been rearranged to read, "HAPPY DAY RILEETH."

Madison squinted at the sign. "Are we summoning dread Cthluhu? We'll need more candles."

"It's supposed to say Rileys," Terry explained.

"With a speech impediment, maybe."

"Give me a break. I'd already used the Y and there was no S. I had to improvise."

Madison's attention became split as she spotted the birthday cake alongside the other food. "Ooh, cake for breakfast," she said as she hurried over to the table and grabbed a fork.

Bonnie eyed Terry uncertainly. "And what exactly is all of this supposed to be?"

Terry cleared his throat and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "I just wanted to show my appreciation for everything you guys have done for me. It's, uh, been brought to my attention recently that maybe I've been a little bit self-centered and ungrateful, and that I've been acting like kind of a, um..." He cut himself short as he saw Madison looking at him.

"An A-word?" Bonnie volunteered.

Claire gave a small shrug. "A B-word?" she tried.

"A C-word!" Madison piped up helpfully.

"Madison!"

"What? Now I'm not even allowed to say letters?"

Terry gathered up a few small gift boxes that had been colorfully wrapped in some extremely familiar paper and handed one to each of them. "It's not much, but I got something for each of you."

Madison, who had already started in on a slice of cake, paused to tear into her gift. As the wrapping paper hit the floor, it was revealed to be a small clear plastic misting bottle. Perplexed, she looked up at Terry for an explanation.

"I thought you could use it for your air plant," Terry explained.

"Oh," she said, making absolutely no effort to mask her disappointment. But then as she idly squeezed the trigger and the spray of mist came out, her eyes went wide, and her mouth opened just slightly as something clearly occurred to her. She threw her arms around Terry and gave him a big hug.

"Wow. You're welcome," Terry said, surprised. "I didn't think that was going to go over quite that big." Then suddenly he flashed back to the day when Madison had reenacted her "burning of Atlanta" scene with Claire's old forgotten Barbie dolls, and how the day had innocuously started off with Madison collecting seemingly random items from around the house to execute her plan. Now, as he watched her looking in wonder at the mist that came out of the bottle, he recognized the look on her face.

"Please don't set anything on fire," he told her.

Bonnie, meanwhile, was still looking at the bottle. "Didn't that used to be in the cabinet underneath the kitchen sink?" she wondered.

A sudden gasp from Claire caught their attention as she beheld her gift. "Oh, my God, Angelique, I love these earrings! These are exactly like a pair that I lost and could never—"

She stopped short as the penny dropped. "These are my earrings, aren't they?" she said.

"Yeah, I borrowed them a while back. But I remembered you saying how much you liked them."

"Yes, I like them, that's why I own them," Claire retorted.

"I can't help that you're hard to shop for."

Bonnie, meanwhile, had opened her own gift and was holding up a necklace that had earlier gone missing from her own jewelry box.

"Thank you, Angelique," she said, pursing her lips. "I have to say, this is exactly what I've come to expect from you. Unexpectedly thoughtful and generous, and yet totally half-assed in the execution."

"They say that it's the thought that counts."

Bonnie shook her head and headed over to the food table to intercept Madison, who was already digging in to her second slice of cake.

Dave sidled up alongside of Terry. "You okay there, sis?"

Terry's lip twitched in the beginnings of a smile. "Y'know, I can maybe imagine a future where I get used to dressing this way, but I'm not sure I'll ever get used to you calling me 'sis,'" he said as he cast a glance over at his brother. "But, uh..." He took a breath and lowered his voice so the others couldn't hear. "I think maybe I've gotten myself into some trouble."

Dave nodded solemnly. "We'll help if we can. But—and please don't take this the wrong way—what do you intend to do about it?"

Terry peered over at Bonnie and Claire, who were looking aghast at Madison as she shoveled cake into her mouth. Then he turned to look at his brother and nodded as he made a decision.

"I'm going to stay and fight," Terry said.

A funny expression crossed Dave's face and he nodded and broke into a slow smile. "That's a good decision," he replied. "C'mere," he added as he pulled his brother into a hug.

Terry fell into the embrace. It seemed strange to him to be held looking like he did, with the sensation of his breasts up against his brother's chest, and his skirts and petticoats piled up between them. It was an odd but also comforting feeling, and Terry let out a small gasp as he realized how long it had been since he felt—since he had allowed himself to feel—connected and vulnerable.

As they separated, Terry sniffled and dabbed at his eyes.

"I'm not crying," he said. "And if you make fun of me for it, I'll kick you in the balls. And you couldn't do anything about it, either, 'cause you can't hit a girl."

Dave chuckled. "Angelique, I live in a house filled with women. I'm smart enough not to pick that fight." Then he made an incremental little shrug. "Besides, I'd let Bonnie kick your ass," he said with a grin.

"Hey, whose gift is this?" Claire said as she picked up a small but elegantly-wrapped box that was topped with a colorful bow.

"I don't recognize the paper," Bonnie said.

"Or the handwriting," Claire offered as she looked down at the card that came with the box. She then handed them over to Terry. "It says it's for you. Happy birthday."

Puzzled, Terry opened the card. But unlike Claire, he instantly recognized the handwriting, and a surge of emotion washed over him. He handed the card back to his niece while he opened the box.

Claire looked down at the card and read it aloud. "To my favorite Angel, don't ever believe there's not magic in the world. - C." Claire shrugged at the initial. "Wasn't me."

Terry opened the box to reveal a little charm in the shape of an angel.

"What a lovely pendant," Bonnie said as she saw it.

"It's not a pendant, it's a pin," Terry said, his voice heavy with emotion. He touched his shoulder where Cassie's charm was pinned to the strap of his brassiere, near his heart. Right next to where this one would go.

Dave put his arm around Terry's shoulder and gave him another little hug, which Terry quietly accepted. Or at least he did for a few seconds, before he squirmed in discomfort and reached to tug at the back of the starched white apron that was tied neatly around his waist.

"You sure you're okay?" Dave asked.

Terry fussed at the bow at the back of his uniform. "Oh, I'm fine. This stupid apron is rubbing me raw, or something. It's almost like—"

"Who the heck is Jingle?" Claire asked.

Terry's head snapped up to look at her. "What did you say?"

"That's what it says on the back of the card. It says, 'I told you this would look good' and it's signed 'Jingle.' Then it says, 'P.S. Don't worry, it should fade right after Olaf's Special Frozen Holiday.'"

"That sounds dumb," Madison said with a mouthful of cake.

"What should...?" Terry muttered. Then suddenly his eyes went wide in shock, and his hands frantically worked to unravel the big fancy bow at the back of his uniform.

"Hold this," he said as he jammed the lacy white apron into his perplexed brother's hands. However, Dave's confusion only grew as he watched Terry continue to frantically fuss at the back of his dress, a move that culminated with Terry spinning around as he flipped up a froth of skirts and petticoats behind him, and then yanked his exposed ruffled panties halfway down to uncover most of his curvaceous round butt.

"Oh, my God," Dave said as he averted his eyes.

From over by the table, Bonnie called out, "Angelique! What are you—" She stopped suddenly as something caught her eye and she burst out into a short laugh, covering her mouth. Terry craned his neck around to look at them, and saw that Claire had a look on her face somewhere between amused and impressed.

"What is that?" Madison asked, looking directly at Terry. A split second later, Claire's hand darted out to clamp over her sister's eyes, but Madison was already wedging her fingers open to get a better view.

Terry frantically looked around and hobbled over to a large mirror that hung on the dining room wall, a maneuver which was not at all easy since he was bent over holding up his skirts in back and with his panties halfway down his butt. However, as he reached the mirror and spun around, he saw the source of his discomfort.

Just there, right above the impressive curve of his two round butt cheeks and nestled right in the small of his back, was an elaborate tramp stamp. It was highly stylized with a number of fancy curlicues and whorls, which on closer inspection were intricate vines made of holly. And at the center of the holly was a small wrapped present topped with a big bow...with a couple of jingling sleigh bells hanging from it.

"That son of a—!" Terry gasped as he saw the elaborate tattoo. But his shock and anger was cut short as he realized that although he was bent over and had craned his neck to see his bare backside in the mirror, he was providing the rest of the family with quite a show with his boobs hanging down in front, even as they were still staring past him into the mirror that provided them a clear view of his new tattoo.

"It's not funny!" Terry cried, still bent over as he scrambled to pull up his ruffled panties. But their amused faces told a very different story. Bonnie coughed out another laugh, and soon the rest of them dissolved into a fit of giggles.

"I'm not— This isn't— I didn't—!" Terry sputtered as they burst out laughing. But as he looked at the four of them cracking up, he straightened up and fluffed his skirts and petticoats into place and sighed. A flustered smile passed his lips as he begrudgingly saw the humor in it.

"Okay, that is pretty funny," he admitted as they laughed. Bonnie had to sit down, Dave looked like he was about to explode trying not to break up, and the two sisters were practically leaning on each other as they continued giggling.

"Right. Okay, that—that's enough. You can stop now, you've had your fun," Terry said. But when they showed no signs of letting up, he sighed and buried his face in his hand.

"God damn it, everyone..."

THE END