Page 22 of Stubborn as a Shadow

I tapped my chin. Should I give him my real name? Or my alias?

Logic, as boring as it was, said my alias was the way to go, so of course I immediately chose to do the opposite. My reasoning was twofold. First, I hated the rashes I got from lying. Second, I didn’t want to deceive this man, for some strange reason. Weird.

“Morgan Russell,” I said. I swished my hand through the air and rested it lightly on my chest as I bowed. “At your service.”

“You…” he sputtered. “You’re… Morgan.”

I’d never considered eyebrows to be especially expressive before, but at my announcement, his eyebrows were dipping down in the middle again. Was he confused? Angry? It was anyone’s best guess.

“And you are?”

He bit his bottom lip for a moment before answering. “Eric Long.”

Now it was my turn to frown. He was lying. That was a problem. I wasn’t a hellhound—those supes were renowned for being able to sniff out lies—but I could still tell. Being close to someone telling a lie made my skin crawl.

I folded my arms across my chest and stared at him. “Why did you rescue me?”

“Who is V?”

Wait. He was supposed to answer my question, not ask another one.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“V. Who is it?”

Shoot. He sounded serious, and now I really, really wanted to answer him, mostly so he’d quit frowning at me. I’d never fibbed convincingly, but Violet would have my hooves if I told Eric-not-Eric everything. “Uh… V? Like the old TV show?”

“No,” he said curtly. “Like the person you were talking to on this.” He tossed my earbud up, then swiped it out of the air before it fell to the ground.

“Oh, you know. Someone.” I waved my hand through the air, gesturing vaguely, as if that’d distract him. “We were chatting. Like people do.”

“You’re going to pretend you don’t have someone on the outside working with you and whispering in your ear?”

Nerves overwhelmed me, and laughter bubbled up through me. Literally. I tried to stop it. I did. Really.

But have you ever tried to stop laughing? Especially when laughing is the absolute last thing you should do? The harder I tried to quell the rise, the harder it pushed at me until finally it burst out of me in a booming guffaw. A dizzying number of iridescent bubbles shot out of my mouth, filling the air between us.

I clamped my mouth shut, but it was too late.

Pinecone prickles!

Eric-not-Eric gaped at the bubbles as they floated lazily to the carpeted floor where they popped out of existence. One enterprising bubble had made it all the way over to the cuteshadow man and landed on his black sleeve. He scowled at it as if it was an irritating fly.

I hurried over and swatted it.

There. The evidence was gone.

Eric-not-Eric slowly lifted his dark eyes to mine. I flashed him my best the-world-is-super-amazing-and-everything-is-wonderful smile and waved at him jauntily.

“How bizarre was that, hey? I must have swallowed some soap in the shower this morning.”

The man, who’d been so calm and decisive in the janitorial closet earlier, looked a little woozy. He staggered to the nearest chair and plopped onto it.

Well, this was awkward.

“I didn’t realize I’d be having visitors,” I said. “So I don’t have any refreshments, but would you like water? Oh, wait! There’s a mini fridge.” I dashed over to it, which made my cloak flutter behind me, and yanked the baby appliance open. “Oh, look! How about a teeny tiny bottle of juice? A pop? Or do you call pop soda? Either way, there is some of that too.”

I didn’t drink carbonated beverages. I had enough bubbles already, obviously. If I added a carbonated drink to my insides, I wouldn’t be able to leave my room for at least twenty-four hours. Believe me, turning into a magical bubble machine wasn’t as fun as it sounded.