I barely had a moment to process the fallout of my sudden logout, and here I was, thrust back into interacting with people and trying to keep up appearances! No wonder Cala’s actions felt a little erratic—it was impressive she didn’t completely lose her cool. Then again, stress combined with Cala being Cala? Yeah, that’s a recipe for fireworks. You don’t mess with Cala without bracing for a strong response. Push her, and she’ll push right back.

  What amazed me, though, was how quickly she adjusted to the shift. That adaptability—it’s remarkable. But then again, Cala is me, isn’t she? Just another facet of who I am.

  All those thoughts were boiling in my stressed brain, desperately trying to make sense of the situation. And on top of that, I had to deal with Matt.

  What does that idiot want now? I wondered. Thankfully for him, it wasn’t me who greeted him—it was Flo.

  What am I supposed to do now? I groaned inwardly. As if juggling two personalities in my head wasn’t hard enough, now I had to navigate three.

  I sighed. Cala had already made it clear that she was her own person—her own character, her own ideas, her own way of handling things.

  Not that it was all bad. Honestly, I’d never have had the courage to stand up to Mr. Robertson the way she did. Where I tended to lean toward being overly submissive, Cala was the perfect counterbalance.

  Maybe, just maybe, instead of fighting it, I should try to accept this strange situation. Who knows? I might even find a way to enjoy it.

  Surprisingly, Matt's visit wasn’t the pain in the ass I’d expected it to be. He seemed to genuinely enjoy chatting with Flo, and she was more than happy to engage with him. Their shared enthusiasm somehow lightened my mood too.

  He didn’t even touch a beer—just drank some juice—which earned him an approving nod from Mr. Robertson. Meanwhile, I got five solid minutes of disapproving glares directed at my beer before Robertson finally left the room. Clearly, he still hadn’t gotten over Cala standing her ground against his holier-than-thou attitude.

  Matt brought some news: apparently, the police had asked a few questions about the incident at Tim’s house. However, it wasn’t being treated as a big deal—just some kids messing around with firecrackers, leading to a curtain catching fire. That was how the cops saw it. Since no one had been seriously hurt, they seemed content to close the case without further investigation.

  Of course, I had been hurt, but Matt had told them otherwise. According to his version, he had cut his hand on some aquarium glass, which explained the blood droplets. He also assured them that no other kid had caused his injury.

  Smart move. I wasn’t sure if it was more for my sake or his, but either way, I owed him for that.

  He had even gone so far as to cut his hand beforehand, just to have something to show the police. That level of forethought left Flo thoroughly impressed. He’d planned it all out—made the cut, crafted the story, and stuck to it—all just to save me some hassle?

  In my opinion, he came here to brag about his cleverness, but there was no convincing Flo otherwise. She was firmly in the “Matt the Hero” camp.

  Eh, whatever. Let her think what she wants.

  When he left, Flo gave him a kiss on the cheek, and as he turned, his sleeve accidentally brushed against my (naked) chest. An unpleasant shiver ran through me.

  Damn Flo and her illusionary shirts! I groaned inwardly, wishing I could crawl out of my own skin.

  That’s why I admit to feeling a bit of schadenfreude when Flo mentioned she was disappointed that even Cala wasn’t all that impressed by Matt. While Cala wasn’t as dismissive as I was, she clearly wasn’t swooning over him either.

  But I wasn’t interested in Flo’s musings about Matt; I had bigger questions. I cut straight to the point.

  “Why can’t I talk directly to Cala? I am Cala, so what have you done to me?” I demanded.

  Flo immediately adopted a defensive posture. “I haven’t done anything…” she started, but then hesitated before adding, “Well, okay, yes, I did do something.”

  I couldn't but wait for her to explain.

  “It’s because of the extra connection I created with Cala,” she admitted reluctantly. “That’s when everything changed. You used to have control over Cala in the other world, but when I established my link to her, I unintentionally dragged her here. That’s why you can’t just think to her directly anymore.”

  I would have frowned, trying to process this, but I was not in control of my body.

  She continued quickly, as if to justify herself. “Her body is now here, in the foreground, so to speak. Yours got pushed to the background. Two bodies can’t occupy the same space, you know?”

  I tried to wrap my head around what she’d just said. “So… you’re telling me you basically hijacked my mind and brought Cala into the real world?”

  Flo blinked, flustered. “I wouldn’t put it that way…”

  "Look, you first have to understand how these things work," she began, her tone more like one used addressing a particularly slow student.

  "You and I, we were both possessing Cala in the other world."

  "Possessing Cala?" I echoed, disbelief creeping into my voice.

  She nodded earnestly. "Yes, that’s what you do in this so-called game—you possess people in the other world."

  If I could have sighed, I would have. That "other world" is a virtual game world! But I kept my thoughts to myself. There was no point in trying to explain that to her. She clearly didn’t see things the way I did.

  While I was in my room, she positioned herself in front of the mirror and began brushing my hair. It came with an unexpected bonus: seeing her reflection gave me the comforting illusion of having someone to talk to, and the gentle rhythm of the brushing had a soothing effect on me.

  "When you possess somebody," she continued, "you either become ethereal, or you enter a partial ethereal state where your body shifts to the ethereal plane. Then you connect to the real world through your victim's body, neutralizing their control over it."

  Victim? Was she seriously calling Cala a victim?

  She pressed on before I could react. "Think about it. When you die in the other world, you turn into a ghost, right? That ghost is the possessing entity—you. It moves in the ethereal plane and has almost no connection to the material world."

  Her eyes were fixed on my reflection in the mirror as if searching for some sign of understanding. "Do you get what I’m saying?"

  I almost tuned her out. I didn’t need her lecture on possession; I already knew that wasn’t how it worked. Cala was my avatar. Yes, she’s advanced—maybe too advanced, with her ability to act independently and perhaps even think on a basic level—but she’s still just an avatar.

  "How can I get a closer connection with Cala?" I asked, keeping my tone neutral. "I need to coordinate better with her if I’m going to live in her body."

  I felt a small flicker of pride at how I had steered the conversation toward my actual concern, neatly sidestepping yet another lesson in possession or whatever other bizarre theories my alter-ego was concocting.

  She sighed, her expression clouded with uncertainty. "I’m not sure. Right now, your connection to Cala runs through me. The only thing I can think of is strengthening the connection between us."

  "Would that mean we won’t be able to separate in the future?" I asked carefully, my mind already turning over the potential consequences.

  “No, we should still be able to separate. Strengthening the connection just brings us closer, which means we’ll influence each other even more than we already do.”

  I frowned. Was she being vague, or did she genuinely not want to explain further?

  “And in plain language, what does that actually mean?” I pressed. Her fingers brushing through my hair had that calming effect, but I wasn’t about to let her evade the question.

  “It means,” she began patiently, “that you or Cala would gain better access to my magic, and I, in turn, could tap into Cala’s and your skills and memories. A deeper integration of our bodies, minds, and magic. You need to understand, though—this connection would remain even after we separate.”

  I mulled it over. Flo had a knack for presenting things in a way that sounded one way but often turned out to be... let’s say, unexpected. Still, as far as I could see, there wasn’t anything inherently bad about this deeper integration.

  “Alright,” I said after a moment’s pause. “Do it.”

  She paused in brushing my hair to let me know that Cala was also on board with the decision. That caught me off guard, but it aligned with her belief that Cala was more than just an avatar—she was a person in her own right.

  Then, she performed her hocus-pocus. Magic illuminated my body from the inside out, a faint glow I could feel more than see. But beyond the light show? No immediate effects. I still couldn’t communicate directly with Cala, though I thought I might’ve caught a flicker of her feelings—like a pang of longing for Lynx and Alice. Or maybe I was just imagining it.

  “Don’t be discouraged; this is just the beginning,” Flo said reassuringly. “It’s a process. Magic will take its time to settle and work its way through.”

  Sure, I thought, but skepticism lingered. Still, one should never completely lose hope, right?

  Speaking of disappointments, Matt had delivered another one: he didn’t have a dream interface. Turns out he and his mom are strapped for cash, which explains why. Great. Just great. Not only could he not replace the one Flo destroyed, but all her magic couldn’t even fix it. Seriously, why can’t she just cast a ‘repair’ spell and call it a day? Isn’t that what magic is supposed to be good for?

  On top of all my thoughts and worries, Flo and Cala kept piling on the pressure with their insistence that I help Lynx and the gang. According to them, I should go back to the game—or rather, the other world, as they called it - and help them. But how could I manage that without a functioning dream interface?

  Lola and Clara, the girls I usually turned to, were staunch dream-interface haters. Borrowing money from them—or worse, their parents—was out of the question, as they’d almost certainly tell my parents. And how could I possibly explain to my parents that I needed money for a new dream interface when they were barely scraping by, struggling just to cover my tuition?

  The impending catastrophe unfolded when I received an email from Helen during the day, complaining that the proxy server I had recently used for my Mephisto login had been shut down. Now I had a double problem: not only was I without a functioning dream interface, but I also had no way to access Mephisto's World.

  My two alter-egos reacted with surprising intensity to this news. I could feel Cala's emotions bubbling in my chest—a wave of worry and sadness. Will I ever see the Lynx again? I needed to maintain some semblance of hope; otherwise, Cala might have yanked my hair out in sheer desperation.

  For now, as long as she could imagine the Lynx happily munching on sausages—Spartacius' signature dish—she stayed relatively calm.

  At least this confirmed that Flo’s spell had achieved something, though clearly not in the way I had hoped.

  I wondered if trying a different Mephisto game might lead me somewhere. That’s why, the next day—Thursday—I slipped out of my room through the window, heading for a dream-interface shop to "test" one of their latest models.

  Technically, I was still supposed to be recovering and skipping school, but the temptation was too much to resist. With a hoodie pulled low over my face, I hurried through the streets, keeping my head down to avoid attention until I slipped inside the shop.

  As expected, the interface worked perfectly, and there even was a new Mephisto game available for login. But it turned out to be nothing more than a reload of the old version. I logged in, activated Cala—well, another Cala—and even bumped into Alice. But everything about it felt hollow, fake.

  At the very least, the experience helped Flo better understand what I meant by a game world.

  “This is a fake world. There’s no magic here. It’s not real!” she exclaimed after some time.

  I nodded with a sigh. “Yeah, the same as your world! You see? Yours is just a little more elaborate and it looks real!”

  Her outburst caught me off guard. “This is not true! How can you say that? My world is real! The magic is real! Cala agrees with me—she feels it too!”

  Oh, boy. Some arguments are unwinnable, and this was one of them. I decided not to push the topic any further.

  The vendor allowed only a short time for testing, so I was soon logged out. Honestly, without access to the real Mephisto game, there wasn’t much reason to push for a new dream interface. I stared at the absurdly high price tag once more, sighed, and left the store.

  There was some good news to brighten my day: my driver’s license had been accepted by the insurance company as proof of a supervising driver, which meant they would proceed with the payments. The Robertsons were relieved, and so was I. There was no further fallout for Lola—no reason to prosecute her—so the only real loss was Clara’s car. Granted, losing a car wasn’t exactly minor, but it was bearable in the grand scheme of things.

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  In other news, I heard rumors about a wave of police computers being wiped clean. People were whispering about sabotage—something had destroyed part of their data, though thankfully, it was limited to local computers.

  I couldn’t help but suspect Flo’s “careful work” had something to do with it, but all I got from her was a cryptic comment: “Without real horns, it’s hard to fine-tune magic to that extent.” Real horns? What did that even mean? Maybe it wasn’t her doing at all. Or maybe it was, and she was just deflecting. Either way, I hoped nobody could trace anything back to me.

  The incident also reopened the discussion about hosting their servers. They currently used a local contractor, but maybe a cloud provider miles away would’ve been safer—even if it might have been beyond Flo’s reach. I still didn’t know exactly how proximity affected her magic or how she even accomplished half of what she did.

  Whatever the case, I had my license now. I was happy. Lola was happy. Everyone seemed happy—well, everyone except Clara, who was now carless.

  The week ended quietly, without any noteworthy events. On Sunday morning, I had a leisurely breakfast with the Robertsons, then wandered into the living room with a cup of coffee to half-heartedly watch some bland TV show. How could people waste their time on this nonsense? I wondered, sipping my coffee as I fought the urge to change the channel.

  For a while, I’d been feeling an odd itch on my back. Scratching it absentmindedly, my fingers brushed against something—hardened skin? A burn? I couldn’t recall burning my back.

  Still, it didn’t make sense. Flo had healed me completely back when Matt was around, and the scars I should have had were replaced by her illusions. There shouldn’t be anything physical to itch or scratch. But if that was true, then what was this? A growing unease crept over me, and I decided I needed to check it out in the bathroom mirror.

  Just as I was heading that way, the doorbell rang. No one else seemed to be in a hurry to answer, so I went to see who it was. Opening the door, I found Gonzo standing there, his grin as broad as the sun and his eyes practically sparkling. You didn’t need to be a mind reader to guess—Gonzo’s love life was going very well.

  "Hey, lady! You look absolutely stunning today!" Gonzo greeted me with a grin.

  I laughed, rolling my eyes at his over-the-top compliment. He clearly enjoyed seeing me happy, and in return, he kept the flattery coming. What made it funny—and oddly endearing—was knowing that he wasn’t trying to win me over. His heart was fully set on Helen, though he’d never have the guts to say any of this to her directly. That’s what made his words feel so genuine—purely friendly, with no ulterior motive.

  Still, after a while, I grew tired of the Helen-centered chatter, so I let White Flower take over the conversation with him.

  He launched into an enthusiastic recap of his recent interactions. Yes, he’d met Helen, and yes, she’d been thrilled to receive the flowers. Inwardly, I rolled my eyes. Idiot, you still don’t get it, do you?

  My interest piqued, though, when he brought up something new—a bike. Gonzo explained that he was planning a photo campaign for his shop and would be happy to rent me a small electric bike if I’d agree to ride it while wearing something emblazoned with the company’s motto. He even showed me photos of other boys and girls modeling with the bikes. They looked decent—not overly flashy or ridiculous.

  “Are you interested?” he asked, his tone hopeful.

  At first sight, it was tempting. He mentioned I could earn a little money—not much, but something. Thinking it through, I couldn’t help but laugh. Me? As a model? The whole idea was so absurd I didn’t know whether he was pitying me, trying to help me out financially, or if this was just one bad joke.

  Frankly, I wasn’t all that interested. But then I felt a sudden, almost compelling desire to say yes—because Cala was interested. Ever since Flo's "connection strengthening," I’d begun to pick up on Cala's emotions more clearly, and she was practically buzzing with excitement.

  Fine, I thought. If Cala wanted to do it, then why not? It might be a good learning experience for her to understand this world better, and, who knows, I might even have some fun. Besides, it wasn’t like I had any big plans for a Sunday afternoon.

  With that, I informed the Robertsons about where I’d be, let Cala take the lead, and left with Gonzo.

  *

  Gonzo knew his way around cars and bikes. Engines, pistons, wheels, tuning chips—everything followed a clear logic, working predictably under the immutable laws of physics. But women? That was an entirely different realm, a metaphysical puzzle he couldn’t even begin to solve. Logic didn’t seem to apply, and even the laws of physics fell short. Or maybe it was a different kind of logic—one he simply couldn’t grasp.

  All the advice and “surefire tips” he’d received over the years had brought him absolutely nowhere. It was frustrating, even demoralizing.

  By chance, he had met Dolores, and for reasons he couldn’t quite explain, decided to help her. From the start, he knew he had no romantic chances with her—not that it mattered. His heart already belonged to someone else. He had a hopeless crush and, worse yet, nobody to confide in.

  In his desperation, he had confided in Dolores, almost on a whim. To his surprise, not only did she listen, but she also offered genuinely good advice. Advice that worked. She had helped him. So now the challenge was: how could he keep her interested enough to help him further? He couldn’t just keep showing up and unloading his woes—it would be awkward and obvious.

  That’s why he tried to be creative, coming up with ways to pique her interest and, by extension, gain more opportunities to pepper her with questions. For him, her advice was invaluable. For Flo, the situation was endlessly amusing, and she was all too happy to chip in. In the end, it turned into a mutually beneficial exchange—he got his guidance, and Flo got her fun.

  *

  His shop was closed for the weekend, and it seemed like we were the only two living souls within a mile. I couldn’t help but wonder how he managed to make a living with his shop in the middle of nowhere. He explained that, during the week, the road saw plenty of traffic. The location was cheap, and now he owns not just the shop but vast swaths of the surrounding land. He does all his advertising through his own website and offers a lot of services for the local area. Plus, it’s not as remote as it seems—it’s only a dozen kilometers or so from the city.

  We got to work, and he snapped a few photos of me sitting on the mini bikes he’d set up. He assured me that my cuts and scrapes wouldn’t be an issue—he’d clean them up later using an image-editing tool. I let Cala take the reins; she was the one more interested in this whole endeavor anyway. Before long, though, her focus shifted to one of his biggest machines.

  The motorbike was a beast of engineering, its sheer size commanding attention. The frame was forged from gleaming chrome and matte-black steel, exuding both raw power and refined craftsmanship.

  The seat was deep and cushioned, built for endurance yet sleek enough to fit the bike's fierce demeanor.

  A pair of broad tires provided unshakable stability, their deep treads hinting at the ability to handle any terrain. The front fork extended proudly, holding a large, single headlight. Beneath the frame, the engine sat like a mechanical heart, its pipes and cylinders radiating a sense of untapped energy.

  Chrome exhaust pipes snaked along the sides, polished to a mirror shine, ready to roar with power. The handlebars were wide and slightly raised, completing the image of a machine that was as much about control as it was about dominance. The whole bike seemed to hum with latent energy, even at rest—a heavy motorbike that wasn't just a vehicle but a symbol of freedom, rebellion, and unstoppable force.

  I would’ve laughed if I had been in charge—no wonder Cala was enjoying this! I watched the scene unfold with amusement. He was starting to sweat, fumbling to stop her.

  “No, no, no, that’s a heavy machine! It’s not meant for—”

  He didn’t get to finish before Cala moved it with ease. Alarmed, he hurried over to me, practically jumping out of his skin.

  “Whoa, easy there, lady! Be careful not to drop that on your foot. This thing’s heavy, and if it falls, it’ll snap your foot like a twig!”

  Cala just shrugged, her tone almost dismissive.

  “Oh, come on. I bet we can take even better pictures with this one.”

  He took a deep breath, clearly debating with himself, then hesitated for a moment before speaking again.

  “Alright… could you try standing on it? But, uh, you’ll need to swap your blouse for one with our company logo. I’ve got a few here you can use.”

  I was relieved to have Flo’s illusion-blouse on me; otherwise, Cala would’ve just swapped it out for the new one without a second thought. Cala doesn’t seem to grasp the basic concept of being embarrassed about nudity. She’s no exhibitionist—just unapologetically natural. How we ended up here, I wasn’t entirely sure.

  He politely turned his back, giving me some privacy while Flo took over, seamlessly switching the blouse and neatly placing the illusionary one folded on the table.

  We snapped a few photos, and then, of course, Cala decided to raise the bar:

  “What if we tried taking some pictures in motion?”

  He hesitated, clearly torn between caution and curiosity, but Cala managed to persuade him. Reluctantly, he explained what to do, and she gave it a go. At first, he was visibly on edge, constantly worried something would go wrong, but as time went on, he started to relax, even enjoying himself a little.

  Cala is an incredibly fast learner, especially when it comes to anything physical. Since I had a solid grasp of driving, with plenty of practice under my belt—even if it was mostly virtual cars—I think that skill carried over to her. Though it wasn’t bikes specifically, Cala seems to have a natural affinity for them. She’s definitely a bike lover, and her progress was obvious with every passing minute.

  “Wow, lady, you’re a natural! Born to ride!” he exclaimed in amazement.

  Cala rewarded him with a bright, happy grin.

  From that point on, the stunts became increasingly daring. Within two hours, she was pulling off circus-level tricks that left him slack-jawed—jumping up to stand on the bike with her feet, balancing on one hand with the other on the handlebars, or even bracing on the seat. She laughed the whole time, brushing off every suggestion to wear a helmet.

  Once she figured out how to start and steer the bike, there was no stopping her, much to his rising panic. He had no way of knowing that she was practically indestructible.

  After a while, he gave in. Honestly, he didn’t have much of a choice—when it came to Cala, it was her way or the highway. But as he watched what she could do, his initial resistance melted into enthusiasm.

  “Wow, lady. Let’s make a deal,” he said, excitement creeping into his tone. “How about a one-month, open-ended contract? You can ride this bike wherever you want. The catch? You pay for your own gas, and all I ask is that you wear this ‘Gonzo Bikes’ t-shirt about half the time—not always, since the bike’s got the logo too. Deal?”

  Cala winked at him with a mischievous grin. “No hidden clauses? Sure, deal!”

  “Ah, wait—just one more thing,” he added quickly. “Any tickets—parking, speeding, you name it—they’re on you. Still good?”

  She laughed, throwing her head back. “You forgot the most important part, but sure. I wouldn’t let you pay for those anyway.”

  I couldn’t help but cringe internally. I hope she doesn’t expect me to pay for her tickets... Was she already planning to rack up a pile of fines?

  He took at least a couple of hundred photos of her. Afterward, we sat down to eat at the grill behind his shop. The smell of charred meat and spices filled the air, and he scrolled through the photos on his camera, muttering to himself in awe.

  “Look at this one! And here! Wow! You look amazing. You make my bike look like epic thunder!”

  I glanced around at the wilderness surrounding us. How could anyone live out here alone, so far from everything? What kind of Sundays did he normally have?

  After the grill session, the impromptu party came to an end as he had to get back to work in the garage, tinkering with cars.

  Cala, ever eager, hopped onto the bike and drove us home with a confidence that bordered on reckless. She’d taken the helmet he gave me, but instead of wearing it, she stashed it in the inventory box. Then she pulled out a pair of gnome-made glasses that resembled high-tech ski goggles and slipped them on.

  What?! Inventory box? Since when did I have it with me?

  There it was—a small, unassuming leather rectangle hanging innocently on my belt. It was the inventory box.

  “Let me take over! Let me lead! I need to check that box!” I blurted, my curiosity spiking.

  “Cala doesn’t want to wait right now. You already know what’s in there, and she’s eager to drive. You’ll check it when we’re home, okay?” Flo answered, her tone calm but firm.

  Oh, fine, I thought, conceding that she had a point. There was no immediate urgency, just the shock of realizing I had it with me all along.

  Cala, unfazed by my distraction, adjusted the glasses on her head. Their sleek, mirrored lenses glinted in the sunlight as she revved the engine. She drove on, carefree and exhilarated, the bike’s roar matching her spirit.

  “Hey, you need a helmet! You can’t drive a huge bike like this without one—it’s a municipal rule in this town!”

  The roar of the bike’s engine swallowed my protest, and after a while, I got Flo’s response:

  “Cala says she doesn’t need a helmet to drive this bike.”

  The bassy growl of the motor filled my ears. My whining in protest went straight to Flo, who passed it on to Cala, but Cala? She was busy dreaming up something completely unrelated:

  “I think I’ll let my hair grow long!”

  She’d said it aloud, loud enough for me to hear over the bike.

  “What? Why?” I asked, baffled.

  Did she really feel the need to announce her hairstyle decisions now? Did I have to brace myself for yet another struggle with my alter egos, this time over my haircut?

  “I think I’d like to feel my hair fluttering in the wind when I ride this thing,” she mused, her tone casual.

  Flo and Cala were chatting like I wasn’t even there. Suddenly, Cala stopped the bike, and before I could question her further, it happened. One moment, she had her usual hairstyle; the next, long blonde hair cascaded over her shoulders like a shimmering waterfall.

  She grinned, clearly pleased with herself, and revved the engine again. As she sped off, her golden hair streamed behind her, catching the sunlight and fluttering wildly in the wind.

  I sighed. There was no stopping her when she got like this.

  "Why blonde?" I wondered.

  "Out of fun," Flo replied, her tone almost teasing.

  “Don’t you get it? I need to wear a helmet—not just glasses! They’ll take my license for this nonsense!”

  Technically, I hadn’t worked for that license, but she had. Although, now that I think about it, that’s not entirely true—I did spend a whole night in that police station to sort it out!

  Cala, of course, only laughed. She couldn’t hear me, and Flo probably wasn’t passing on my complaints. This was definitely an alter-ego conspiracy against me. And naturally, just five minutes later, a police car pulled us over.

  “I told you so!” I hissed, bracing myself for the inevitable loss of my freshly minted, hard-earned driver’s license.

  Instead, Cala grinned mischievously and whipped off what appeared to be... an illusory hairy helmet. It was ridiculous—a helmet with flowing, long hair—but it looked so real in her hand. Flo’s illusion magic was nothing short of perfection.

  The officers stared for a moment before bursting into laughter.

  “You should patent that thing!” one of them said, clearly amused.

  They didn’t even ask for her license. They just waved her off and drove away. Cala, as smug as ever, slipped her 'helmet' back on and revved the bike.

  I groaned. Of course, she had to win again.

  When I got home, both Flo and Cala seemed to be in high spirits, practically glowing with satisfaction. I had to admit, begrudgingly, that they’d handled everything just fine. But the whole experience left me scratching my head—figuratively, not literally, though the itching in my back was seriously getting to me. How was Cala capable of all those things? The whole “avatar” theory didn’t seem to fully hold up anymore.

  Oh well, just another thought to add to the ever-growing tangle of confusion in my mind.

  Cala parked the roaring bike near the house, her smugness practically radiating off her. Then she handed me back the lead without a word.

  Finally able to focus on my own discomfort, I decided I couldn’t ignore the itching in my back any longer and headed straight for the bathroom to take a shower.

  Undressing didn’t take long—I’d only worn Gonzo’s t-shirt, leather trousers, and the boots. Standing in front of the mirror, I turned to examine my back, and my good mood evaporated in an instant.

  There, hanging over my shoulder blades, were two small, floppy things that looked like they were made of leather.

  “What the fuck? What is this?” I whispered harshly to my reflection.

  Dead skin? Wounds? Something worse?

  As I pressed my hands to my forehead in frustration, I felt a strange bump under my right palm.

  “When did I hit my head hard enough to get a bump?” I muttered to myself.

  Thinking back, I realized it could’ve been during Cala’s wild antics on the bike. She’d pulled off some ridiculous stunts—zigzagging through tight curves, accelerating like crazy on one wheel, and kicking up gravel in all directions. It had been a show, for sure, and some of those flying stones had definitely hit me. That had to be it.

  But then, as my fingers traced my forehead, I noticed another bump—perfectly symmetrical on the other side. That was odd. Did I somehow manage to hit my head in exactly the same way on both sides?

  I leaned closer to the mirror, studying my reflection. And then, like a bucket of cold water, it hit me.

  The shock of it all left me staring at my reflection, dumbfounded.

  “Fuck, I’m growing horns… and wings!”

  My legs gave out, and I slipped, landing flat on my ass on the cold and wet marble floor.