Stepping over to the boxes, I pull out my matching shoes and thrax undies. Mine look like mummy wrappings with thick black lines sewn onto them. “These look even weirder than last time. Do I really have to wear this?”

“Do you really think you’re leaving my room in anything else?”

Well, that’s the truth.

There’s a flurry of makeup brushes and hair spray, then we both slip into our gowns.

Cissy sets her hand on her hip, scanning me up and down. My dress is red and gold brocade with a fitted bodice that leaves my shoulders bare; the low pointed waist has a hole in the back for my tail. The gown’s skirt is floor-length and cut into sections that shimmer as I move. My long auburn hair hangs loose about my shoulders.

I suck in a shaky breath. I’m a curvy girl, and usually I wear sweats that pretty much hide that fact. But in this dress, I’m all hourglass. In fact, the bodice has this corset thing inside it that gives me a waspish waist. Add it all up and I’m feeling mighty awkward. I turn to Cissy. “Okay, what do you think?”

“Myla, you look stunning.”

I exhale. She may be exaggerating, but I need it right now. “Thanks.” I gesture to her dress. “Let’s see yours.” Cissy spins about, showing a shimmering black under-gown with a green velvet overdress and long looping sleeves. The velvet is loosely tied up her chest with long green ribbons, then it falls open at her skirts to reveal the black gown beneath. Her hair hangs in golden ringlets to her shoulders. Her tail swings happily behind her. I grin. “You look lovely.”

“Thank you.” She curtsies. “We better get going. We’re already cutting it close on time.”

We say our goodbyes to Cissy’s parents and take our seats in my green station wagon, careful not to crinkle our new gowns. Betsy’s especially cranky today, spewing out extra smoke and noise before the engine finally starts humming. Finally, we start the short trip from Cissy’s to the Ryder mansion. With every passing mile, my blood pressure ratchets up a few points. Can’t. Wait.

“Why don’t you get that car fixed?” Cissy pulls down the rear view mirror, checking her make-up.

“Are you kidding?” I steer Betsy down the back roads to the Ryder mansion. “Filling out paperwork for an official maintenance request takes weeks.” I pat the dashboard. “As long as Betsy moves, she’s fine.”

Squinting, I stare through the windshield. Off in the distance, the Ryder mansion lays perched on its gray-green hill, its white bricks glittering in the haze of twilight. All around lay a sea of dark and boarded-up houses. Excitement blooms inside me.

Myla and Lincoln…Partners in crime on a new mission to rain trouble onto tight-assed thrax everywhere. Yay.