“Oh for the two worlds colliding!” Dali shouted as he burst from a maroon tent that had once been the kitchen, his new black robes flapping. “Who the hell put in Mesopotamia? You know how hard it is to get lamb to taste good?” he finished, sputtering to a halt when he saw me standing before the jukebox in my nylons and machine-made fabric.

Embarrassed, I looked at Al, seeing that he’d changed into sandals, his chest and much of his legs bare but for a draping gold cloth. Regal and confident, Newt reclined beside him on a cushion with a silver goblet that she distantly toasted me with. Her hair was in beaded dreadlocks, and she’d ringed her eyes with a dark pigment.

“Al!” Dali said, red faced. “She fits in, or you go.”

Al grinned and blew me a kiss. I shivered as the wind brushed me with his intent, and my uptight gray suit melted into a robe of rich golds, purples, and reds. Little green rocks had been sewn into the fabric, and I felt the new weight of it settle comfortably on my shoulders.

“Nice,” I said, my hand jerking up to keep my headdress on when I leaned over to see my new sandals. Yuck, my hair was oiled flat to my head. That was going to take forever to wash out. But I fit in now, and grimacing, Dali turned and vanished back into the cooking tent, his voice raised as he yelled at the staff.

Okay, I’m a Mesopotamian princess. Pulse faster, I headed back to the table amid whistles and a few complaints from where the bar had been. Everyone there was now sitting on the sand around a huge fire pit in the open air. Instead of a kitchen, waitstaff brought wooden bowls and platters from a second cooking fire, and apparently lamb wasn’t a favorite.

“Interesting choice,” Al said dryly as I wove my way past the benches and cushions the upper echelon were seated on and eased onto a smooth, tooled chunk of wood.

Newt set her tarnished silver goblet down. “I rather like Mesopotamia,” she said airily. “It’s so easy to distinguish the haves from the have-nots.” Smiling, she regally motioned for Brooke to bring us a plate of cheese and flat unleavened bread. “And the wannabes.”

“No need to be catty, Newt,” Al replied, then nodded at Brooke—who was now in rags. “See, I told you she was good. It takes an unusually skilled familiar to stockpile all the changes needed to run this place. On a busy day, there might be three shifts an hour.”

“Three shifts?” I said, now understanding why you didn’t bother to order from a menu. You got what you got. “So Brooke has to change herself? It doesn’t just happen?”

Al grunted his answer, grabbing a handful of bread as Brooke set it down. “Newt, can you remember the last time you saw Mesopotamia?”

“I can’t remember the last time I was here,” Newt shot back, and I smiled nervously, not sure if she was kidding or not.