Another kind of storm neared on tank treads and steel frames. Someone had called the cops by now, and the cops might have called worse. If they were coming this way to get Yaya, then they knew where to look.

“How much trouble do you think we’re really in?” she asked. Magenta didn’t answer.

Yaya pulled her borrowed coat tight and found it shredded, the tentacles having sprouted too fast. She would have to brave the chilly November night anyway. Maybe Magenta would adapt to keep them warm.

The mirror offered one last glimpse at herself before she leaped into whatever hell waited outside Pandora’s Aquarium. Shredded coat, disheveled lavender suit, her face aged a decade in a day. She got a good look at her eyes.

Her once-hazel right eye had finished its prismatic shift. Both eyes shined full magenta.

20

A harsh wind snapped at Yaya’s face the moment she stepped outside Pandora’s Aquarium, a warning to go back in. She had to keep moving, and where she went didn’t matter beyond that. She hit the sidewalk and glanced left.

Down Bruen Street, past the Elm intersection stoplight and halfway over the next block, blue and red lights haunted dark, distant lanes. Yaya couldn’t make out clear shapes from where she stood, but she knew those flickering beacons on sight.

Cop tanks.

“Don’t push me,” Yaya hissed under her breath. “You won’t like what pushes back.”

They didn’t look to be moving, but they might have been maneuvering around a smaller vehicle, indiscernible in the dim. She glanced right, where the night seemed solid, fewer lights breaking the darkness. A smattering of pedestrians ambled between streets and along sidewalks, their breath misting in the cold. Yaya glanced left again.

The blue and red lights flickered, approaching the Elm intersection.

Yaya turned right at a brisk walk, all willpower bent toward looking casual and disinterested. No one would recognize her if she studied the sidewalk at every step.

A couple approached, clasping each other’s gloved hands. Neither made room for Yaya, and she had to stand aside, wait for them to pass. That was fine, she told herself. She was in no hurry. The Green Street intersection down the block formed a wall of blackness, its stoplight glaring green at the moment but its streetlights either shut off or obscured. If she reached Green, she could dodge around a corner and disappear into Doc’s place. Connie might have woken up, or Doc had returned. Small problems; Yaya could handle them.

A hand pressed her arm, telling her to slow down. Magenta stirred in Yaya’s chest, a growl in her ears, but Yaya rubbed a hand over her lavender jacket as if calming a stomachache.

“Got a cigarette?” a gruff voice asked.