There in the hallway is Jessica Stone, her winged eyeliner alarmingly crisp, her lipstick bold and blood red. She’s wearing the same black suede jacket and jeans from earlier but no beanie. Her hair is pulled up into a bun atop her head.

“I swear I didn’t tell anyone!” I loud-whisper.

She gives me a once-over before handing me the keycard. “You dropped this in the bathroom earlier,” she says, and pushes her way into my room.

“Okay, thanks?” I say uncertainly.

“I came here to set some ground rules.”

“Ground rules?” I blink, making sure I’m seeing what I’m seeing. I am seeing this, right? THE Jessica Stone actually in my hotel room.

I blink. Yep, still here. I’m blinking and she’s still here.

“Ground rules for what? I swear I didn’t tell anyone!”

“I almost believe you.”

“I didn’t! Not a soul! Not even my brother, and trust me, he’s very charismatic—”

“You,” rumbles a deep voice from the hallway.

Oh, noooooooo.

I know that voice, too.

I turn to face the guy who is now taking up the entire doorway. Impossibly tall and gangly, thick black-frame glasses, with a swoop of raven-black hair gelled back. Jessica Stone’s assistant.

And he looks about ready to kill me.

I groan. “Not you again.”

“Trust me, the feeling’s mutual.”

Jessica shrugs out of her jacket and tosses it on the bed, flopping down beside it. “Oh right. You ran into each other, so we can skip the introductions.”

I jab a finger at him. “He is possibly the worst nerfherder in the—” I say, while at the same time he says, “She’s that monster of a girl I was telling you—”

We both stop midsentence.

“I’m what?” I ask.

“Did you just call me a nerfherder?”

I draw myself up to my full height. “It was either that or Muggle, and you don’t deserve Muggle.”

His eye twitches. It actually twitches.

From the bed Jessica calls, “Be nice to my assistant. Ethan, she looks like me, right? I mean her hair’s a little loud, but we can work with that.”

The anger inside me dissolves with a fizzle, replaced by a foreboding curiosity. “Hair? And work with what? I don’t understand.”

“This is a terrible idea, Jessica,” Ethan sighs, massaging the bridge of his nose.

“It’s the only one we have,” she replies, “terrible or not.”

“What is a terrible idea?” I ask them, glancing from Jessica Stone lounged on my bed to her assistant and then back again.

Instead, her assistant—Ethan—waves his hand toward my hotel room. He sounds tired—kinda like the Twelfth Doctor. Aged and haggard, having seen way too much to be optimistic about anything. “Aren’t you going to let me in? And maybe put on some clothes?”

What? I look down.