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“Woo, heavy emotional moment over!” Veronica said breezily, pushing the unpleasant feelings aside as she often did. “Our heroine has working eyeballs once again!”

“Now, my dear,” she continued, “whilst I change into my Ladies’ Activewear collection, why don’t you peruse the racks over there? I’m thinking something in an off-the-shoulder top, something in a longer skirt because of your fabulous knee spurs, though I’m afraid you just might be a winter!”

Maeve sighed. “I’ll go see if there’s something I like.”

She was in the process of pulling on a ankle-length sage-green skirt when there was another bright flash, and a zorch! sound. “Veronicaaaa! No more pictures!” she shouted, annoyed.

“I am not taking your picture, gargoyle,” said a blond, trenchcoated man who’d just appeared. His hands glowed with lightning, and the remains of magic, possibly from his teleportation, still swirled around him. “Now, where is the devil?”