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“So that’s the deal!” Veronica finished, having sat next to the man on the hotel bed. “I know I’m not what you were expecting and it’s a lot to take in, but I’m for real.”

She leaned forward, entering his personal space—just enough to be present, not enough to be threatening. She was, after all, an old hand at this. “If you agree to keep my secret on the app and stick to the story that I’m a cosplayer, you’ve got me for the hour like we planned—“

“—But if not, I’ll refund your money and we’ll say goodnight,” she continued, offering him the safe way out to make him feel secure rather than a literal alternative. “No harm, no foul! Though I’m gonna need the hotel room for the rest of the night either way.”


Outside on the roof, Maeve doomscrolled. Cats are the strangest animals, she mused.


Veronica ran her claws through her hair, which was a classic for a reason. “So what do you way? Are you in or out? So to speak.”


Someday I’d like to meet a cat, Maeve thought—and was interrupted by the phone’s text tone. Oops! Forgot to put the phone on silent.


The polo-wearing man, who’d given his name as ‘Kip’—probably true, Veronica thought, who would make that up—was in. Deftly Veronica undid his belt.


Veronica’s screen announced Messages: From Peter and “V! Pick up!” “Emergency! 112! Veronica!” appeared in grey bubbles. Maeve recoiled in alarm. Uh oh.


Veronica tied her hair back into a low ponytail, in preparation.


“Veronica’s not here!” Maeve typed desperately. She’d never actually used the texting app before, but the premise was simple, even if the situation was terrifying.

“Who is this?” Grey Bubble asked.

“This is her—“ Maeve typed, but stopped. I don’t know this guy, she thought desperately. Better not tell him anything. She deleted her entry and sent “this is Maeve. Who are you?”

“Where is Veronica right now?” Grey Bubble responded. “She’s in trouble. The client’s a TRUTHER.”


Veronica may or may not have been in trouble, but she was now no longer in pants as the truther kissed the back of her left shoulder.


“I don’t know what that means!” Maeve texted, clutching at her forehead.

“He’s a flat earther,” Grey Bubble explained unhelpfully. “I don’t know how he got through her prescreen, but he is the wrong kind of fantasist. This man lives on conspiracy, secret government files and coverups.”

Okay, I understood “he’s” and “man” out of that, Maeve thought. And “wrong.”

“Once he knows Veronica’s real, he is never going to keep quiet about it.” Grey Bubble continued. “You need to bring her this phone. Right now.”

“Okay,” Maeve said aloud, setting one foot against the edge of the rooftop and spreading her wings. “You win, nonsense text man. Veronica will know what to do!”

She landed on the balcony, moved to the sliding class door—and reeled as if slapped, aghast at what was going on inside. Earth and stone! she thought wildly. Veronica what are you DOING?