robert asprin - myth-taken identity

"What are you doing back there?" he demanded.

Lawsy rose at once and moved out from behind the counter.

"I was just helping this fine lady try things on," she chirped. "I could see you were too busy. We were having a nice chat! It's my job, to make the customer feel at home."

Massha, alarmed, gawked at the mall-rat.

"She doesn't work for you?"

"No, charming lady," the Djinn replied, in a milder tone. "She's a survey taker here in the mall. See the badge? Thank you for your help," he added, though he didn't sound grateful, "but next time, don't do that."

"Of course," Lawsy exclaimed. She reached over and patted Massha on the hand. "I'll just be going, now that we have what we want."

"Thanks." Massha smiled at her. She waited as the jeweler snapped his fingers and summoned up a receipt.

"Shall I wrap it, charming lady?" the Djinn asked, then did a double take. "I know you! My cousin Rimbaldi in The Volcano tells me what a joy you are to dress!"

The Jahk's cheeks pinked up. "No bag, thanks. I'll wear it." She tucked it onto her arm with the rest of her swag. Lawsy backed hastily out of the store and ran as fast as she could for the Rat Hole.

"Beautiful, beautiful," Rattila slavered, fondling the bracelet again and again. "And she spoke to you. I heard it all. How nice that she was willing to open herself up so readily to your inquiries. Good job."

Lawsy quivered with happiness. She didn't get much praise from the Big Cheese.

Rattila tasted the bracelet, his teeth rasping against the soft metal. "Married, likes blue jewelry, sensitive about her body, knows about magik devices—I can make use of her expertise." He thrust his claw into the heap of garbage and came up with the Master Card. He touched the bracelet to it, and both of them glowed brightly. The gleam was echoed in Rattila's red eyes.

"Yes, yes!" he gloated. "I feel her power joining mine!" He closed his eyes and envisioned the credit balance in the Master Card. It was not quite full yet, but it soon would be. As the mall-rats chanted, he produced thin cards, flimsier and less potent than the usual collectors. "These are temporaries," he explained carefully to his followers. "Do not stop trying to get her to fill out an application so we can devour her completely. Now, spend, spend, spend! Do not cross the visitors' paths. I want all of it to come as a surprise to Master Aahz when Mistress Massha falls into my power."

"Don't you love it?" Massha asked, showing off her wrist to me and Chumley.

"Nice," I offered shortly. I wasn't much for fancy baubles. I always think natural beauty shines through better. But, then, Massha wasn't a Pervect and didn't have that advantage.

"Very pretty," Eskina approved.

"What's it do, what?" Chumley asked.

"I..." Massha paused. "Do you know, I forgot to ask! It made my hand look so nice that was all I could think about."

A black cloak swirled around our feet and slipped into our midst. I resented the intrusion, and cocked an elbow into the ribs of the tall figure.

"Ow!" Eskina shrieked. "He hit me!"

"Sorry, kid, it was me," I apologized.

I realized my mistake then: the newcomer was a Spectre, the semi-insubstantial denizens of Spect, a mysteriously beautiful dimension I'd dropped in on once. Frustrating place in a way, because although the women could touch me, I couldn't return the favor, and they had been tall, sensual, and exotic.

So was this big lug, or so he thought. He picked up Massha's hand and began to nibble his way up from the tips of her fingers.

"Hey, watch the jewelry," she warned him. "I just polished—ooh—mmm."

A big, silly, trancelike grin broke out on her face. Then, she snapped out of it.

"Hey, buddy, we haven't even been introduced."

"I am the architect of your wildest dreams, baby," the Spectre whispered. "I like a woman with... substance." He eyed her up and down, the jet-black eyes in his hollow eye sockets evidently liking what they saw.

"So, what do you say, baby?" he asked, snuggling so close to Massha's back that his black robes brushed her rose-colored jeans. "We can get a room, and put a big do not disturb sign on the door."

Massha spun abruptly, making him stumble. "Goodness me!" she giggled. "You wouldn't say things like that if my husband were here."

The Spectre grinned sepulchrally, his hooded eyes blazing with white light. "Oh? And what would your husband do if he were here?"

Massha winked coyly. "He'd stand right there and watch me mop up the floor with you. Now if you can't take a lady's hints, I'll say it straight out: bug off."

"I like feisty women!" The Spectre, laughing hollowly, tried to put his arms around her one more time.

Chumley started to move in from one side, Parvattani from the other. I put a hand on each of their chests to hold them back.

"Hang on. Let her enjoy herself a little, first."

The lesson in manners was brief but memorable. The big guy counted on being insubstantial to stave off physical jolts, but Massha pulled one of her gizmos out and dangled it in his face. I'd seen the glowing green charm before. Massha had told me it was specific for dealing with phan- toms: glass covered in gold. The Spectre was not impressed. He stood with his big chin out. Massha hauled back and dealt him one hell of a roundhouse punch delivered all the way from the middle of her back. You could tell by the glazed expression on his face just before he folded up and sank that he thought her fist should have gone right through his jaw.

Massha stood over the body, shaking her hand up and down to restore the circulation.

"I really gotta remember what my mother always said about not hitting bone with bone."

"Very pretty, Massha." Chumley applauded her. "My little sister couldn't have cooled off a man faster."

"Thanks, Tall and Shaggy." Massha smiled, stepping over her would-be suitor. "I have a lot of respect for Tananda's talent, so coming from you—"

She paused, a blank look on her face. I wondered if the Spectre had grabbed her leg. I glanced down, but he was out for the count.

"You okay?" I asked.

"I'm fine," Massha assured all of us. "I just felt far away for a moment."

"Oive," Mayno breathed, as he prepared to rappel down the face of Unmentionables, the gigantic underwear store in Corridor G.

"What?" Oive asked, from the rafters above him.

In the guise of a black-furred Troll, she stood with her heels braced against a joist, ready to pull Mayno up in case of trouble.

"I wasn't call-aing you," he replied. "I was just... looking down."

"Don't," Oive reminded him. "If you do, you'll lose your grip and go splat on the floor. I mean, your guts could be spread out all over the entire corridor!"

Mayno gulped. "I can't do zis!" he shrilled. "Zees is not fit activity for mall-rats. What is Rattila doing to us?"

"He thinks it gives him more of a buzz than stolen merchandise. Isn't that the weirdest thing you ever heard?" Oive's large eyes widened. "Maybe one of the personalities we brought him is making him crazy."

Mayno hastily lifted a finger to his lips. "Don't say that! He'll hear you!" He tugged on the ropes. "Can't we do this anoth-air way?"

"Find a happy place, dude," Oive advised. "Come on, pretend you're just lowering yourself into a giant cookie jar. You've got infinite pockets. Put all the cookies in the pockets..."

Mayno closed his eyes, and a blissful smile appeared on the Klahdish face he was wearing. "C'est marveilleuse. Okay, I go."

The Spectre turned out to be the first member of the newly founded Secret Admirers of Massha Fan Club. I'd wanted to split up the group into pairs, with Massha accompanying Par on his rounds, Chumley with Eskina, and me getting reacquainted—I mean patrolling—with Sibone, but I didn't like to leave her back uncovered, so to speak. Males of every species were coming out of the Mall's overly ornate woodwork to whistle, leer at, or bow to Massha.