Ever After (Rachel Morgan)

should be the one in the cab going to the hospital.
    Seeing my mood, Ivy put an arm over my shoulders and turned me back to the cars. “You were nice,” Ivy said as we crossed the night-cooled pavement. “Nicer than I’d have been. She’ll have an interesting morning and be home for lunch. Don’t beat yourself up about it.”
    “I don’t like involving her,” I said as we came up to Barbie’s car. “And trying to be her is going to get us caught. I can’t be a real person.”
    “Yeah,” Jenks said as he checked himself out in the side mirror. “She’s too bouncy.”
    Frowning, I opened the door and sat down, my feet still on the pavement. “Have you ever tried to be someone you’re not?” I said as I pulled off my boots, tossing them into the back, and put on Barbie’s heels.
    “All the time.” Ivy wasn’t looking at me, her eyes on the Hollows across the river.
    “That’s not what I meant,” I said, then used Barbie ’s keys to start Barbie ’s car. I didn’t like this. Not at all. But I needed those rings, and this was the only way to get them.
    Ivy looked at me through the open window. I could still smell Barbie’s perfume, and it made me uncomfortable. “You okay with this, or you want to scrap it right now?”
    Jenks hovered behind her, and I put the car in reverse to back out. She knew as well as I there was no choice. Still, I stewed over it all the short drive to the art museum, becoming more and more angry. The only reason we were trying this on such short notice was because I was familiar with the layout. Nick had worked here, and he’d given me a private tour on more than one occasion. The entire basement was a maze of storage and offices, and that’s where the showpieces would be until the night before the exhibit opened.
    Ivy was behind me in her mom’s blue Buick as I pulled into the museum’s parking lot. Knowing it would be what Barbie would do, I parked in a spot where no one would scratch the paint, finding a place that would be in the shade come noon. Ivy slowly drove past, headed for a spot closer to the door. She was going in as a patron and had a sketch pad and folding chair. Once I got downstairs, Jenks would give her my ID and she’d come down in the far elevator, clearing our exit en route.
    The coffees were cold when I picked up the bag and slid out, and after locking the car, I crouched to put the key on the front wheel where I had promised Barbie I would leave it. Not wanting to ruin my story with cold coffee, I reached for a ley line and warmed them up with a charm, my thoughts firmly on the dark, bitter brew so I didn’t warm up, say, the radiator of the car. Ceri had taught me this one, and thoroughly unhappy, I stomped to the main entrance, the unfamiliar heels making me trip on the curb.
    I didn’t look up as Jenks rejoined me, having ridden to the museum with Ivy. Silent, he worked his way past my hair, now down like Barbie had hers. “She’ll be fine,” Jenks said as he resettled himself behind the curtain of my hair.
    I didn’t like that I was telegraphing so much, and I said nothing. Barbie probably wouldn’t come to work in black slacks and a sweater that covered her cleavage, but I had an excuse for that, too. Late, I took the stairs at a mincing hurry, fumbling for my ID.
    “These heels are killing me,” I muttered to Jenks when I got to the top and the security guy cracked open the door for me.
    “Relax, Rache. You’re sweating.”
    Yes, I was sweating. I didn’t like this. I had abducted a woman and was pretending to be her. It was daylight. And I couldn’t shake the feeling that Nick was somewhere watching me.
    “Hey! Hi! I’m late!” I said cheerfully, trying to match Barbie’s bouncy attitude when I reached the door. “Some witch spilled her coffee all over me and I had to go home and change.”
    Larry—by his name tag—smiled and held the door as I slid in before him. “You got five minutes,” he said, and I hesitated just inside the echoing space. Crap, I’d forgotten which one he was supposed to get.
    “You’d better hustle, though,” the man said, eyes alight as he took one of the tall, no-nonsense black coffees. “Bull is on the warpath.”
    My brief relief that he knew which was which died. Bull? I thought, then juggled the remaining coffee to get my ID to show. “Thanks for the heads-up,” I said, rolling my eyes because it seemed the right thing to do.
    “Thank you.” He hoisted the coffee in