“Your body won’t do for this assignment,” Mr. Burns said with his back to me.
“What do you mean?”
“You’re Target may recognize you, and we can’t have that. You’re supposed to be dead.”
I was still processing that when he exclaimed, “Ah-ha!” and pulled a body from the rack. “I knew it was here.” He turned and held it out. “How about this one?”
I stared at the flat, limp body. It was dressed in navy khakis (what is it with this guy and khakis?), a red-and-white plaid button-up shirt, and a navy sweater vest. It had dark blond hair combed neatly to the side, and even though his head lay against the chest, I could see the arms of a pair of glasses around his ears.
It was a deflated dork.
This guy wanted me to get dressed in a dork costume.
“No,” I said, thinking of the way I looked… er… used to look. I had dark hair that never got combed. I wore the same pair of jeans everyday with a T-shirt, a dark hoodie, and a black puffer coat I stole from some homeless guy on the street. And even if I needed glasses—which I didn’t—I wouldn’t have worn them.
“New life. New body. No choice,” Mr. Burns said as he took the body off the hanger and came around the desk. The next thing I knew all the mist that was me was pulled into the body and it began to inflate, to fill up with life—my life—and become whole again. I held out my arms and watched my hands become plump and then I flexed my fingers, enjoying the fact that when I moved I didn’t have to worry about disappearing into a cloud. I looked down at my feet and legs, trying to get used to the idea that I looked like someone else. I lifted one leg and then the other, smiling when the body obeyed, and any worry this body might be awkward or hard to control vanished. It felt good to have a form again.
“Ah, yes, it fits! I knew it would,” Mr. Burns exclaimed.
I guess bodies weren’t one size fits all. I’m glad this one did because I didn’t think I was up for a round of musical bodies.
“So how do you feel?” he asked, taking in my new appearance.
I felt like me. I didn’t feel like I was somewhere I didn’t belong. I didn’t feel like a stranger in my own body… but this really wasn’t my body, so I guess I was a stranger to it. Then a thought speared me.Where’s the guy who used to own this body?
“Where did you get this body? Where did you get all of them?” I asked.
“Various sources. Don’t worry. This person doesn’t need this body anymore.”
That didn’t make me feel better.
“Have a look at the new you,” he said, sounding like the host of a makeover show on TV as he pointed to a full-length mirror on the other side of the room.
I went toward it, the feet obeying my mind, and looked into the mirror. It’s quite a shock to look in a mirror and see a complete stranger. Especially when you still feel like yourself. I stared silently at the blond hair and the dimple in my chin. The skin was smooth like whoever had this body before had an easy life. They weren’t forced to withstand the harsh Alaskan elements. I was tall, about the same six feet as before, but my shoulders were broader now, probably because this body wasn’t starved half the time. I had a wide jawline, a strong nose, and green eyes that peered back at me from behind wire-rim glasses. Seriously, wire-rimmed.
I made a sound and shoved my hands through the perfectly combed hair. The dark-blond strands fell over my forehead and I pulled them up until they were almost standing straight up. I reached under the sweater vest and untucked the ends of the button-up, letting them hang from the sweater. Then I unbuttoned the collar and sleeves, rolling them up a few times to expose my forearms. It was the best I could do until I got some jeans, Converse sneakers, and could ditch the glasses.
When I turned from the mirror, Mr. Burns frowned. “Well, I guess as long as you do the job it doesn’t matter what you look like.”
Then he held out a wad of cash and I reached for it, shoving it in my pocket. “Here’s your credit card. The bill will come to me. Don’t spend more than twenty thousand a month.”
“Twenty thousand,” I said, practically choking on the number.
“Yes, well, I know it isn’t much, but this is your first job. You aren’t officially an Escort yet. Once it’s official, your limit will increase.”
He must’ve thought I was offended by the amount. I tried not to outwardly react—I wasn’t offended; I was shocked. I’d never seen this much money in my entire almost eighteen years! Killing paid well.
I reached out and took the credit card, glancing down at the name. “I have a new name, too?”
“Of course.”
I glanced at the name again and wanted to roll my eyes. Dexter Allen Roth. It might as well just said Dork of the Century. I glanced back at Mr. Burns. “Just call me Dex.”
Mr. Burns inclined his head. “You can call me G.R.”
So I got saddled with Dexter and he got a cool name like G.R.? I shoved the credit card in my pocket and grabbed up the keys. “Are these to my new car?”
“Yes. I will take you to it shortly. There is also the key to your new apartment. The GPS in your vehicle will take you to its location.”
