Princess for Hire by Lindsey Leavitt

sat at a round glass desk bearing the sign MIRAGE, AGENCE MODELESE . Behind her, elegant women in designer clothes flitted in and out of offices. Truly, Celeste Juniper would look like a clumsy hick next to the skinny gorgeous girls lounging on the white couches. So you can imagine how I felt standing in the middle of a Paris modeling agency in my FLOCCINAUCINIHILIPILIFICATION shirt and jeans. Trés vapor.
    The receptionist didn’t look up when we approached.
    Meredith cleared her throat. “ Bonjour . I need to—”
    The girl pointed a perfectly manicured finger at the couches and spoke in a high, French-accented voice. “Vittorio is running late. Take a seat.”
    “No, no.” Meredith slapped her green ID onto the counter. The girl glanced at it, then up at Meredith, her eyes widening. “Ms. Pouffinski, I’m so sorry. I’m new…I didn’t realize you were an…an agent—”
    Meredith laughed. “Did you think Desi here was a model?” I turned to glower at her, but then she added, “Don’t you recognize new talent when you see it?”
    The room hushed as if that word— talent —had magical freezing powers. A few models whispered to each other in French. I avoided the stares by focusing on a white, blobby sculpture.
    “Desi will begin work immediately,” Meredith said, “and she’ll need a building ID badge with special access. At your convenience, of course.”
    “Of course,” the receptionist said reverently.
    Meredith rolled her eyes and started walking toward an empty hallway. “Desi, vámonos .”
    I scurried behind her, grateful to escape the stares of the beautiful people.
    “What was that all about?”
    “Mirage? That’s our cover. On paper, Façade is technically a branch of Mirage. They don’t have a clue what we do, but they worship us. As they should.”
    “Why did they act so shocked when you said I was a, um, talent?”
    “It’s rare and mysterious to them. A new talent does-n’t walk in every day, so you’re kind of a big deal. But whatever. Don’t let it go to your head. You have work to do.”
    The last couple of things I mentally filed in the Meredith’s rude comments folder, and I focused instead on the “You’re kind of a big deal” part. As in, not vapor. As in unique. As in, there were models sitting in that lobby who were envious of me because of my magical abilities.
    Surreal much?
    We stopped at a large door, where Meredith swiped her card again and positioned herself in front of a built-in computer screen. A red laser scanned up and down her features.
    “Entry granted,” said a computerized female voice.
    And then the door clicked open, revealing the real reception area. And…wow.
    I’d never been in a fairy-tale castle, but I imagined it must look something like this. Tall stained-glass windows cast a rainbow of sunshine on the gold-inlay floors. The cathedral ceiling was covered in silver stars carved into a midnight sky. A monstrous chandelier reached down, radiating a warm glow on the front reception area. The whole place exuded majesty. Centuries of it.
    “But…it’s a tower! The building was boxy and all glass. You couldn’t even fit this room on the whole floor—”
    “Desi. I have magic powder that morphs your physical appearance. I travel in a bubble. And you might not have noticed, but my hair is consistently fabulous. There are few limits to what we can do.”
    I heard a cough, then noticed a balding gentleman, more butler than receptionist, standing partly hidden behind a colossal bouquet of yellow roses.
    “Ms. Pouffinski. Pleasure.”
    Meredith glowed. “Ferdinand! We’re just on our way to substitute orientation. This is Miss Desi Bascomb.”
    “Ah, the new talent?” He gave me a small bow. “Lilith is expecting you. Genevieve was suddenly called away, but she sends a warm welcome.”
    Meredith seemed to deflate a little, but then she smiled. “Thank you. Desi?”
    I waved at Ferdinand and followed Meredith down an echoey hallway lined