Shadowglass by Erica Hayes Page B

you think of him?—
    I snorted. Good idea, squidgy. Wish I had the courage. People with jobs they hate make me sick.
    He stared, incredulous. “What did you say?”
    My cheeks sizzled. Did I say that aloud?
    —Might as well make the best of it ,—the squidgy whispered.
    I shrugged, emboldened. “I said, who are you trying to impress, getting to work at six in the morning?”
    “I’m sorry?”
    “Didn’t you get laid last night? Don’t you have a better ass to kiss than your boss’s?”
    His brow creased, and my guts churned. I couldn’t believe I said that. Guess I was still drunk. But that snarky mirror murmured glassy rebellion in my ear, and the jagged urge to taunt him chewed at me like teeth. I couldn’t stop. “Advice, loser. You ain’t never gonna get rich opening up. You really want to impress your boss, get under the desk and suck him off.”
    Another fat suit across from him muffled a laugh. My stomach hollowed. Now I’d done it. Lip like that’d get me punched in the face, or worse.
    The loser gripped his case tightly and rose. “Yeah. I can see that approach has worked for you, career girl. Nice come stain, by the way. Very classy.”
    I clutched the bag closer, my palms slipping. The not-mirror cooed, comforting.— He deserves it. You’ve taken enough shit from his sort over the years. Time to give some back.—
    He stalked off to find another seat, and the fat guy laughed again, greasy glasses twinkling in bright sun. “Baby, I like your style. You can work for me any time.”
    “Fuck off, gonzo.” Embarrassment sizzled my fingerpads blue, and I turned to face the window before the squidgy made me say anything else. I squeezed the handle tightly, my insides hot and watery. Everyone was staring at me, I knew it, their disapproval tainting the air, and I squirmed, my glamour shifting in discomfort.
    For all I knew, Loser had three kids and a 15 percent mortgage. I still resented his attitude. But what possessed me to attack him like that? First thing in the morning, in front of a tram full of strangers? He hadn’t done anything to me, not really.
    Gentle metal comfort clucked from the depths of my bag, and I scowled, unconvinced. Still wasted. That had to be it. Either that, or Kane really had screwed my brains out.
    A giggle splurted up into my throat, and I had to plaster my hand over my mouth to keep it in.
    The three stops until my transfer dragged for what felt like hours, and I slunk to the automatic doors with the fat guy’s eyes glued to my grimy ass and my gaze fixed firmly on the floor.
    Federation Square, where seagulls dipped and swerved, and sun shone brightly on the green metal-framed façade of the film museum. Workers grabbed early coffees from fragrant black cafés. A greasy black spriggan in a trench coat crab-walked between rubbish bins, picking out cigarette butts and half-eaten sandwiches with gnarled yellow claws. A grinning firefairy clung to a passing tram’s roof, wings trailing flames in the breeze, cackling in delight as sparks rolled over her naked back.
    My tram came, and I shambled on, half-asleep and headachy. I wanted my bed, warm and comforting and alone, where no one could hurt me or laugh at me.
    The mirror burbled to me as we swayed along clicking tracks, my bag vibrating alarmingly under my palm. Secretly, I supposed it was kinda cool. I wanted to take it out, admire the glass shining in the sun, peek inside and see what I could see. But I didn’t dare, not here, after what it maybe made me say.
    But I remembered the disbelieving look on that guy’s face, and a naughty smile flavored my lips. Yeah, that was kinda cool, too. I patted my bag absently. Crafty, clever little squidgy. We’ll be friends.
    —Mmm,— the mirror whispered, and I smiled to myself and daydreamed the rest of the way to my stop, of a new and delicious world where I said what I wanted and wasn’t scared anymore.
    Swanston Street, glass skyscrapers and retail cantilevers giving