"Well," I heard Dana say, "I must have lost it somewhere else. Thanks for looking."

"Sorry I couldn't help you."

"It's all right." She allowed an elegantly crafted pause. "Isn't that Tabitha's purse over there? Is she here?"

Oh, shit. I had a feeling Bastien was thinking the same thing.

"Uh, well, yeah…but…um, she's upstairs lying down," he faltered. "Has a headache."

"Oh, that's too bad. Did she take anything for it?"

"Um, yeah, she did."

I looked at the joint. Had I ever.

Bastien and Dana started talking about something else, and I decided then that I had to get those cookies. I was starving. The lovebirds sounded like they had moved to the living room, so I could sneak invisibly down the stairs and raid the kitchen without them knowing. Standing up, I put the joint out in the upstairs bathroom and moved on to my covert descent. Pot doesn't usually mess with motor control the way alcohol can, but it can certainly distract you from ordinary things. Like watching where you're going.

About three steps down, my foot slipped out from under me.

I uttered a sailor-worthy expletive and slid painfully down the rest of the way, landing hard on my butt at the bottom, my legs twisting into unnatural positions underneath me. I had barely enough sense to snap back to a visible Tabitha, lest Bastien and Dana think a clumsy ghost had just fallen down. A moment later, they came running.

"What happened?" exclaimed Bastien. He sounded more upset about the interruption than my immediate health.

"I…I tripped…"

Looking down, I tried moving my left ankle to a more comfortable position. I winced. It hurt like hell, but at least it moved.

"Well," he said crisply, "so long as you're okay. I'm sure you'll want to go and—"

"Okay?" Dana gave him an incredulous look. "We need to get her to the couch so she can straighten that out."

"Oh no," I protested, seeing Bastien's murderous expression. "I…I'm fine…really…"

But there was no arguing with Dana. She supported me under one arm, and he took the other. I hobbled over to the couch, putting my weight only on the right foot. Once I was stretched out, she pushed my jeans up over my calf and felt the ankle with cautious, expert precision, carefully examining each inch. I appreciated her solicitous concern and apparent first-aid know-how, but the thought of this wretched woman touching my leg repulsed me. Besides, what I really wanted were those cookies. Fuck my ankle.

"It doesn't feel broken," she finally decided. "Probably just a sprain, lucky for you. We should ice it."

When Bastien neither did nor offered anything useful, she went into the kitchen. I could hear her opening drawers and the freezer.

"Do you hate me or something?" he hissed once we were alone.

"This wasn't my fault," I countered. "I think you've got a defective stair."

"Defective my ass. The only thing that's defective is your sense of timing. Do you know how close I was to scoring?"

"Close? Close? Not to use a cliche, but hell was closer to freezing over than you were to scoring. I don't think she really goes for the babbling, high kind of guy."

"I wasn't babbling. And there's no way she knows I'm high."

"Oh, come on. If you were any higher, you'd—"

I shut my mouth as Dana returned with the ice pack. She knelt by my feet and carefully set the pack on the injured ankle. I grimaced at the sudden change of temperature, but the shocking cold did numb the throbbing.

Still concerned, she surveyed the rest of my lower leg with those sharp eyes. Again, she felt around the ankle area, her hands gently touching here and there. She frowned. "I could be wrong about how serious it is. You should keep icing it and take ibuprofen. If it doesn't get better in a couple days, go see your doctor."

"Thanks," I said, looking away. Honestly, what I found most disconcerting now was how sincerely concerned she seemed. Maybe we'd misjudged her all along. Nah.

"Well," breezed Bastien, "if Tabby Cat's okay, maybe we should go to the kitchen and have some coffee—"

"Do you know how it happened?" Dana asked me, ignoring him.

"Oh…just a misstep I think…or maybe the stair is defective."

"I doubt there's anything wrong with the stairs," said Bastien. "Tabitha's always been clumsy, that's all. It's legendary in our family."

Dana, oblivious to me glaring at the incubus over the slam to my gracefulness, glanced over at my shoes sitting near the door. They were strappy and black, with three-inch heels.

"Are those what you've been wearing?" She fixed me with a stern, motherly look. "I know how strong societal pressure can be in making you think you need to fit a certain mold. But walking around in shoes like that all day will do serious damage to your feet. Not only that, they send a message that you have no shame when it comes to—"

The doorbell rang then. None of us moved at first, and then Bastien rose, looking amazed that this night could get any worse.

Dana dropped her wardrobe lecture and switched to a medical one. "You really need to be careful with this. Too much stress will agitate it. "

Bastien returned a moment later with an utterly puzzled Seth, whom I suspected had no idea who had just let him in. Indeed, his bewilderment grew as he scanned Dana and me, no doubt wondering if he had the right house.

"Hi Seth," I said pointedly, in too loud of a voice, "thanks for coming to pick me up."

He continued to stare, and then the faintest gleam of understanding showed in his eyes. He'd seen me shape-shift clothes often, but this was the first time he'd ever seen me in another body.

Dana looked around expectantly.

"Oh," I said, my mind still running a little slow from the pot. "This is, um, Seth. Seth, Dana."

"Hello," she said, rising smoothly and shaking his hand. "Nice to meet you."

"Um, yeah. You too." I had a feeling he would bolt if given half a chance.

"Seth is Tabitha's boyfriend," explained Bastien. "I imagine they'll want to be on their way now."

"I'd heard you were single. How long have you two been dating?" she asked, steering us toward casual conversation.

Neither of us answered. "A couple months," I said at last, wondering if my virtue was once again being assessed.

She smiled. "How nice."

I started feeling those creepy vibes again, and suddenly I did want to leave. I tried to sit up, and she rushed to my side. "Someone grab her other arm."

When Bastien didn't move, Seth was finally spurred into action. He supported my other side and helped me stand. It was clear, however, that touching me in this body unnerved him, and he tried to manage it while staying as far away from me as possible. Consequently, all of his movements seemed awkward and unnatural, and no doubt Dana thought we were even weirder than before.

She and Seth helped me to the car, Bastien following with a pout. When I was situated in the passenger seat, Dana offered a few parting words of instruction to both Seth and me on how to care for the ankle.

"Thanks for the help," I told her.

"Happy to. Just try to be more careful from now on." She glanced at her watch. "Well. I should probably go home myself."

"Do you have to?" asked Bastien stupidly. "Er, I mean, no need to feel rushed…"

"Thank you, but no. Bill will wonder what happened to me."

I saw her walk back to her house as Seth pulled out. I also saw the look on Bastien's face. The morning after was not going to be pretty.

We were almost in the city when Seth finally spoke. "Can you…uh…you know…change? This is really weird."

"Huh?" I had been staring bleary-eyed out the window, intrigued by the blur of city lights. "Oh. Yeah."

A moment later, I was the Georgina Kincaid he knew.

"Thanks. So, uh…I don't suppose I really want to know what was going on back there…"