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minutes beneath the hot steam, taking pleasure in the needle-like
spray on my muddy body. I lather my hair with strawberry scented
shampoo and scrub the obstacle course dirt from my skin with
honeycomb soap that smells good enough to eat.
    With my flesh practically rubbed raw, I climb
from the shower, wrap a big fluffy towel around myself and exit the
bathroom. Miss Kara guides me to the grooming station, running her
fingers through my hair as we walk, and I take notice of the new
white dress draped over her recliner.
    The master often puts me in pretty clothes to
lure my mark, especially when they’re a difficult target. Perhaps
there is nothing more to his surprise than that. A difficult mark
in need of extra persuasion.
    As Miss Kara seats me in front of the mirror,
I try to engage her in conversation. With a nod, I gesture toward
the dress and work to keep my voice light when I say, “It must be a
challenging assignment if the master is putting me in something so
pretty.”
    Dark lashes flash quickly over brown eyes and
she keeps her expression blank when she answers. “It might be your
most difficult assignment yet, Pride.”
    I don’t miss the strange catch in her voice,
or the flash of angst in her eyes before she quickly blinks it
away. I get the distinct impression that she, too, is keeping
something from me as I study her in the mirror and will her to look
at me. But there is nothing I can do to make her meet my eyes.
    Close to an hour later, after I’ve been
plucked, perfumed and prettied up, Miss Kara splits the delicate
dress down the back and I climb in from the neckline.
    As it drapes my body I notice how easy it is
to get in and out of. That detail might seem like a little thing to
most but it’s those little things that make a big difference on a
mission, especially if I need to shift in a hurry.
    I stare at my reflection and also notice how
it accentuates what little curves I have and how the pretty
diamond-like stones glisten in the overhead light. As I run my
hands over the fake jewels I consider all the weapons I could make
with them if only they were real.
    When Miss Kara spins her finger, I twirl in
front of the mirror and think the dress is beautiful. I keep that
point to myself, but it doesn’t stop me from longing to be a normal
girl, one who might enjoy such nice things.
    “You look gorgeous,” she assures me, a look
of satisfaction crossing her flawless, coffee-colored face.
    A few minutes later she gives Mario a nod and
the next thing I know I’m being led back downstairs and into the
master’s den.
    Mario pushes open the door and ushers me
inside. The second I step through the threshold and spot Stone
sitting in one of the leather chairs facing the master’s desk my
stomach plummets.
    My master waves a hand, an indication for me
to sit in the empty chair next to Stone. At first I don’t move, I
don’t think my legs will allow me to cross the room, but Mario
nudges me from behind and it sets me into motion. I tug on my
collar which suddenly seems to be cutting off my air supply and
work to keep my emotions in check as I pad softly across the cool
marble floor.
    The master gives an appreciative nod. “You
look very pretty today.” When I don’t answer, he hardens his voice
and says, “Have a seat, Pride.”
    I lower myself. The whooshing sound the aged
leather chair makes reminds me of flapping feathers and I can’t
help thinking how much I’d like to have my own set of wings right
now so I could fly out the master’s window and disappear into the
wild forever.
    Once I am seated, my master stands, walks to
his mahogany bar and pours a generous amount of amber liquid into a
small glass. I wish he’d get straight to the point, but instead he
takes a hearty sip of alcohol, then pulls a gold lighter out of his
suit pocket and lights a cigar. The pungent odor curls through the
room, coats my throat like a thick layer of cotton, and threatens
my gag reflexes. But I can’t