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A Worse Idea 26

The bar should’ve been closed half an hour ago, but Shade always struggled to get the last guy out. It was always the same guy, too — Carmine, some strung-out vigilante from the sixties, who’d seen too many impossible things while taking psychedelics.

Once she made sure Carmine got up to his room, Shade relaxed. She wiped down the bar, then poured the last drink of the night: whiskey, vermouth, and bitters. A Manhattan.

She leaned against the counter and tipped the drink back. It was harsh, but she liked it.

She was less fond of the pain in her neck.

It came suddenly, unexpectedly, something piercing through her skin.

Made her drop her drink.

Before that half-empty glass hit the floor, she teleported away. She teleported due to sheer instinct, if nothing else.

Because of that lack of thought, she was surprised when she found herself in Anne’s dorm room.

Things were dark. That made sense, since it was so late, but still Shade was surprised. She fumbled around for a light switch.

As she did, she tripped over a chair. Caught herself in time, but not before making a noise.

Right as Shade turned on the living room light, Anne made her way to the living room.

Rubbing her right eye, pissed off because she was trying to set a good sleep schedule for work, Anne asked, “Weren’t we going to hang out this weekend?”

Shade stared at Anne for several seconds, trying to process what was happening.

“I think I’m in trouble,” she said.

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