“You may,” she answers. I step closer. I run my hand through her hair. The tight black coils are still somewhat damp. My fingers idly cruise through as I take in the shape of her head for no real reason. As I explore the shaved part of her hair, I see her eyes dart down for a second to see I’m in a towel. I feel warmth flood into her body. The disadvantage she had me at now becomes my advantage. The short hairs are spiky as I run my thumb over the scar on her temple. I look at her swollen eye.

“I can heal your eye, if you want,” I offer.

“If I have to drink another one of those potions or whatever, I’d rather not.” I chuckle, remembering how her face looked as she drank it.

“No, I can do it with a simple spell. No gross aftertaste.”

“Then please,” she answers. I hesitate for a second.

‘What if they notice? No, it’s small. It should be fine.’ A noise, a beep chimes somewhere, we both ignore it.

Deep purple smoke rolls from my hand. The color of my aura has always caught people’s attention. I picture in my mind what I need to do. Trauma swelling is caused by blood and other fluids rushing to an area of the body to prevent further injury. I seep magic through her pores, cooling the area.

She chuckles.

“It kinda tingles. Is it supposed to?” I nod, focusing. Next, I gently push the water, white blood cells, and blood. The swelling reduces immediately.

“Whoa,” Hollyhock says, blinking her fixed eye. “That felt weird.”

“It’ll still be sore, so try not to get punched in the eye again.”

“No promises,” she jokes.

I don’t know if I cupped her cheek or if she turned her head into my hand. Either way, I’m holding her face. This close I notice something for the first time. There are flecks of emerald green in her eyes, small, but there. She has a slight smirk on her face as we hold each other’s gaze. My arm pulls her closer slowly.

A ringtone plays from Hollyhock’s new phone. She clears her throat and we separate while she answers.

“Hello?” This close I can hear the other person.

“Hey Tamara, you get the pictures I sent you?” A woman says in a sultry voice.

“Oh, Koki’O. This is Holly. Tamara gave me her phone.”

“What?!” Koki’O says, annoyed “why didn’t she tell me that?” Hollyhock shrugs.

“Why does Tamara do anything she does? What kind of pics did you send?”

“None of your business.”

“Those kind, huh?” The assassin says with a chuckle.

“Whatever, bye.” The phone call ends. We look through the messages and see pictures of a woman, who I assume is Koki’O, in various stages of undress.

“Yeah, she’s been trying to bump uglies with Tamara for a while now if you know what I mean,” she explains. From the context I do. With the mood changed I decide to change subjects.

“What were you going to say when I came out the shower?” She tilts her head for a second.

“Oh, I wanted to talk to you about your dresses.”

“What about them?”

“You can’t wear them. I mean you can, but no one dresses like that around here and it’s gonna draw attention. And as an assassin that’s not what I’m hoping for.”

“Well, I think that walking around naked would draw more attention. Is that what you’re hoping for?” She quickly looks me up and down again, remembering that I'm in a towel.

“No,” she turns away to pick up a stack of folded clothes and offers them to me. “Here, these should fit you.”

The offering consists of a pair of gray joggers with a drawstring waist, white camisole top, and a blue plaid shirt about four sizes too big. I only know what these things are because of a fashion magazine that somehow made its way into Ironhenge.

“I’m supposed to wear these forever?”

“No, I’m taking you shopping for clothes! So hurry and get dressed.”

Hollyhock, ever courteous, lets me dress in her room. Putting on the clothes, I realize there’s no way that they could fit her. Meaning they belong to someone else.

‘An ex-lover?’ I shove the thought from my head. Hollyhock gives me a thumbs-up when I exit her room. She rolls up the sleeves of the oversized shirt and ties the front into a knot over my navel. Making me look more modern.

“Now about that hair.” With a twirl of my finger, my hair ties itself into a bun. “Perfect.”

We exit her building to her car. While she drives, music blasts from the radio. Nothing I recognize but Hollyhock sings along, occasionally messing up the words.

“I just took a DNA test, turns out I'm 100% that bitch!” She has an awful singing voice but the confidence of a world star diva. It’s cute.

After a half-hour drive, we arrive at a boulevard lined with stores on both sides of the street. Hollyhock pulls up in front of a store with a sign that reads “Heartbreakers” in blood red. She turns to me and says,

“Let’s get you some clothes.”

Chapter 4 End.