Partnership

"All right," you say, nodding. You're not sure if this offer is genuine, and you don't really care. Right now, it's your best move. And ultimately there's nothing to say you have to keep your end of the bargain: you could always use 'her' to do the dirty work.

"In that case, we need to get out of here." Miss Charlotte is seems open about the predicament you're in. It's not possible to zap someone in the vault - it would rouse suspicions. "But first things first, we need to make sure the 'Bloom' is here."

"Well, I don't have a copy of it," you say.

"I do," Miss Charlotte says. "Upstairs though, come on."

You both step into the lift, riding it up back to the bank floor. From the clean, sterile serenity of the vault, the sunlight and sound feel almost jarringly loud. You scratch Bob's beard, following the prim, smart walk of the apparently young bank clerk, trying to remember she's really one of your rivals. It's hard under such a smart uniform. She turns from her desk, side-stepping into a private office.

"This way, sir," she says, a businesslike smile. You nod and step in, acting the customer all the way, your finger resting on your own pen. If she makes one wrong move...

She doesn't. She steps to the desk and opens a drawer, revealing the light pink, glistening gemstone replica to your eyes.

"OK," Miss Charlotte says. "The next step is to... shit."

You look up, shifting Bob's frame to glance in the direction she's pointing. For the briefest of moments your heart freezes, then pounds with unrelenting force: you just fell for the oldest trick in the book, the 'look that-a-way'. But the strange sensation of the zap doesn't come. Instead, you see exactly why she's pointing.

Walking through the main lobby, dressed in a smart cream blouse and grey business suit, is the woman from the photo earlier: the bank manager. Here to check the Bloom, as per the arrangements with the security guards. All hell must be breaking loose back at Cedar Pines.

"She's going to see it's missing. There's no way I can sleight it into the vault without..."

"You don't need to," you correct hastily, pulling the draw strings and turning the small office blinds to conceal your presence. "Just be Abigail Charlotte, and get her in here."

Your waifish, young partner smiles, a vicious gleam shining beneath her glasses. "Good idea."

Moments later, and the surprised woman steps into the office, accompanied by her young employee who seals the door behind her. There's a look of confusion, before the manager's skin collapses to the floor, her suit and blouse crumpling beneath it. Your cohort leans forward, the buttons in front of her chest still straining, and passes the skin over. You appraise it, gathering up the large, black strands of hair that make up the bob. You begin to get out of your current disguise, and...

"Are you going to leave?"

"What?"

"I'm not going to reveal who I really am. You know the rules."

Miss Charlotte grins. "All right, sir," she acknowledges. "I'll be at my desk. Come grab me when you're done."

*****

Ten minutes later, having explained to a customer that he'd collapsed in the manager's office, both Katherine Wendel - 40, married with kids - and her assistant Abigail Charlotte are on the road, Kathy's neatly manicured nails at the wheel of her car. You shift, exploring your new form. For an older woman, Kathy's body is attractive: the heavy makeup on her face works, and there's something incredible about the volume of black locks that bounce playfully on your neck. You look out of her eyes, checking the mirror and the town that's slowly disappearing behind you. Kathy's thoughts are about pot roast that she's preparing tonight. Your thoughts are the Bloom. You've already lied through your teeth, telling the worried owner the Bloom - the real one - is safe and secure in the vault. The truth, however, is far different.

You've got a mission, now. You and Abs are going to track down your opponents and steal their fakes. Then you're going to steal the real gem, where ever it may be. The wedding might be in chaos, but that doesn't change the rules of the game.

You turn the car into the Cedar Pines resort, adjusting Kathy's hair and flicking it out of her collar, smoothing the ruffles of her suit. She dressed in a hurry when the alert came in, and she's a woman fastidious about her appearance.

"So what's the plan?" Abs asks, beside you. "We take them one at a time?"

"We identify them first," you say, Kathy's voice - a trickling Mid West drawl that seems to elongate every thought - sounding out into the car. "They might not be holding the same identity as before. We're effectively starting again."

"Not entirely," Abs says. "We know they'll want to stick around. So we have a shorter list of suspects."

"True enough," you admit. "The question is whether this is the right form to narrow that list down. Kathy Wendel isn't known to them, and nor is Abigail Charlotte. We look like bank personnel; they might try and slip into our appearance in the hope of learning something."

"That could be useful, if we have each other's backs."

"Or dangerous. I could always park around near the spa. There's bound to be someone we could intercept, what with the convention that's happening. We could shed these skins, leave them in a guest's room, and explore the hotel. Either we could grab a staff member and go solo, or we could try and find a couple and impersonate them. Nobody's going to suspect that, are they?"

Abs nods. "I don't mind either way," she decides. "It's your call."