Finding a fortune

“So our options are women, or more women?” You ask, shaking your head. “Haven't you thought about being a guy again, young lady?”

Jessica chuckles. “Haven't you noticed this is more fun?” she asks. You have to admit, you've been so caught up trying not to give yourself away that you hadn't thought about it. Now that you do, you feel a rush of excitement. You are an infiltrator, not only into someone else's life, but the other sex. And, ever since you've left the car, you've been enjoying pretending to be Mrs Hunt more and more. Still, you'd rather get out of this current identity – and get Jimmy out of your girlfriend – as soon as possible.

“Come on, then,” you say, striding toward the boutique. “Let's see if we can't find out more about what we're dealing with.”

The moment you enter the small store, your scents are teased by a thousand different aromas. Thick incense, warm wood, and the soft tones of crushed plants. The walls are clothed in drapes and cloths, and the whole place has a distinct indie vibe. At the counter, slouched, a goth – slick black hair, heavy eye makeup, black lipstick and nails against pale skin, spikes and studs on her top – is reading a tattoo magazine with disinterest. She pays you no attention as you walk in.

Straightening your posture into something more appropriate, you walk over, your faux-daughter in tow. The attendant is nothing like Jimmy described; in her early twenties, she's not conventionally pretty, with a nose that's a little too wide, and a tiny, thin frame. But if that's who he wants to be...

“Hello,” you say, Mrs Hunt's voice slipping out. The goth looks up, surprised that someone else is in the store; she didn't even notice you come in. “My daughter saw your sign about having her fortune told. How much is it?”

“That,” says a dramatic, honeyed, Eastern European voice from behind you, “depends on the fortune.” The goth girl smiles and directs you with her eyes, and as you turn you spot the true owner of the store.

Jimmy's earlier description doesn't do her justice. The woman is in her mid-thirties you would imagine, dusky and statuesque, dressed in a shimmering, flowing robe of a deep, midnight blue. Rich dark hair hangs long over her shoulders, curling black locks accented by large, gold hoop earrings. She walks forward with a strange, flowing elegance, her large, passionate eyes appraising you. Jimmy's right – she's hot.

“Oh,” you say, startled for a moment, and trying not to let you attraction slip through your mask. “Well, that should be fine. It's a treat, after all.” You smile warmly at Jessica, who grins back.

“Thanks mom!” Jimmy exclaims. “This is going to be awesome!”

“This is the young lady?” The teller asks, smiling as she indulges Jessica's apparent excitement. “Very well. Step this way...” she casts her arm behind her, lifting a veiled area behind the store. You watch as the two depart into the private booth, and begin to walk around the store to see if you can't find a book on the pens.

Five minutes pass. Your search is fruitless. There's loads of books on pop mysticism, but if there's any genuine magic stuff here, it's being kept somewhere out of sight. As for Jimmy's idea of having your pick of customers, the store doesn't seem to get much traffic. Not that the goth could tell; she's so engrossed in her magazine she doesn't seem to even be aware if you're still present.

You're about to despair when a possible candidate for your switch walks in, and enquires about having her fortune told. She's as striking as the store attendant, yet in a completely different way. She's clearly part of the vintage set, in her mid-twenties, with bright orange-red hair, piled up and twisted in two ornate curls with a bow accessory, and makeup straight out of the 1940s. She's wearing a black and white polka dot sun dress, sporting a delicate handbag and, urgh, heels. Still, she's attractive, and could be an interesting life to step into...

“Uhm, I think someone else is with Madame Elena,” the assistant replies, a little uncertain – she's been lost in her magazine again. But, before the next customer can reply, 'Elena' steps out from behind the curtain.

“That's all right, Wendy,” she says, in the same exotic voice as before, not a hair out of place. “The young lady departed some time ago. I shall be ready to attend to our guest momentarily.” She steps forward, the same elegant, flowing way as before, and walks over to you. You arch your brow; is it the real Elena, or Jimmy? She leans forward conspiratorially.

“All right dude,” she hisses in a low tone. “Step one complete.”

So it is Jimmy! How has his acting improved, and how did he know the store attendant's name? Did he use the brown pen, or did he just ask some careful questions in the booth? You need answers, although not in the middle of the store. 'Madame Elena' flashes her most mysterious smirk.

“What do you think? Want to go goth? Or that customer's pretty hot. How about being her? The store shuts in 15 minutes, then we can head out, or check the back room for something about the pens.”